Page 29 of Until the Stars Fall

CHAPTER 15

Lieke

Gritting my teeth, I focused on the corner post of my tent as Raven removed the bandage from my side. Studying the wound, she blew out a slow breath.

“You’re getting better with your stitches,” she said. “Nice and even, and it’s healing nicely.”

“Better than the ones on my back that I couldn’t reach,” I said flatly, shifting in my seat. Raven’s reasoning for not helping me close my wounds seemed logical enough, but it was difficult to appreciate the lessons she taught when I was nursing painful gashes and tears with nothing more than an herbal salve and bandages.

Raven didn’t seem to notice my jaded tone. “True. Those scars will last years longer, but scars aren’t bad as long as you’re willing to learn from them.”

I swung my chin around to face her, not bothering to hide my frustration. “Sometimes it seems like the only thing I’m learning is not to turn my back on a friend.”

The corners of her mouth turned down as she raised her brows high. “That may be one of the more important lessons to take away from this, but certainly not the only one. I get that you’re bitter. I was too when I was in your position, but trust me. You’ll appreciate this when—if—you ever find yourself in that situation again.”

That situation.

Thankfully the nightmares had become less and less frequent, but the memory of Griffin’s fingers lifting me up off the ground, choking the life out of me, refused to leave me alone completely. Three years later, and it still tormented me. Raven was right. I never wanted that to happen again. I never wanted to be helpless and weak.

“Look on the bright side, though, Lieke,” Raven said, securing a new bandage over my stitches and stepping in front of me. “You’re improving in your defenses. You’re sustaining fewer and fewer injuries.”

She wasn’t wrong. This cut in my side had been the first I’d sustained in over a month. The first non-superficial one anyway. I had come so far in my skills, and I owed all of it to Raven. Yet all I did was sulk and let my bitterness fester.

For all the times I’d wondered why my mother would send me here to endure this, I’d rarely allowed myself a moment to be grateful for it. But I had to admit I was stronger. I was faster. I was more resilient. I was more confident.

Because of Raven.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, dropping my chin to my chest.

“For what?”

“For being so unappreciative.”

Raven laughed softly. “It’s okay, Lieke. I expected it. It’s part of the job. But I’d take your scowling at me every day for the rest of my life over what is about to happen.”

My eyes widened. What more could she possibly do to me? I’d already been isolated for days on end, left to fend for myself in the forest for weeks, forced to stitch my own wounds without numbing herbs. All so I could learn how to survive, to push myself mentally through pain and hunger and fear.

A sad smile spread across Raven’s face. “This time it really will hurt me more than you,” she whispered. “You’re going home, Lieke.”

My heart leaped into my throat, cutting off my breath. Home? Three long years, and I was finally going home. It was all I’d wanted since I arrived, but an ache lodged itself in my chest. What waited for me back there besides loneliness and rejection?

“I wish you could come with me,” I said, pressing my lips together to keep them from trembling.

“Me too. I’d love to catch a glimpse of that prince of yours,” she said, mischief sparking in her eyes.

“He’s far from mine,” I corrected, ignoring the sharp sting of that truth.

“Yet,” Raven said. “Wait until he sees how you’ve grown. He won’t be able to ignore you any longer.”

I couldn’t keep myself from snorting. “I think you underestimate my fae competition, Rave. New skills or not, I’m still just a human.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Justa human. You say it as if it’s a weakness, like we truly are the lesser creatures they believe us to be. And I know you don’t believe that, Lieke. Even if you don’t share most humans’ hatred for the fae.”

Leaning back in my chair, I lifted my eyes to the ceiling of the tent. “It would just be easier if I could get over him.”

I didn’t bother to mention how difficult this had proved to be. Every time I’d contemplated the reasons he couldn’t be with me, every time I’d been close to convincing myself we were an impossibility, something seemed to tighten around my heart and pull me right back to myneedfor him. Three years away from him hadn’t cured my affliction, and I was beginning to think there was no cure, that I would simply have to learn to live with this pain forever.

“Would it help if I told you he’s spoken for?” she asked quietly.

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