Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(82)

“What if I asked you to stay at the castle,” I say.

His derisive laugh is short, confused. He rests his fists over his sword belt as he answers. “Why, that would be ludicrous.”

“Exactly.” I feel the rough bark under my fingertips as I skirt around a tree.

“You think they’re the same thing? Me asking you, and you asking me?” he asks slowly.

“I can protect myself,” I say. He stops and drags me behind a tree. Uniformed Bruma march past us on either side. He won’t dare touch me. Not with so many curious eyes.

“That’s why you’re angry?” he asks blankly.

“Of course,” I say, exasperated. Has he not been listening at all?

He tilts my chin up. “Since the Dome there’s never been a doubt in my mind as to your fighting ability,” he says. His eyes darken. “I believe you capable of protecting yourself. I just don’t want you to be put in the situation where you need to do so.” He releases my chin.

Finally, progress. “I see. I’m glad we understand each other,” I say.

He nods. “So am I. You can return to the castle with the next messenger and your guard,” he says.

“What!” I blurt.

He stops in his tracks. I note —with rage—he has the audacity to appear puzzled.

“Let me make it clear to you, King Jovan,” I snap. “I will not be returning to the castle until the Solati are turned around.”

He looms down at me, his face in front of mine. “Then you will be locked away at the start of battle!” he says, eyes blazing.

I lock wills with him, angry beyond words. “Just try it,” I finally get out.

“It will be my fucking pleasure.”

I turn and stride away. My guard close ranks on me as I move away from Jovan.

“Pig-headed bloody Bruma,” I mutter under my breath.

Ice scoffs. “You can do better than that, girly,” he says. “What about piece of shit-faced wank—” he quiets as King Jovan stalks past the group.

“You were saying?” Shard asks Ice politely.

A reluctant smile crosses my face as the others laugh.

*

We don’t stop until the sky begins to dim and the snow is nearly gone. Glacium receives its light from the glow of the fourth’s fire on Osolis. Each night as the smoke rolls out from the Fourth Rotation of my world, Glacium also darkens. It takes the Kaur trees on Osolis most of the night to suck the smoke back and lighten the skies once more. One of the numerous wars between our worlds occurred when my ancestors cut down too many Kaur trees and cast Glacium and Osolis into darkness for three revolutions.

I stand next to my brother and watch with interest as triangle shelters are erected around us. They are a rudimentary form of the shelters seen in the Ire.

“What are they doing?” Olandon asks.

“Putting up tents,” calls Sanjay from where he hammers a bit of wood into the ground.

“Tents,” Olandon says with interest. I narrow my eyes, waiting for Sanjay’s story. I haven’t forgotten his lie about the piggies.

“You sleep in them,” he says simply. He demonstrates this to my brother, crawling into the erected structure. I see several men doing the same. He’s telling the truth; I relax.

“Huh,” grunts Olandon. He moves forward to get a closer look.

“You’ve just got to make sure you peg them down right,” Sanjay continues, looking around with anxious, jerky movements. “The mist around here has a strong, sage-like smell to it. It sends you into a deep sleep if it gets into your tent. If you inhale too much, it can kill you.”

“Why would Jovan come through here?” I ask, wide-eyed.

Sanjay gives me a grave look over his shoulder. “He’ll have his reasons, Tatuma. In the meantime let’s hope there’s no fog tonight.”

“That’s worrisome to the extreme,” Olandon says quietly as Sanjay moves away.

I nod, arms folded. The sage mist must act in a similar way to smoke. My attention is distracted by Ice, who appears to be having a fit.

“Are you all right?” I ask. He wipes at his eyes furiously. More tears appear as quickly as he can wipe them.

“Don’t tolerate sage well,” he chokes.

“Quickly then, we’ll need to put up your tent.” I hurry forward and take a peg to hammer into the ground.

*

I stare at the ceiling of my tent, tense for the first sight of mist. Can you even see it? I’ve taken off my veil just in case.

I toss a final time and decide to just get up and check. Deliberating with my veil in hand, I decide to leave it on. I’ll need to hold it up to navigate the ropes and pegs around the campsite. But there are no other women here. It’s too risky to leave it behind. I hold my breath as I exit, using one hand to lift my veil and the other to feel my way.

I decide to walk to the top of a mound to check for fog in the distance.

“Where are you going?” comes Jovan’s voice. I whirl, dropping my veil guiltily.

“I was checking for mist,” I say. “Is that why you’re out here?” I ask.

“What?”

“The sage fog,” I say slowly. Has some of it gotten to the king? Jovan is silent for a long time. I take a peek under the material and stare in confusion as I see he’s shaking with laughter. I leave the veil pushed up over my head.