“Whatever you two were, I got the impression you didn’t agree on it.”
I knew he was riling me up intentionally; I just didn’t understand why. I should have stopped replying, but I didn’t.
“He was—is—my friend.”
“I see.” He hummed to himself quietly. I hated the sound of it—the sound of arrogance.
“And you and Renata?” I snapped. After the words spilled, I silently kicked myself for asking. Especially since I had decidedly chosen not to.
“What of us?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Is she your lover?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re protective of her.”
“At one time, I wanted her to be. But we were both young and had yet to discover ourselves.”
My reply caught in my throat as the acrid stench of smoke reached my nose. Ahead, a thin column of black curled into the Sky. The closer we drew, the heavier it became. Then I saw it—orange tongues of fire consuming what was left of an encampment.
Bodies lay scattered across the scorched Ground. Some were in Veiler black, and some wore the plain tunics of the culled.
“Riders—water! Put it out now!” Rowan ordered. His voice was steel, sharp and commanding. In seconds, several Veilers leapt from their horses toward the scene.
I watched as the Veilers threw water onto the roaring flames and stomped on the embers. The fire hissed and spat as they worked.
The heat stung my eyes, forcing tears I didn’t want to shed.
A small hand peeked out from beneath a fallen tarp.
My stomach dropped when the wind blew it aside, revealing the vacant eyes of a girl no older than fifteen. Gone.
The thought was unbearable.
When the worst of it was under control, I found my voice.
“What happened?”
There was a moment of silence before Rowan finally replied.
“Rebels.”
Chapter 16
“The most atrocious acts are those made in vain against life.
Those who commit such crimes condemn themselves to the Sea of Sorrow.
May the salt burn.”
- The Old Book
Two weeks on horseback had made my thighs so sore and chafed that my walking turned wobbly. The skin there was almost rubbed raw from the near-constant friction with the saddle. The pain was dull and persistent, which made it especially aggravating.
Unfortunately, in the past couple of weeks, I had also grown uncomfortably familiar with the scent of horse and sweat. I kept hoping that I would become desensitized to it, but it never happened.
We stopped only once in those two weeks to bathe. I felt like I was removing a century’s worth of dirt and grime from my body when we did. The coat of filth was heavy on my skin, and my clothes were rancid.
