Page 40 of Ruthless Scoundrel
She tries again and again, burning up all the husk before it can catch the log. Her tenacity is inspiring, and I find myself watching her instead of doing something useful.
She growls loudly at herself on the tenth or so failed attempt.
“Let me,” I offer.
“Get bent,” she snarls at me.
I sigh. “If you fuck up any more, we’ll be out of dried husk on the whole island, and there’ll be no fire tonight. How does raw fish sound to you?”
She seethes for a moment, then throws a bit of the brown husk down toward the charred log and storms toward the surf. I wedge a rock into the log where it’s cracked from her flames, then hammer it with another until it splits. I lean the logs against one another, prepare the husk, and then spark it with my flint. It catches quickly and blazes to life.
I liberally season the fish—because unseasoned food is a crime—then realize we’ve lost all our water, and I’m ready to drain the sea.
“We need coconuts,” I say in her direction.
Either she’s ignoring me or didn’t hear me over the waves. I don’t want to push her any further before she’s fed since she does get quite cranky, so I head into the forest seeking more coconuts on my own. She’s not escaping me tonight.
I don’t have to go far to find a decent cache and bring several back to the beach. Reina is drawing in the sand when I return, marking runes around our camp.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Just setting some protections,” she says.
“Protections?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know many, but my big sister Lily taught me a few before she left for school.”
She pulls her finger through the wet sand, making the shape for Eng, Kor’Tar’s shield, protecting us from harm. I imagine this is something she’s done around her doorframe before, and the thought sends a cocktail of emotions through me. Anger that she has to use it in the first place, but also pride—though I haven’t any right to feel it—that she learned how to protectherself. I’m also worried that when I send her back, she’ll have to use it again. What if it fails?
I trace the sand after her, adding accents and additions to her runes that specify the punishment of transgression—getting dragged into the sea—and alert us to the offender with a flare of blue light.
Reina looks at me curiously. “You rune-write?”
I nod. “My father was adamant that I learned the gods’ words.”
“What don’t you know…” She scoffs and returns to her drawing.
“A lot of things,” I say, following her through the sand to enhance her designs. “I don’t know much about the land, or Ki’ah Ohn.”
“Then illuminate me on your few failings so that I might feel better about the swath of mine,” she says spitefully.
Our hands carve through the wet sand together, protecting our camp. To think that she believes she’s deficient. Untrained, yes, butlacking, never. So I must make her understand that everyone has shortcomings, and that doesn’t make them any less worthy.
“I don’t know much about your many different cultures: dances, how to make your food or clothes—though I do know the Illyan seasoning makes fish delightful—but you understand my point. I don’t know how many of your machines work, or what theater is—”
Her hand halts mid-Phi, a rune for sweet dreams. She must be having nightmares.
“You don’t know theater?”
“I knowwhatit is, but I’ve never experienced it.”
“I’ve been to the theater more times than I can count.” She looks at me with a bright grin. “It was one of the things my mother allowed me to do. I could show you some.”
I sit back, abandoning the runes. I doubt anyone will attempt to infiltrate our camp, but if they do, it’s already well protected.
“Will you show me?” I ask, smiling back at her.
She gains her feet and stands with her back to the sea. The sun casts bright orange and pink across the sky above her, and the surf washes the sand with gentle laps.
