“You give them too much credit,” I grumble.
“Maybe because you never give them enough …” Serik’s voice is soft, far from accusatory, but it still itches like a crusted scab.
“They haven’t earned it.”
“Haven’t they? When you step back and look at how far they’ve come—how much they’ve endured—it’s pretty remarkable.”
“Spoken like a true ‘hero of the people.’ ” I shake my head and tweak his freckled nose. “Did you come back here just to make me feel bad?”
“That, and it’s cold sleeping alone.” He shoots me a cheeky grin as he burrows into his blankets, pressing as close to me as possible without actually climbing into my bedroll.
“You’re never cold. And what about Azamat? Sounds like you two are getting close….”
Serik barks out a laugh. “Azamat is too bony to cuddle with—and have you smelled his breath?”
“It’s impossiblenotto smell his breath.” I chuckle. “I catch whiffs of it all the way back here.”
Serik’s arms snake around me, and I let myself melt into his warmth, press my face against his chest. “I’ve missed you, En,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You’ve done an excellent job leading the caravan,” I say.
He waves a dismissive hand, but his hazel eyes twinkle with satisfaction. “No one’s gotten lost, and the shepherds haven’t killed one another—andIhaven’t killed any of them—so I suppose it’s a success. You’ve done well too, shielding us.” He turns on his side so we’re face-to-face. His freckles blend together—a swipe of gleaming bronze across his nose—and I want to trace my finger over the dots. “But I still worry it’s too much, En. I see how your hands shake, how pale and hollow you look. How the darkness occasionally falters …” he adds, his voice gentle but his expression piercing. “Even the strongest warriors need help sometimes. And you have help. Right there.”
He nods over my shoulder, to where Ziva’s sitting on a low-hanging limb, trying for the thousandth time to fill her hands with darkness. When she inevitably fails, she tosses her hands up with a curse and nearly knocks herself into the murky water.
“Honestly?” I deadpan.
“I know you’re not keen on training her,” Serik says, “but I think it would be good for you both.”
“How would that be good for me? Look at her! I’m already exhausted, andthatwill make it even worse.”
“Perhaps initially, but it’ll ease your burden in the long run.”
I hope to the skies I’m not stuck with Ziva for the long run, but I know better than to say this out loud.
“And it would be good for the group,” Serik continues. “The shepherds may be more inclined to trust you if they see you trustingher.”
“It won’t make a difference,” I grumble. “They’ll despise me no matter what.”
“But they’ve never deliberately gone against your judgment….” Serik is quiet for a minute, his finger tracing tiny circles up my arm. “Why do they have toearnyour trust, En? You’ve always looked for the best in people and given your trust freely—until circumstances proved they were undeserving.”
I push away from Serik, shaking my head in disbelief because heknowswhy. He was there! That naïve, idealistic version of myself died when GhoaandTemujinandKartok rammed their knives into my back.
I stagger to my feet, ready to remind him of this, but before I can let my verbal daggers fly, a familiar screech fills the air.
My heart slams to a halt and I look skyward—at the streak of golden feathers diving into the trees.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ENEBISH
“ORBAI!”
Her name rips from the depths of my belly—as natural and instinctive as breathing.
Tears flood my eyes as I watch her weave gracefully through the trees. I’ve felt her absence like a missing limb. Like she tore out my heart and carried it away in her talons. But now it’s back.She’sback. And I’m whole.
I call her name again and run toward her, arm raised. So deliriously happy, I forget she could pose a threat—until she dives at King Minoak, resting quietly on his litter. Her talons rake across his chest, ripping off a wide strip of tunic—and skin—which she takes with her as she ascends back into the canopy.
