I paused, still chewing. “A man named Malik,” I said through a mouthful, feigning casualness. “He told me to find you.”
John James blinked, then leaned back with a nostalgic breath. “Ah, Malik. How is he?” A wistful smile tugged at his lips. “I haven’t seen him in some time. He came here with Layla. I told them where to find the daggers you seek.”
The words twisted in my gut. I lowered my gaze and chewed more slowly, the flavor suddenly becoming ash in my mouth.
I couldn’t tell him the truth—that Balthazar and I had tortured and poisoned them. That their blood was on my hands, not just his.
So, I lied.
“They’re gone,” I said, trembling just the right way. “Balthazar killed them both.”
John James froze. The color drained from his face. His mouth opened, but only a strangled sound came out. His eyes filled instantly with tears—wide, heartbroken, disbelieving.
“No...” he rasped. “Oh, Lord... no.” He turned away, hand trembling as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Such a tragedy. Such loss... Give me a second… that’s a lot to take in.”
“Of course,” I murmured, bowing my head and forcing a sniffle. Just enough to keep the illusion alive.
He stood and stumbled outside.
I waited in silence, barely breathing, every muscle tight with tension. I didn’t know if he’d return mourning or enraged.
When he finally came back, his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
I folded my hands in my lap, schooling my features into a mask of sorrow.
John James clenched his fists and began pacing, his boots thudding against the floor in a restless rhythm. “You were right to come to me,” he growled. “I loathe this man—Balthazar. We must get to the tribe immediately and find Dancing Fire. Once we do, you’ll be on the path to the daggers.”
He paused, turning to me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you… How did you come to know Balthazar?”
The question slammed into me like a blade between the ribs.
Loving Balthazar was like a rusted nail embedded in my chest—corroding and aching. The memory of him surged through me like venom—passion twisted into pain, longing warped into something darker.
“We were lovers,” I admitted, the words laced with shame and fire. “For a time. I was a fool.” I shot to my feet, the emotions boiling over. “He tried to kill me—again and again. I don’t even know why I stayed. But that’s over now. You have to help me find the Sun and Moon Daggers. I need to end him. Once and for all.”
John James stepped forward and placed a steady hand on my shoulder. “You have my word,” he said gently. “I’ll help you.”
Two hours later, we descended a dry hillside and crossed a wide, dusty plain. The landscape stretched flat and wild, golden grass swaying in the breeze. It was a far cry from the dark luxury I’d once known with Balthazar.
Animal hide tents clustered across the land like haphazard stars. Children ran barefoot through the dust. People sat on the ground weaving baskets, skin browned and weathered, hair wild from the wind. The air smelled of smoke, herbs, and sweat. Everything about this place felt untouched, as if it had never known comfort.
They looked like they’d grown from the earth itself, wild and knotted like Philip’s stupid cornstalks.
But John James moved among them easily, greeting each person in a language I couldn’t understand. He led me into a circle ofelders, their faces carved by time and sun. In the center stood a man unlike the others.
He was tall, proud, and striking, his face a chiseled blend of leather and stone. His eyes were deep-brown and as sharp as flint, and when they locked onto mine, I felt exposed.
“Alina,” John James said, gesturing. “This is Dancing Fire. Dancing Fire, this is Alina. She came seeking help.”
I stepped forward, suddenly self-conscious. His eyes had no warmth—only a cool, steady intelligence that unnerved me.
It was as if he already knew. Knew I was lying. Knew I wasn’t the victim I pretended to be.
I felt the distrust coil in my chest like smoke.
I didn’t like him.
Not one bit.
