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Her gaze flitted to Luka, fast asleep and completely innocent.

True or not, she wouldn’t give up on him, and if anyone should fight on his behalf, it should be her… but was she fighting for the Guardian, or its youngest vessel? And was it the Wraith, or her, pulling her in one direction or the other? Did that matter?

Lily looked at Draven. He hadn’t moved but was fiddling with the pendant of a necklace as he stared at the bookshelf.

“And you?” He glanced in her direction at the sound of her voice, but not at her. “How can you say he isn’t worthy of a Flare when you carry one yourself?”

“I carry it because it leaves me no choice.” Draven tucked the necklace back into his shirt. “But it did give me a second chance I won’t abuse for longer than necessary.” He headed toward the door and opened it, stopping halfway out. “Like you, Evelian, all I need is a little time.”

And the door shut.

Chapter Fifteen

Lilith was right about one thing: no one knew her.

According to Sterling, Kyer’s first lieutenant, she was, “complicated, if not a little manipulative,” and to Kyer himself, “harmless,” and “just having a rough go of it.” Jarek kept his mouth shut, nodding along every time Lilith was brought up, which wasn’t often. The Argent family had resolved to leave her out of their war. It was obvious she wanted to be left alone, and it was pointlessly time-consuming to track her down, regardless of how useful her potential was.

That was until word arrived that she murdered a member of the Reatian guard, presumably to kidnap Brialis’ heir in the Argents’ name. Suddenly, she was all anyone could talk about. Her simply being in Reatia doomed her as a traitor, conspirator with the north, then ex-conspirator, a liar, coward, and a mix of other descriptors that all sounded implicative of what Jarek understood Evelians to naturally be. Kyer and Sterling doubled down, as did Maude, Kyer’s daughter and second lieutenant, but with more ferocity in the choice words she picked for Lilith.

She was gone nearly a decade, and as far as anyone was concerned, she was a stranger. So when Jarek, after seven long months of searching, eventually located her at the edge of some backwater town holed up in a rickety shack, he was expecting something that amounted to all the talk, but was genuinely surprised to find the boy still with her, and thriving.

Even more so, truth rang behind Amalia Argent’s favorite phrase as she described Lilith from the depths of her gorge: “The Wraith is lost. Wandering in a foolish body the world is convinced isn’t needed.”

Of everything he heard, that seemed the most accurate, and it gave Jarek a deserved helping of guilt in his gut. Valen’s opinion, now deemed fact by many, did its damage. “Evelians are incapable of control over their actions, only competent enough to succumb to the destruction of the Wraith. Life need not end if not for its work.” Or something along those lines. Valen instilled bias into his children; Jarek knew this but rejected it too late.

“Bring her back,” Amalia told him at the top of her plethoric dais, sneering as she often did when speaking with him. She was a regal woman—tall, robust, with dark skin, long coiled locks, and a potent glare befitting of the vessel carrying the god of pain. “Do not hurt her, but she cannot continue acting of her own accord.”

The longer he watched Lilith, Jarek figured the whole mess in Reave might’ve been a misunderstanding for lack of a better word. His conversation with her a few days ago confirmed it for him. She actively went out of her way to avoid the Wraith—her body rippling in fear whenever someone approached too quickly and her hands were bare. She was naturally nervous despite her outward demeanor, relying on that gun for protection when she didn’t need it.

All the pair did was live day in and day out. No torture, witchcraft, scheming, or plotting. She wasn’t as conniving as everyone made her out to be, nor did he think she would argue some of the points made. Still, Jarek supposed all the words carried some truth, but after the events over the last few days, he was partial to Maude’s simple opinion out of them all.

“She’s a fucking problem.”

That’s all she’d been since he picked her up five days ago. Or had it been six? However long, the foliage was dense, the hike rugged, and this infernal section of the continent was far too hot day and night, even for the time of year. He’d planned the return trip to be streamlined, but he was more frustrated than ever. Between the heat, complaining, and the sour taste of Lilith’s hateful moods, Jarek couldn’t help but wonder if trying to do the right thing was worth it.

He picked a quiet and dry overhang near a pond for them to bed down for the evening. Jarek instructed them to stay with a little motivation from the Serpent, finding he hadn’t needed to twist their emotions quite as hard lately.

He took his rest out of sight, wishing he could actually sleep. Cooperative or not, she wasn’t trustworthy by any stretch of the imagination, and he didn’t feel like chasing her down or following through on a threat to make a point. He leaned back, head resting on his own bag, listening to their prattle. Lilith rationed out bread and dried fruit to the boy, then they went on about some folk story regarding the forest. Jarek zoned out, attempting to focus on the whisper of the breeze through the short, plentiful trees above him.

“…fix your feet?”

He frowned, listening again. The same word the boy used the day Jarek was waiting for them at their hut. He figured it was in regard to the Guardian’s ability to mend, and that left him curious—the influence from the Flares he seemed to succumb to the most lately. He waited for Lilith’s delayed reply, and she too repeated a word.

“Borrow.”

Jarek mulled over his questions until there was little light left in the sky, and the boy’s breathing indicated sleep. He held back further, simultaneously knowing and not knowing why the thought of speaking to her made him tense.

Grumbling, he found his way up and headed toward their camp. He wasn’t subtle about his movements, hoping not to surprise her, which he was pleased to find he didn’t, at least not outright.

She was hunched over, wrapping what he guessed was medical tape around the one boot she was wearing. Her other foot was bare, tucked under her body.

Since the start of the trek, she wore loose clothing. Today it was a pair of brown pants that stopped at her shins and a matching, short sleeved shirt. The boy was curled up next to her, a cloak covering him completely, like a blanket.

Lilith didn’t acknowledge Jarek, her short hair that barely reached the base of her nape obscuring her face. Probably for the best. Easing into the encounter might help.

He cleared his throat. “Evelian.”

Lilith’s lips parted, paused, then answered. “Hazevale.”