Page 59 of Katya and the Young God

Instead of facing Selene, facing the look of horror in her eyes, he turns away from her, hoisting his bag up and testing the knotted rope.

Another trail they’re going to have to get the child up.

“We’re too tired tonight,” Feketer intervenes, before anyone can start to say anything, start to establish an order or anything. “This is a better area to sleep than anywhere up ahead.”

“And we don’t know if the earthquake changed anything up there,” Katya says, loud, not liking to agree with him but feeling the bone deep ache spread through her body. “It’s safe here, let’s stay.”

Selene fists a gloved hand in the back of Katya’s shirt, and she can’t tell if that’s her agreeing or disagreeing, but she doesn’t say anything, instead just looking over at the dead bodies in the corner with something resembling longing, something resembling sadness, and something resembling fear.

* * *

Selene falls fast asleep as soonas they start to dim the lights, her small form curled up between the wall and Katya, her fingertips touching the white stone in her sleep.

Katya doesn’t trust that the others won’t try anything, so she sits upright on her sleeping mat, and catches Pieter shifting, before he sits up as well.

No one else is the room moves.

She scoots over, and without her needing to ask, he sits next to her, slumping against the wall of the bowl-like room, his eyes weary in the dim light of the glow stick.

“How’s everything?” She asks, gesturing vaguely at him.

“Awful,” he says, leaning his head against the stone. “I can’t believe they threatened you.”

“I can,” Katya says, grim, reaching down and finally taking off her boots. “They saw an opportunity when I was caught off guard, you were possibly buried or dead, and they took it. In opposite positions, it was a good tactical move.”

He squints at her, like she’s the morally weird one, but it’s such a familiar look she gets from all her friends that it doesn’t really bother her.

“I’m just pissed I didn’t see it coming,” she says, tugging off her boots and fisting her toes in her socks. “It’s the most logical course of action, if they’re thinking to kill her.”

He shakes his head at her. “The most logical course of action would be if they befriended her and tricked her into killing you,” he says, and she doesn’t like that he’s also right in that. “Then they’d have the loyalty of a god and not have to worry about anything.”

There’s just a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“That’s dark,” she points out, and he squints at her again.

“It wouldn’t work very well, that much is obvious,” Pieter says, his voice smoothing over, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re far too motivated to do right, even a child can see that.”

A glance down to the child in question shows she’s sleeping peacefully, mouth parted open, and it brings to question why gods even need sleep, a question that Katya pushes away for contemplation at a different time, one when she’s not so bone-tired.

“How much do you think she understands?” Katya whispers, resisting the urge to brush away the stray hairs on Selene’s forehead. “I don’t know if she understands death, understands what happens.”

He follows her gaze, shifting slightly, and she should be scared of how close he’s sitting. “More than we do,” he says, and she can see the lines of exhaustion in his eyes. “Probably more than any philosopher or Demigod ever did, probably more than any ghost or ghoul does. Just...differently.”

He falls silent, the lines of a scowl in his cheeks, but she’s too tired to say anything, too tired to have any emotion besides exhaustion.

* * *

She had somehow fallen asleep slumpedagainst him, and it’s only too much self-control that stops her from recoiling away from the sensation of leaning against another person.

So she opens her eyes instead of moving. A few headlamps are on, bobbing in the dim lights, but no one comes near them. Hushed whispers, too low for her to hear, but echoing with a sleepiness that belies more early morning than conspiracy.

Selene is still asleep, a quick glance shows, a hand still touching the stone wall, but the rest of her is curled up, asleep. Even her brow is smoothed over.

Pieter’s breath isn’t the rise and fall of someone asleep.

Katya straightens, and he rolls his neck away from her, as if working the kinks out. “Did you stay up awake all night?” She asks, and her voice rasps from the dust. She’s going to have a murder of a sore throat when she gets out.

“No,” he says. Simple.

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