Chapter 6
ABlacksmith?
I’ve never seen one of them up close to know if she has any of the physical traits that might be particular to them. Although… the color of her hair is unusual… but it’s not unknown for humans to have hair so silvery white…
More than anything else, it doesn’t make sense to me that her own people would hit her, bind her, and leave her to die in a pit of decaying bodies.
My immediate response is filled with denial. “Why would they kill one of their own?”
“It happens.” Father is unwavering. “If they left her in that pit, then it means they want her dead.”
My brow furrows because the way Father’s talking… “You knew the pit was there?”
His jaw clenches, but he continues to hold my gaze. “The safe zone exists for a reason, Son. It’s not something I ever wanted you to see.”
I know that everything he does—every decision he makes—is to keep us alive. We’re caught between two worlds: the one we left behind and the one of which we skirt the edges.
“Regardless, they’ll check up on her body,” Father continues. “They’ll discover she’s gone and come looking for her. That puts us all in danger.”
My brother’s interjection is quiet. “What if they already did? Came looking for her, I mean.” He gestures around at the butterflies. “Somebodydisturbed these butterflies.”
Father gives this some thought but says, “It’s too soon. Erik only just brought her here and the butterflies were disturbed earlier than that.” He scratches his chin. “Unless there’s a chance she fell into the pit? Maybe she ran off into the snow and lost her way? If her people are out searching for her, then, yes, it could have been they who disturbed the butterflies.”
I shake my head. “There’s blood on her face where she was struck?—”
“But by what? A fist or a falling tree branch?”
“—and rope burns around her wrists.”
At that, Father falls silent. Then, “Rope burns, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
He exhales heavily. “Then they want her dead and there’s nothing we can do about that. I’m sorry, Son?—”
“I’m not taking her back.” My voice snaps across the air, more loudly than I should have spoken when danger lies in every part of this forest.
My arms close tightly around the woman, and the anger I’ve been pushing away is rising far too fast.
Thoren takes a step away from me.
My father’s eyes widen and his lips part with a sharply indrawn breath.
Both of their faces have drained of color.
Father’s left hand rises in a wary gesture while his right hand moves to the hilt of the hunting knife resting at his waist.
“Erik.” His voice is tense, heavy with a fear he’s never shown when he looks at me. “Your deep light is burning, Son.”
I stiffen, only now aware of the sapphire tinge at the corner of my vision. The light I’m trying to keep caged must be glowing beneath my coat and across the edges of my jaw.
Well, at least this small spark of light will banish any sickness that might have otherwise taken hold from the leopard’s bite. I can sense the warmth in my arm as it cleans my blood. No need to seek my father’s opinion about that any longer.
But using more than a spark is too much.
Deep light builds more slowly than it burns. I can’t afford to waste any of it.
With great determination, I push it down; a difficult task when every instinct in my body is raging at the idea of putting this woman back into that pit.
