Page 24 of Fear the Flames
Cayden moves first, twirling the quill in his long fingers before dipping it into the ink pot and scribbling his name at the bottom of the page. His hand breaches the space between us, holding the quill out for me. The tips of my glove-covered fingers brush against his. I blame the tingles that travel through me on my burns and nerves.
“I suppose it’s time to find out how honorable your intentions are,” I say while signing my name beneath his. Everyone around us claps their hands as I place the quill back on the stone slab.
“Believe me, Elowen,” he says, drawing my attention away from everyone else, “my intentions are never honorable.”
His long legs stride away from me, and his presence is soon replaced by Ailliard. His eyes have a hint of pride to them, but I doubt he’ll ever state it. “You should eat something,” Ailliard suggests.
“I didn’t bring any food from home,” I confess. I gave whatever I had to Nyrinn and the orphanage before I left.
“They’re cooking deer. General Neredras informed me other patrols were successful this morning.” I’ve been so preoccupied with everything else that my brain didn’t register the scent of cooking meat. It makes my mouth water. The last thing I ate was the fruit I had with Nyrinn. As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. Ailliard laughs softly, “Come along.”
I sit between Ailliard and Jarek on a log while one of Cayden’s soldiers comes over to hand me some food, which I gratefully take. It’s a tough piece of meat, but it’s edible. The man seems kind; he tells me he’ll set some aside for Finnian for whenever he wakes up. He was with us during the battle, but I didn’t witness anyone from Vareveth’s fighting skills aside from Cayden’s sharp aim. Jarek’s thigh brushes against mine, making me jump slightly. He clearly doesn’t understand the definition of personal space.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I feel a set of eyes on me again. My gaze dances over the soldiers surrounding me, but everyone seems to be preoccupied with their dinner or talking to one another. A few people glance my way, but it’s nothing noteworthy. I expect curious glances. It’s not every day an heir essentially rises from the dead.
“I’m going to check on Finnian,” I state while walking away.
“Do you need a guard?” Jarek asks.
The last place I want to be is in a dark corner with Jarek. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Crouching down beside Finnian again, I unravel the bandage around his leg and toss it to the side. The tonic is helping, but he’ll need another round of it before I rewrap the wound. My satchel is still in my saddlebag. I get to my feet, sticking to the perimeter of the temple. The pieces of fallen ceiling make it easy to walk unnoticed. Technically I don’t have to hide anymore, butI’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.
I make it out of the temple but don’t even make it down one step before I hear him, “Going somewhere?”
“Oh gods, I forgot to tell you.” I raise my hand to lightly smack my forehead while turning in place. “I’ve decided to run away.”
Cayden shrugs while cutting the distance between us, “I do love a good chase.”
I roll my eyes at his response. “I’m just going to get my healing supplies. Do you need to sign traveling papers for me to walk down the steps?”
“The two of you are going to be an absolute pleasure to work with,” a voice grumbles behind me. “I’ll get it.” Ryder’s back comes into view as he steps around me and bounds down the steps. The silence is heavy between us in Ryder’s wake. Usually, I enjoy silence. I hate forcing conversations, but there’s this unsettling energy between us that makes me jumpy. Every second that ticks by feels like a minute. It feels like an hour has passed by the time Ryder gets back.
“Thank you,” I say while taking the satchel from him and slinging the leather strap over my shoulder. He gives me a curt nod in response and sticks his hand out for the handshake I promised him. I place my hand in his, but a searing pain shoots through me when his fingers close over mine. I yelp and jerk my hand back. His obsidian eyes widen, and his brows draw together. Cayden grabs me by the elbow and spins me toward him, ripping one of my gloves off to reveal my red, blistering skin.
“What the fuck,” he growls through gritted teeth as his hazel eyes blaze with anger. This feels a lot like a glare he probably gives his soldiers when they do something wrong, but he needs to remember that I’m not one of them. His glares don’t make me shake in my boots the same way it makes his soldiers react.
“It’s just a few burns.” I try to step away, but his hand stays firm on my elbow. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re covered in burns that obviously hurt,” he keeps his tone low. Nobody aside from Ryder can hear us, but his frustration is evident. Using his other hand, he takes off my second glove to reveal equally mangled skin. “You’re a healer, and you didn’t think to bandage yourself? Is that why you’ve been wearing gloves this entire time?”
Make better decisions, Elowen,Ailliard’s voice echoes in my mind, which only increases my frustration. “Stop talking to me like that. I had my reasons.”
“Then give me some answers,” Cayden demands.
“I didn’t heal my hands because I didn’t want to waste medicine on myself. Are you happy now? You have your answer.” I yank myself out of his hold and take a step back. “My injuries aren’t life threatening, and I can handle pain. Someone might need it more than me.” Like Finnian needed it today. The scowl still mars his face as his cool, calculating gaze travels over me. I can practically feel him trying to define me in his head. He’s a military man, a strategist. His job is to decipher things.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I tell him.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”
I expect him to smirk or give a snide comment back, but he doesn’t. He stares at me a beat longer before turning toward Ryder, “Can you grab the medical bag?” Ryder doesn’t answer; he just takes off into the temple.
“I can use my medicine if the burns worsen.”
“No,” Cayden shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that way. Besides, it’s hard to heal your own hands.” I wonder if he’s speaking from experience. Given his position, he most likely is. The pinch of sadness in my chest propels my feet forward, and I take a seat at the edge of the temple, dangling my feet over the side.
