Page 47

They hiked through the forest for two more days. No young dakii. No strange hints at what might be causing things to change. Only the occasional patch of Beast’s Poppy, which Pyetar diligently noted on his map to have a group burn later.

They almost ran into the dakii a few times, or at least they thought so. But the packs moved around them just as quickly as Iryana had noted them, heading off in another direction. Perhaps not realizing they were there or perhaps avoiding them entirely.

Pyetar had enough raw magic left to maintain a good shield to hide his scent, but Iryana could barely shield hers, so he hadn’t bothered. Despite that, they didn’t have to fight the dakii once. It was strange.

She was starting to feel like they were wasting time, like there were better things they could be doing.

She enjoyed the time alone with Pyetar, especially returning to that same treehouse every night. But it felt like they were hiding. Sure, they flirted, enjoyed each other’s bodies, and talked about the mysteries of the dakii, but there were so many topics they should have spent the time on. He seemed just as happy as she was to stay in their own little world and lose themselves in each other. To pretend they wouldn’t ever need to walk away from the other.

She looked around at the forest, still exploding with the colors of autumn. Yellows and oranges, reds and deep greens. Even the dusting of snow and the brown of dying leaves and needles below only heightened the vibrancy above. Every gust of wind blew a cloud of color down from the canopy, and the temperatures were sharply dropping every day. The Falling Moon, indeed. Each sprinkle of snow brought them closer to real winter.

They really needed to think about heading back to the temple, and there were things Iryana wanted to say. Things she’d been putting off for days. Fear had kept those words trapped behind her lips. Pyetar had stopped to check what new direction they could head in next. She watched him check the map and then fold it back up. Now was as good a time as any.

“Pyetar?” she asked softly, leaning against a white papered birch tree.

He looked up, the map partly back into his pack. A comfortable smile graced his lips. “Hmm?”

Why was she so nervous to bring this up? Shame, probably. Guilt?

“You said you prefer to be open about things,” she started, holding the end of her braid in her hand. He’d been the one to braid it for her that morning.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I was curious why you haven’t brought up your brother.”

Pyetar froze, clenching and unclenching his hand. His demeanor shifted almost instantaneously. Shoulders tight, eyes flicking around but not landing anywhere near her, and jaw clenched.

“Nothing to say there.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How can there be nothing to say? You spent months trying to keep me away from him and failing. You know that we…” She didn’t even want to say the word.

“I’m not—can we talk about it another time?” He finally looked toward her, eyes practically pleading.

Iryana hesitated. “Will we get a better chance?” She looked around at the pine trees and the lack of people.

“I don’t want to talk about my brother.” Pyetar’s deep voice was hard. Stern. “Can that be okay for now? Please?”

She nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat. Tossing his bag back onto his back, Pyetar led on, Iryana trailing quietly behind him.

Her clan, his soldiers and allies… they’d all worked together to take over the 18th. But she had killed Karvek. Had challenged him. Pyetar had been okay with his brother’s death, but perhaps now he was feeling regret, wishing they could have imprisoned him instead. Karvek was family after all. It was reasonable for Pyetar to regret the death of his brother, no matter how awful he’d been. And perhaps it was also reasonable for him to resent her for it.

Pyetar knew very little about the time she spent with Karvek, but she’d told him once that she’d kissed him. It wouldn’t be surprising if he blamed her for that, too.

Pyetar was quiet as they hiked on, not chatting or flirting with her like he had been. He’d retreated inside himself. Iryana could only assume it was her doing.

After years of expecting people to push her away, of expecting to make mistakes, those expectations had done more damage than anything else. She was trying to do better. She was not going to rip herself apart thinking Pyetar resented her or blamed her for what she’d done. He hadn’t said so himself, so she would try not to think about it.

She focused on the forest instead.

Some of the birch trees still clung to their brilliant golden-yellow leaves, though the ground was painted with them. Iryana was surprised that the snows hadn’t started fully, that autumn still held on, but that would change soon.

The Falling Moon was halfway over, and the unforged had only been at the temple for three days; they would likely need weeks more to finish forging. But still, the longer Pyetar and Iryana were gone, the more questions there would be. It was irresponsible to avoid the temple much longer. And if they were going to avoid talking, there was little reason to stay out there when they were finding nothing.

“It’s probably time for us to head back to the temple,” she told him gently, reluctantly. The guilt in her throat weakened her voice. “I don’t think there’s anything else out here for us to find.”

“You’re probably right.” Pyetar looked toward her. “I could get us back late tonight. Or we could wait for morning.”

“Let’s get back tonight.”