I curl my fingers into fists. “Then anything—everything—in the holy texts might be a godsdamned lie.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, his hand falling from my cheek as he sinks back into slumber.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Inana
I can’t get my conversation with Dominic out of my head, but when the morning dawns and he wakes, I don’t have the nerve to ask about it. Not with the others around. What he told me felt private. Itwasprivate. Because I’m the only one who’s seen his scars.
At least the only one of hisSummoners.I haven’t a clue if Calvin has. From how long they’ve been traveling together, he must have seen Dominic shirtless at least once.
I watch the two of them across the small glade we’ve made camp in since daybreak. They’re seated near the fire, engaged in an activity I purposefully positioned myself far away from. Since Dominic consumed all his remaining vials of blood, Calvin is filling new ones. I firmly avoid looking at the thin line of crimson on Calvin’s forearm or the rivulet that fills the vial. You’d think I’d be desensitized to blood after last night, but what they’re doing makes me particularly squeamish. Dominic is turned away, so I can’t see his blood, but I know he’s filling a vial for Calvin too. Apparently his healing has been stabilized and he’s mostly back to normal, though when I changed his bandages this morning, his wound looked just as raw as it did last night.
Shadow wounds really must affect him far worse than regular ones.
Yet cuts of any kind leave scars.
“Are you going to help, or are you going to keep staring and pretending you’re not?”
Harlow’s voice has my cheeks blazing. We’re in the middle of pouring freshly purified water into skins after having gathered it from the river that runs along the road. Now that it’s been boiled and cooled, it can replenish our dwindling stores. Meanwhile, Bard is rearranging the wagon, after having scrubbed Dominic’s blood from it to save Calvin from whatever uncontrollable urges he experiences when surrounded by too much of his drug’s scent.
“I wasn’t staring,” I mutter, and refocus on my task. We’re on the opposite end of the glade, at least, so Dominic probably can’t hear us.
“So you’re going with pretending. All right,” Harlow deadpans.
“I’m just…thinking.” I purse my lips to keep from thinkingout loud,no matter how desperate I am to share what Dominic said.
“Well, stop thinking. The sun is already beginning to set. We’ll be back on the road in an hour, I bet.”
Harlow’s probably right. We’ve had all day to sleep and rest and recover from the horrors of last night. None of us could relax enough to sleep through the remainder of our journey, so we waited to sleep under the safety of sunlight. I think we’ve all come to understand why Dominic keeps a nocturnal schedule, even when traveling. As terrifying as it was to come across an Incarnate at night, or to travel through Shade-infested territory when they’re most active, it’s far more unsettling to considernotmoving during such treacherous hours.
I do my best to stay focused on my task and not dwell on what Dominic said last night, but that only makes me aware of how cold my fingers are. My skin practically screams as I plunge the waterskin into the pot of water, which has more than cooled; it might as well be frozen. We haven’t seen an increase in snowfall, but the air maintains a bite. Maybe I should take back what I said about loving all the seasons. Spending winter on the road is a far cry from the cozy days spent by the fireplace in Dunway.
Though I suppose it isn’t officially winter yet. Solstice is…
I wrinkle my nose as I try to sort out today’s date. Keeping track of the week is less vital now, unlike when I served Rockefeller.
I tilt my head at Harlow. “How many days until solstice?”
She shrugs. “Two? Or maybe it’s tomorrow?”
“Huh. One or two days until my birthday, then.”
“You were born on the winter solstice?”
“Much to my mother’s displeasure,” I say.
“Congrats on surviving another year as a sinner, I guess,” Harlow says without even a hint of enthusiasm.
I huff a laugh, but her words remind me of Dominic’s.
The only one of us who has ever sinned gravely enough to create Shades…is me.
I’m so desperate to ask what he meant by that. Last night I was more focused on the contradiction of his words versus the holy texts, but if he’s right…
What grave sin was he talking about? What did he do that was so awful it created Shades? When he saidthe only one of us,did he mean of me and him? Or did he mean all of us as a crew? I can’t imagine how he could be guilty of worse sins than us. We’re outlaws running from crimes ranging from murder to treason. We’re artists, whom the holy texts call the worst kind of sinners—
My mind stumbles. Stutters. Lingers.
