“Fine. Yes,” she cut out, if only to make him stop. “But it was because you let me believe you were someone else. Took advantage of it.”
Pyetar gave a cold, humorless chuckle. “You assumed. It’s not my fault you couldn’t recognize a soldier.”
“You could’ve corrected me. And not flirted back.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d care who I was?” he shot back. “You were the one talking about that private storage room and—”
“Stop,” she demanded, cheeks blazing. She looked around, but no one else was close enough to hear.
His expression didn’t soften. He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head slightly, watching her like he was bracing for her next swing.
“You didn’t mind the attention then,” he said. “Before you knew who I was.”
“That was before I knew what kind of man you are.”
Pyetar flinched—barely—but it was there.
“We all do what we have to,” he said, hard and quiet.
Iryana looked out at the spikes and drying black blood.
“I’ve bled for this fort just like you have,” she pointed out. “And I’m not going anywhere. So you can either keep trying to shove me out, or start dealing with the fact that I’m not yours to order around.”
Pyetar’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t say anything as Iryana grabbed her things and turned back toward the fort, her hands no longer shaking.
Chapter Fifteen
The shadows seemed to taunt her, waving and crawling as wind blew through the budding leaves. With only the first slender sliver of the Greening Moon in the sky, the night was near impenetrable. With the sliding shutter mostly closed to hide her presence, the lantern she carried barely illuminated a few trees ahead of her.
Iryana kept her back glued to the fissured, pale bark of the linden tree. The branches were still bare of heart-shaped leaves.
She clung to her bow and the lantern.
This was a spot she and her sisters had come to multiple times with their mother before things got too bad with their father. Those trips were some of the few times they saw Hadima—she was so busy studying to be a healer. There were rarer plants nearby that were important for her mother’s tonics, but it was also a relatively safe spot to have a picnic. Those memories, which should have been good, now just brought her pain.
Listen to the trees, my little owl.Her mother had said that so many times, pulling Iryana into her lap as she rebraided her hair. Iryana could remember thefeel of her mother’s fingers against her scalp, slowly working out the tangles, as she named the creatures that sounded around them.
Iryana couldn’t focus on things like birds, deer, and sables now, her single focus being listening for her sister.
Hadima was late.
In her stillness, Iryana couldn’t stop imagining what could have held her sister up. Had she forgotten or had she run into trouble on the way there? Was she even now fighting off a beast? Was she lying against a tree somewhere, bleeding out?
Stop. You’re spiraling.
But she wouldn’t be able to wait much longer; she had to get back to the fort before morning. While it had taken almost eighteen hours to make it from the Dovaki Post to Myura River Fort before at Pyetar’s limping pace—all the snow, mud, and the breaks he had needed to take had really slowed them down—she could cover the distance much quicker on her own. Once the ground dried out more and she was familiar with the path, Iryana bet she could jog to the post and back in about six hours. But even though their meeting place was only two-thirds of the way to the post, it was dark and slick enough that it would take the rest of the night to head back.
“Iryana?” came a familiar voice from the trees.
Iryana nearly sagged with relief.
The shadowed figure of her sister slipped through the trees. Finally. Iryana’s hands slightly loosened their grip.
A deep breath, and then Iryana answered, “I’m right here.”
Hadima rushed over to her, a large basket and a short bow awkwardly strung over her shoulder. She looked tired, more tired than usual, with shadows under red-streaked eyes. Her braid was loose, her brown scarf already slipping down. Iryana’s usually composed sister was a mess. Despite that, Hadima’s gaze carefully traced all over Iryana.
“How is it going with the brigade?” she asked.
