Page 123 of Reckless
He likely won’t believe it. Hell, I’m not quite sure what to believe either.
I’ve lived my entire life believing that the Ordinaries are diseasedand dooming us all. But this lie falls in line with father’s character, with his hunger for power and control. Not to mention how many Ordinaries were living among us for decades with no noticeable effects on our abilities.
It seems like such an obvious lie when you haven’t been living it your entire life.
She shifts against me, pulling her legs to her chest. A flash of red catches my eye, and I reach out to grab her leg. She’s about to protest when I lift her calf toward me to see torn pants and the arrow slice beneath.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I say calmly.
Her voice is as stiff as her body has become. “Because it’s just a scratch.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“No.” She sighs. “It bled. And I was doing a fine job at ignoring it until you brought it up.”
She shifts so I can see her face grow paler in the dim light as she stares at the dried blood. I grab the mutilated skirt and tear another strip of fabric from it. Then I carefully lift her leg over mine before rolling up what fabric remains of her pants.
I feel her eyes roaming my face as I wrap the strip of skirt around the wound, winding it tight before tying it off. “There,” I say simply. “Now you don’t have to look at it.”
She manages a small smile. “Thank you.”
My lips twitch. “That’s the fifth time you’ve thanked me now. Seems to be getting less painful to say.”
“What,” she scoffs, “you’re keeping track now?”
“I wouldn’t if it wasn’t such a rarity.”
She shakes her head, hiding a smile as she looks up at me. Short hair suits her. Though I’m quite sure there is little that doesn’t. But Ilike her like this—hair messy and lips quick to smile at me.
Her leg is still draped across mine, forcing her to sit sideways. I study her for a long moment before saying, “It was Adena, wasn’t it?”
Everything about her seems to shrink at the mention of her friend. “What about Adena?”
“The blood,” I say softly. “You never had a problem with it before…”
“Before she died,” she says bluntly. “Something about being covered in the blood of those you love—more than once—makes you unable to bear the sight, the feel, the smell of it. I guess… I guess Adena’s blood was my last straw.”
I nod, understanding in my own twisted way. My eyes travel over her, taking in the strength she fails to see. Her own piercing gaze is sweeping across my face, though I doubt she sees strength. Perhaps sin. Allegiance at best.
“We should get going, yes?” Her voice is deceptively cheery. “We mustn’t keep the king waiting longer than need be.”
I know that tone. She uses it every time there is talk of taking her back to Ilya.
Which is my duty. Taking her back to Ilya is my duty.
She untangles herself from my lap to stuff everything into her pack. The chain clanks when she stands to her feet, the sound a constant reminder of what it is I’m doing with her.
I follow, carefully pulling the bow across my uninjured shoulder. Glancing over, I find her gaze fixed on the ground, eyes wide with emotion. I follow her line of sight to see the dagger lying beside what was her long silver braid.
It feels as though she left a version of herself on the floor of this cave, another ghost to roam the Sanctuary of Souls. I bend to pick up her dagger, feeling the silver swirls press against my palm. How odd itis to hold a weapon with so much history in my hand.
“I won’t ever get it back, will I?” she asks dully.
I begin heading for the yawning mouth of the cave. “One day,” I promise.
“Bury it with me, will you?”
Her words make me stiffen, and it takes every ounce of strength to ignore them. When we step outside, it’s into late-afternoon sun. The road is rocky enough to jostle my shoulder and stretch the already throbbing wound there, making me dread each step. We walk in comfortable silence for a long while before she breaks with a casual, “You’re hurting.”
