The Warrior's Curse (The Traitor's Game 3) - Page 5

I did not, could not. I stayed in front of the fire until long after it had burned itself out, trying to align my thoughts with my feelings. But that was utterly impossible. Nothing made sense; nothing was logical. And there was nothing I could see ahead except more confusion and heartache.

I finally lay down, hoping for a few hours of sleep until we could ride again. As soon as I did, beside me, Harlyn whispered, “That won’t be our last kiss, you know.”

I knew. I just wasn’t yet sure how I felt about it.

Somehow I had reached the end of another day that, for all I knew, might have been a thousand years long. Time was becoming impossible to measure. Had it really only been a single day? I genuinely did not know.

I was riding beside Loelle as she drove us in a wagon, she bundled in furs against the thick falling snow, and I in a simple gray skirt and white top with a light cloak. I held out my hand and let the flakes dance lightly upon my skin, amazed at how long it took for them to melt.

“It hasn’t snowed in these woods since the war,” Loelle comment

ed with a faint smile. “Snow is water and water is life. You’ve done this for us, Kestra.”

“There already was water in the forest,” I said, thinking of how I had brought Simon across the borders once to help him heal after a fight with a Dominion oropod. Foul creatures.

“My people created those ponds in the last moments before they were cursed,” Loelle said. “They hoped the healing waters might restore them. Those waters may heal the living, but they do nothing for half-lives.”

“Why won’t you allow me to heal them?” I asked. “Why only heal the forest?”

Without answering, Loelle pointed to a plume of smoke ahead. Beneath it was a chimney and tiny home built of rocks like others in the forest. She said, “That’s where we’ll sleep tonight.”

“Someone lives here?” I asked.

“Not all of the Navan were cursed,” she said. “And this particular boy is someone I very much want you to meet.”

My brows pressed together and I fell silent. Whoever this particular boy was, I didn’t like the tone of her voice as she mentioned him, as if this boy should be of particular interest to me. I only heard an echo of her lecture from a month ago, insisting that I let Simon go.

Loelle stopped the wagon beneath a wooden canopy that looked as if it had been recently built. For some reason, that irritated me. I hadn’t healed the trees here just so they could be chopped down.

“I won’t go inside until you tell me something about this particular boy,” I said to Loelle.

“His name is Joth Tarquin,” she said, as if that was all I needed to know. “He is a son of the Navan.”

“And?”

“And he’s eager to meet you.”

“Ah.” If that single fact was everything I needed to know, then that was plenty of reason to dread this visit.

I climbed out of the wagon and followed Loelle to the door. She knocked, then called her name through the door, which I hardly thought was necessary. Until this moment, I had believed she and I were the only fully living beings in All Spirits Forest. Joth Tarquin was evidently the third. I vaguely wondered if there were more.

A moment passed; then the door was opened by a handsome boy with keen blue eyes, and long black hair tied back with a band. He seemed to be near Simon’s age though he was taller and leaner in his build. His smile at Loelle was brief, lasting only until he noticed me at her side. Then the smile dissolved into a full glare. To Loelle, he said, “I told you not to bring her.”

“You said you weren’t ready for me to bring her,” Loelle replied. “That’s not the same thing.”

His glare shifted toward me, and I was more than happy to return it. “Let’s go,” I muttered.

“Where will you go?” Joth looked past us to the skies, from which thick snow continued to fall. He widened the door. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

With a quick smile, Loelle brushed inside as if the invitation to enter had been given with any sort of enthusiasm. I was more reluctant, keeping my place until he sighed and said, “You’re letting the heat out, so if you’re going to enter, then do it. I’ve got to shut the door.”

I grimaced but walked past him. Loelle had already removed her cloak and furs and set them near the fire to dry. She approached me, but I backed up. “I can do this myself.”

“Very well.” Loelle nodded at a pot of stew hanging over the fire. “Joth, might you have enough to share?”

He grunted and fetched a couple of bowls from a small table in one corner. He dished up a thin stew and gave us the bowls without spoons. Loelle took care of that, walking back to the table and getting one for each of us and, notably, taking the chair that Joth likely would have preferred, forcing him to sit across from me. He did but folded his arms and held a steady glare while he watched me eat.

This was absurd, and after a few bites, I’d already had enough. I walked the bowl over to the table, then crossed the room again to collect my cloak.

Tags: Jennifer A. Nielsen The Traitor's Game Fantasy
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