Page 20 of Light Locked
“I can do it,” Clea replied without pause.
“Humph.”
“What is it?” She leaned sideways to catch his expression. Clea gripped the straps of her bag in frustration. “You know, we will need to work together to succeed!”
“You mean you will have to completely rely on me to succeed. You clearly don’t understand your position.”
“My position? Of course, I do! I’ve nearly died here before!” she exclaimed.
“That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you think it does,” he said back. “Your people have no sense of self-preservation. I’msurprised you tattoo your city crests on your wrists and not your foreheads for the world to see.”
“You’re so indecent about traditions you clearly don’t understand,” she criticized.
Clea stopped when he whipped back to face her. He leveled his gaze with hers, and she tensed.
“Decent doesn’t survive,Your Highness,” he breathed, allowing the final word to linger like it were an excuse to bare his teeth. His breath felt strangely cold.
Clea leaned back on her heels, searching his face for any real hostility before noticing how his canines were the slightest bit more pointed than the average person, his teeth white as a wolf’s. She tried to remember if she’d heard any stories of Kalex biting people.
“Don’t forget that,” he finished, and drew away from her.
She stared at his back as he walked off. Biting her lip, she fastened her hands onto the shoulder straps of her bag. Her eyes ascended to the treetops, and she drowned the terror that his warnings had started to stir in her again. She took a tight breath, pushing away any reminders of the reaper’s claws and the losses she was leaving behind.
She walked briskly after him as he disappeared behind the trees.
Chapter 8
The Fire
CLEA AWOKE WITH a loud gasp. Her heart pounded, a droplet of sweat traveling along her brow as she sat up and wiped her face. Ryson was sitting beside the fire. She was relieved to see him, having only a vague recollection of her nightmare, which seemed to make the experience that much more daunting. The memories of their travels came flooding back to her. She exhaled. “A dream.”
“A nightmare,” Ryson corrected, tossing a nearby twig into the fire. He watched the flames dispassionately as they danced and crackled. “Expect many more to come. It’s the forest’s way of contributing to your exhaustion.”
She released an exasperated sigh. She remembered how they’d set up camp last night. She’d eaten, and had been eager to sleep. Her experience discouraged her. They’d been traveling for over a week, and the forest was now following her into her dreams. There would be no escaping it. Granted, she’d take nightmares over beasts, and oddly enough, there had been no signs of the latter.
When she left Virday on her own, it had only taken a day for the reapers to find her. Maybe Ryson’s navigating skills were really that spectacular, but it was still vaguely unsettling. Shekept waiting for something to jump out of the trees, especially since he insisted on lighting a campfire every night.
She appreciated the light and the warmth, but it seemed oddly counterintuitive seeing as he never did anything but watch it burn. She knew the medallion was partially to blame for her nervousness. The medallion’s effects on her ability to recover her ansra were weighing heavily on her. Normally, she would have recovered enough ansra by now to fight off a reaper hoard. Instead, she was barely at half-strength, going to sleep tired and waking up only slightly less tired. It was like fighting off an infection, which she imagined her body was doing in its own way.
Shivering, Clea pulled the black cloak closer around her. She glanced at it in confusion and looked up at Ryson. “You gave me your cloak?” she asked.
“You were shivering,” he replied.
She smiled at him. “Thank you. But aren’t you cold?”
“No.” He poked and prodded at the flames with a stick. He was still wearing the same clothes as always and never seemed to change, day or night. Maybe some Kalex just didn’t sweat or smell.
Oval contraptions fixed into the folded knee of his boot reflected the firelight with a distinct brightness. Earlier in the week, she would have considered asking him what those parts of his boots were for. She knew him well enough now to know it would be best to find out on her own.
He wore the same clothes religiously, and yet none of them seemed to be functional. His jacket had but one sleeve,exposing a bandaged arm. It had multiple collars, one of which was folded over his chest with yet more straps. The jacket itself had no buttons, simply a long belt that wrapped the waist twice before stopping beneath his bandaged arm. And the bandages on his arm. What in cien’s name were those for? Wide coattails that extended to the backs of his knees hinted that the design followed a fashion of sorts. Perhaps it was a Kalex trend? There were so many sub-groups and classes of them, Clea was constantly reminded of what little she knew.
“Your clothing is strange,” Clea blurted out.
“You never really think before you speak, do you?” Ryson asked.
She scooted closer to the flames as she folded her legs. She shrugged the cloak farther over her shoulders and noticed something stuck in her hair. She fished it out, inspected it, and then tossed it into the fire. “Interesting choice of words coming from you. I didn’t mean it as an insult. Strange isn’t bad.”
“I think before I speak,” he said, “and I would beg to differ that most Veilin don’t see things that way.”
