‘Well, there were the dire wolves and the Issen spirits that tried to make us kill ourselves.’
‘Seriously?’ He gawks at me in disbelief.
‘Yes, and believe me, the trials were nothing compared to the other Rettlings.’
‘Now this sounds like a story I need to hear.’
I use the rest of the journey to fill him in on it all, starting with how I used his fire bead within the first few minutes of arriving at the barracks to stop Zara from killing me.
‘Well, you never were great at making friends,’ he jokes.
His laugh is good-humoured but strikes somewhere deep behind my ribs. Despite all the chaos and drama, Ihadmade friends during the Retterheld. One particularly close one. Llinos. She and I shared one of the most genuine and easy friendships I can remember ever having, and now she’s dead. Because of me.
I think of Caroline and wonder how she is doing. Had Llinos survived the Retterheld, I would have no doubt that Caz would have left her position as scribe to ensure they wouldn’t ever be parted again. But now it’s hard to know if she’ll stay in Wrohelm when Benny goes, or if she’ll leave with him to return home.
The guards don’t bother checking us as we head outwards. They only care if you’re going somewhere above your station, where there’s a chance you might steal something or attack the palace. Like the rebels had.
I think again of Ruben’s friend Peter, with his smoke tattoo, and his eyes, wide and unseeing as he lay dead on the ballroom floor. But I don’t ask Ruben about it. Now isn’t the time to pry when he is so clearly anxious about Noleen.
Only a minute later we slow again, and Ruben pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket. As he unfolds it, a slight smirk rises on my lips.
I look at the squiggles drawn on the page. ‘Did you draw a map to your own home?’
‘Hey, I’ve only been here a few days. I bought the place with some of the winnings after the third trial, but it took a while to get moved in. And these streets all look the same.’
As we disembark, I continue to chuckle as Ruben studies the scrap of paper for a moment longer, shielding it from the elements against his coatbefore he points down a narrow street. ‘This way,’ he tells me confidently.
All around us, people are bustling about their days, even with the constant rain falling. Magic mingles with the scents of roasted meats and fires in the air, and a few people glance in my direction, but these are not the same judgemental stares I felt in the High Hold. There’s a curiosity in their gazes, a quiet respect.
Maybe this is a place I could move to. Get that ‘fresh start’ I keep dreaming about. The one I’m starting to doubt even exists.
Yet the thought of leaving my home again causes an unexpected twist in my stomach. There are too many memories waiting for me there, and for so long I have stifled them. Too many cobwebs, both figurative and literal, to dust away.
So maybe I’m not as done with the High Hold as I wish I could be.
‘Mum’s not been talking much sense recently,’ Ruben warns as he starts to slow his steps. ‘Don’t take it personally if she says something off-hand.’
‘I won’t,’ I assure him.
The sight of Ruben’s front door has me wondering exactly how much money he bet on me. And how much he won. And how he managed to secure a place like this so quickly in a city that does not make room for slum-born men without reason.
This is no cramped apartment tucked away in the lower rings. It is a proper house, solid stone with a wide frontage, the kind that speaks of coin and connections in equal measure. I suspect it is heated, too, a luxury I still find myself measuring out carefully.
The suspicion is confirmed the moment he pushes the door openand a wall of hot air rolls over us, carrying with it the scents of burning wood and something spiced and familiar. Warmth seeps into my bones.
‘Mum, I’m back. And I brought someone to see you.’ He looks at me like the sun rises in my eyes, and I shift uncomfortably. ‘Someone special.’
Chapter 5
Nerves fill me, though I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s the nice house – the reminder of how much Ruben risked on me – or maybe it’s the thought of poor Noleen and the worry that I might not be able to help her. It’s not like my money and magic are helping me right now.
Worse still is the anxiety that my magic might somehow worsen the situation. It’s not like it’s reliable.
Fear sits heavy beneath my ribs, a pressure that makes it hard to draw a full breath, but I push the sensation down to focus. Hand-wringing won’t help anyone.
Ruben gestures over to the corner of the room, where next to a roaring fire sits the huskof the woman I once knew, her shoulders collapsed inward as if even sitting upright is too much to ask. Yet knowing her own heating magic, I suspect the flames are more for symbolic comfort than for actual warmth.
Noleen’s magic is a stronger version of Ruben’s. Not only can she warm others, but she can also produce an actual flame. Only small ones, normally on her palm or at the end of her fingers, but even the smallest sparks are enough to start a fire if you’ve got the right kindling.
