There was something unreadable in her face. A pinch between the brows. Gone before it settled.
“More than you know.” The other woman inhaled, her smile returning fast and full. “Besides! You’ll need something to trade with Nari if you’re going to get that man of yours those dumplings.”
Rynna choked. “He’s not my—”
But Mira was already striding away, waving a hand in dismissal.
“And don’t forget to check in with Gran Belli for your daily Source test!”
“You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw your son off the mountain, Mira!”
Rynna wiped both hands down the front of her tunic, exhaling through gritted teeth.
He’s not mine.
Mira spun as she walked, arms spread wide, the faint shimmer of heat coiling around her skin as flames danced at her elbows.
“Any son of mine would fly.”
Then she was gone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Rynna exhaled. “More damn village secrets.”
She looked up.
Clouds slipped between the peaks, pale and slow-moving, wrapped in light. The breeze tugged at the hem of her tunic, cool against the sweat at her nape.
“I’m in the right place, aren’t I?”
It felt…too easy. Too much like belonging. And that—that—was the danger.
She shook it off.
The training grounds weren’t far. Today, she’d show them how to draw a bowstring correctly.
And get Kaelith his fucking lunch.
Chapter five
“Youcan’tpossiblybegoing out looking like that.”
Kaelith didn’t even glance up at first, his focus on the small clay pots spread across the wooden table. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, fingers smudged with crushed herbs and resin as he stirred something thick and dark in one of the bowls.
Rynna paused with one hand on the doorframe, the other dropping to her hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She reached up, fingers snagging in one of the snarls. “I thought you liked the way I looked.”
When was the last time she’d run a brush through the mess? Every morning, she just yanked it into a ponytail before heading out to teach the younglings. Then, she would inevitably get shoved into whatever task the village tossed her way afterwards—fixing a pulley, sparring drills, hauling rice sacks. There was always something.
Kaelith looked up, one brow arched. “Oh, pet. I like every bit of you.”
Heat rose to her cheeks.
But he wasn’t done. “Even your inane drive to insert yourself at every opportunity to aid this charming prison of a village.” A faint grimace crossed his face as he pushed himself up from the chair, betraying the tug in his side. “But even you must draw the line at nesting the local wildlife.”
He shuffled over to the corner basin where cold, clear mountain water trickled into the wooden bowl balanced on the smooth, waist-height rock. Beside it was a short stool, a worn rag, and the single hairbrush they’d been trading for weeks.
Kaelith plucked it up, turned, and gestured to the chair he’d just vacated. “Sit. Before a squirrel mistakes you for home.”
Rynna narrowed her eyes. But she crossed the room anyway.
