He returned the nod, as did Dess and Oskaren.
“Oh my god,” she breathed. “We actually did it.” She swayed, blood rushing in her ears.
“We should get moving,” Oskaren said, surveying the town.
Legs aching, Thia trailed behind the others as they made their way back to where they had left their packs. Oskaren, fortunately, had ditched her pack at first sign of the attackers, so all she’d lost were her weapons. Dess let her keep the bow, and Thran gave her an extra sword and knife.
They set out, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the town as possible. Thia continued to glance over her shoulder, certain that, at any moment, more soldiers would appear through the trees. Mavrel stayed close, running his beak through her hair as though sensing her distress. They only stopped to rest as the sun dipped below the horizon, making camp among the densest brush they could find.
Exhausted, Thia fell to the ground. She let the others sort out the watches. Perhaps it was selfish, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She climbed into her bedroll, shutting out the world until sleep took over.
THIRTY
THE SOLDIER CHASED HER,BOOTS HEAVY AS HE CLOSED THE DISTANCE. Thia sprinted as fast as she could, but it was no use. Hands wrapped around her, pulling her into an iron chest. She was wrestled to the ground, an elbow cutting off her airway.
Then suddenly, an arrow appeared in her attacker’s throat. He let out a gurgling screech and collapsed onto her, his weight knocking the wind from her chest. The metallic reek of blood stung her nostrils; she coughed, trying to twist away as it spilled into her nose, her mouth, his body keeping her trapped. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as she was drowning in blood—
She woke gasping, her clothes and hair drenched in sweat. She sat up, glaring into the darkness, trying to see something, anything that would tie her to reality. But it was too dark, the dense foliage of their hideaway blocking out the stars, and the night was like blood, heavy and suffocating and—
“Thia.” Someone appeared in front of her.
“Dess?” She reached out, trying to feel them. Her hands brushed a face, sweeping gently along smooth skin bisected with a raised line, a scar….
“No, it’s Oskaren.”
“Oh.” She let go.
“Thia,” Oskaren said again.
Thia began to shake, the image of the soldier’s bloody throat all she could see. She reached out again, needing something to hold onto. Her hands found a shirt, and she clutched it, desperately, telling herself that Oskaren was real and the soldier was not.
Except—that wasn’t the whole truth, and that was why she couldn’t get control of herself. The soldier had been real. She hadn’t drowned in his blood, but she had felt it on her face. She had watched him die. His death had been the cost of her life.
She forced shallow breaths into her lungs, unwilling to cry in front of Oskaren.In and out. In and out.She focused on the sound.
And when she felt less likely to combust into a puddle, she became aware that she was clutching Oskaren’s shoulders, her face pressed against the girl’s chest. She turned a deep shade of red, grateful the darkness hid it. She cleared her throat and let go, settling back into her bedroll. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Bad dream.”
Rough hands brushed her cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle. “What happened?”
She blinked. Those were not the mocking words she was accustomed to. Those were—“Ren?” she asked. She wondered what had happened, what had triggered the shift, how long it would last.
Oskaren’s sharp cry of pain answered her question. She doubled over, gasping, her face landing in Thia’s lap.
Thia put a hand on the back of the girl’s head, fingers threading hesitantly in her dark hair. “Breathe,” she said softly. “You’re okay.”
Oskaren drew back. It was too dark to see, but Thia sensed she moved even farther away, which was confirmed when she spoke, voice distant. “Don’t—” she rasped. “Don’t call me that. I’m sorry.” Her breath came in gasps. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Thia said gently. And she was surprised that she meant it. It really wasn’t Oskaren’s fault, and no matter how much Oskaren pretended to not feel, no matter what Dess had said, Thia was coming to fear that the person she truly was might still be in there, screaming for release. She stayed as still as she could, listening for the sounds of the other girl’s breath. She could hear her panting and twitching in pain against the ground and wanted to go to her, but thought that might make it worse. Eventually Oskaren calmed.
Thia remained like that, awake and listening, long after Oskaren succumbed to sleep, lost in thought.
“I want to learn to fight,” Thia said.
It had been two days since Huckleton, two days of traveling through the same forest, of treading through creeks where they could and avoiding thick brush in an attempt to hide their trail in case the mayor’s soldiers were searching for them. They were stopped for an afternoon rest, Oskaren having gone in search of food, Thran munching a bit of what they still had on a log a few yards away.
Dess was beside her, and at her comment, he raised a brow. “You don’t trust me to protect you?”
She could tell from the quirk about his mouth that he was joking, so she said, “Not if you’re dead,” and that shut him up with a clack of his jaw. More seriously, she added, “I know I’m not going to become an expert overnight, but I’d rather know something, even if it’s just to have theslightestchance to defend myself if—”
