Page 102 of Fear the Flames
“I grew up in Feynadra,” she replies, tearing another piece of bread. Her hand pauses halfway to her mouth, “How does it feel…to be back here?”
“I’m fine.” I’m anxious, but I’ve never had an easy time talking about my feelings. I don’t always know how to receive comfort, and I don’t look for it anymore. Comfort can’t erase years of torture; I don’t think anything can. But achieving this mission might help.
No, it will.
It must.
Come what may, and may the gods have mercy on anyone or anything that dares, because I won’t.
I don’t know how to communicate that I’m anything other than fine. Whenever I try, it always feels like I’m burdening someone else with my emotions, so I just keep them to myself and keep pushing forward like I always do. Admitting I’m anything less than fine feels like defeat.
“Morning, ladies.” Cayden’s voice has an addictive rasp to it.
“How long have you been awake?” Saskia narrows her eyes at him.
He stretches his arms wide, biceps flexing under the thick leather material that covers them, and mirrors my sitting position beside me. “I slept like a baby.”
“Translation—you hardly slept.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t sleep enough.” I remember forcing him to sleep a few weeks ago. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
He waves a hand through the air while reaching forward to grab his satchel. He unscrews the lid from his canteen and takes a gulp of water. “It’s river crossing day; I could hardly contain my excitement,” he says in a monotone voice.
Finnian lets out an animalistic groan from the back of the cave, and I laugh at Saskia’s startled face. “He’s the worst in the morning,” I inform her.
“Is that a bear?” Ryder shoots forward and sleepily scrambles for a weapon.
“It’s a Finnian,” I answer. Saskia’s shoulders shake with laughter as she watches her brother untangle the cloak he twisted around his legs when he thought he was seconds away from being breakfast.
Finnian is the last of us to get his bearings, but we leave the cave soon after everyone wakes. I take careful steps down the side of the moss-covered cliffs. They’re much damper than they were when we ascended the mountain, and I keep my ears strained to listen for any signs of movement in the forest. Leaves crumple beneath my feet when I hop off the last cliff. We surge forward into the night. Moonlight cascades through the breaks between branches; it’s just enough for us to use while navigating.
Eventually, the forest blends together. No trees stand out from those around it, and I can’t focus on anything other than keeping my footing. The air gets cooler as we near the Emer River. We’re still a few hours away, but I can already feel the misty chill in my bones. The Emer is the longest river on the continent—stretching from the top of the Seren Mountains, bordering the Etril Forest, and all the way to the Dolent Sea. Legend says that the Goddess of Souls lives in the Etril Forest and that she sends mortals to the Emer to cry their tears of sorrow into.
Every human is broken in some way, whether for love or life, because we feel everything. We’re not like the gods. No matter how much we try to detach ourselves from emotions, they still grip us in their clutches. No matter how much I’ve forced myself to bury my own emotions, they still threaten to pull me under. It’s why the Emer is so vast; every soul has something to mourn.
The moon glides away from us, and the stars disappear. Morning light slithers into the sky, chiseling cracks in the darkness. The roar of water meets my ears, and I try to increase my pace but instead crash into Ryder’s back. A firm hand reaches out to grasp my arm. I’m yanked back, and something cool presses into my neck.
Cayden locks an arrow in his bow and points it at whoever my back is pressed up against. The stench of stale ale and sweat lingers in a cloud around me. Finnian also locks an arrow but points it at someone approaching Cayden with a sword, halting them in place. Saskia points a sword toward someone approaching Finnian. Ryder draws two short swords and faces three soldiers in the back while angling himself to protect Saskia. We’re outnumbered by two; they must have been sleeping here, which is why we didn’t hear them. We walked right into their camp.
“The more you press that knife into her, the more you suffer,” Cayden speaks in a deadly tone, though he never takes his lethal gaze off me. I drop my eyes to his elbow and then flash back up to his stare, hoping he’ll get my message. Finnian’s arms shake as he fights to keep his emotions at bay. If he freaks out, he can escalate this fight before the right moment. Over time, I’ve learned that fighting isn’t only about physical strength—it’s about timing and wit. Yes, strength helps, but it’s worthless if you don’t know how to use it.
“You’re trespassing in the Kingdom of Imirath,” the soldier’s voice vibrates against my back.
“I thought we were just taking a stroll through the forest,” I sigh. He presses the knife further into me, and blood trickles down the front of my neck in small beady drops. I don’t flinch when I feel it, but Cayden’s nostrils flare, and his teeth are going to break if he clenches his jaw any tighter.
“You have no proof of us trespassing, you brute,” Saskia shoots out.
“You’re not soldiers of Imirath, and you’re off the main road that citizens are taking. Call it an inkling,” says the soldier Finnian has an arrow pointed toward. I file the information about the road in the back of my mind.
“Well, aren’t you afinickybunch?” I use Finnian’s code name. I know he’s listening because his shoulders lift slightly, only enough for me to see. We’ve gotten into a lot of predicaments where we couldn’t outright communicate, so we figured out a solution—insult our attackers in code and hope they don’t kill us before we can decipher each other’s messages. “You should reallygobackhome and sleep off your moods.” His hands tighten around his bow, and I know he understands. Saskia is going to go for the person that has a sword pointed at Finnian, Cayden is going to go for the soldier behind me, which means I’ll go for the soldier behind him, and Ryder needs help taking on three soldiers. Luckily, Ryder didn’t let the soldiers breach the entanglement we’ve gotten ourselves into, so nobody has anything pointed at Saskia.
“Leave no survivors,” sneers the soldier behind me, tired of my sarcasm.
I wrap my hand around the soldier’s wrist and jam my elbow into his stomach before he can slit my throat. I push his hand away as I crouch down and throw a knife in the direction of Cayden’s assailant. It sinks deep into his chest with a deadly crunch. Cayden releases the arrow, which pierces the soldier’s neck exactly where he held a knife to mine. Blood gurgles up the soldier’s throat while he sinks to the ground. Finnian shoots his arrow, taking down one of the soldiers for Ryder, and Saskia slits the neck of the soldier that has a sword pointed at Finnian. Which only leaves two soldiers to take down.
“Well played,” Cayden praises me, turning toward the remainder of the battle. Finnian shoots another arrow, taking down another soldier. Ryder pulls his sword from the last soldier’s chest. He leans down to wipe the blood that coats his blade on the slain soldier’s cloak and returns his blade to its sheath.
“Likewise, soldier.” I turn toward Cayden when I’m sure nobody needs help, and all the soldiers are dead. His cold eyes drop to my neck. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He takes a step forward, gently swiping his finger across the cut. Displeasure coats his features. My throat feels tight, which is my usual reaction to his proximity. He’s looking at me like the only thing he cares about is making sure I’m okay. It’s so easy to get lost in him, his touches, his glances, his words. But I always have to find myself. The whole reason I’m standing in Imirath right now is because of my dragon link; it’s not because of who I am as a person. He’s with me because of my dragons, and I’m with him because of his army, but it’s getting harder to remember by the minute. He reaches into my bag and pulls a roll of bandages free as a set of footsteps approach us. I pluck the roll from his hand, ignoring the jolt that shoots through me as our fingertips brush.
