Roar (Stormheart #1)(42)
But even so, Rora said a prayer to whoever would listen. Whether it was the old gods or nature or simply the open air that surrounded her. She prayed for safety on this journey, and that Nova would not suffer any consequences from their actions today. She prayed that her mother would understand and forgive her. And selfishly, she prayed that when she returned, Cassius would be long gone, and she would never have to face him again.
With that done, she took a deep breath and said her final good-bye.
To Pavan. And to Aurora.
From this point on, she could only be Roar.
Encompassing over sixty percent of Caelira’s land mass, the wildlands are the unprotected territories that remain unclaimed by any Stormling kingdom. Like the boundaries of Stormling strongholds, the geography of the wildlands has changed over time as kingdoms have risen to power and fallen from grace.
—The Perilous Lands of Caelira
10
They rode for hours in near silence, with only the whirring sound of the Rock’s mechanisms to war with the thoughts in Locke’s head. He tried to stay busy, riding back and forth through the group on occasion to check with Sly at the front, then Ransom at the back. But he always found himself settling in the middle of the group, near Roar.
She rode well, he begrudgingly admitted. In the beginning, he had watched her for any sign that she might change her mind. There had been a moment when Roar turned back to gaze at the shrinking city that had made him hope she would reconsider. But after a long, lingering look, she’d faced forward, leaned into the wind, and picked up her pace. And from that point on, the only times she had looked back had been with caution, as though she expected a storm to come barreling after them at any moment.
He almost wished it would. He could use the distraction.
Little by little, her nervous glances backward lessened, so that by the time they stopped to eat and rest at a spot known as Death’s Spine, she appeared completely at ease. Almost … giddy.
It only soured his mood more.
Jinx used her gift to light a small fire, and Ran began reheating a soup he’d made the night before. Soon they would begin hunting for the majority of their food, supplementing whatever meat they killed with supplies they brought along or things Jinx could grow. The witch had already wandered off, looking for a good patch of soil to grow some berries for dessert. He focused on Jinx, staring hard while she dug her hands into the soil, pushing a single seed as deep as she could. She kept her hands buried in the dirt, closed her eyes, and began to use her magic. It should have been enough to hold his attention—his friend coaxing a fully grown plant into existence from almost nothing.
But his eyes kept wandering to where Roar walked along the rocky line of sandstone that gave this area its name. Death’s Spine was the unofficial end of Pavan territory, and from this point on it was them versus the wildlands. There was something captivating about Roar, standing upon that dividing line—framed by civilization on one side and wild terrain on the other. She stared out at the surrounding land, hair blowing in the breeze, taking it all in like she was tasting joy for the first time. He blamed Jinx’s earth magic; when she worked it always seemed to affect more than just whatever plant she was focused on. The sun shone a little brighter, the grass appeared greener, even the breeze seemed to luxuriate in the presence of magic, curling indulgently around them. That had to be why the sight of Roar drew his eye.
“Think she can cut it?” Ransom asked between stirs of the soup.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
His friend knew him too well. “You sound less than pleased about that.”
“Yes, well, I was not given much of a choice.”
“Don’t act like you’re not happy she’s here. We’ve all seen the way you look at her.”
Locke scowled. “She was a pretty girl I never expected to see again. I certainly didn’t expect her to become a permanent fixture in my life.” Locke would do his duty and train her, but that had to be it. There was no room in him to care about her. Once you let those kinds of emotions in, it was a lot harder to hurl yourself into death’s path on a daily basis. “Besides … if I did look at her in a way that actually meant something, I would hardly want to introduce her to a life like ours.”
Locke left Ransom to cook and busied himself checking their supplies, far from where Roar wandered. When they sat down to eat, he listened to Jinx tell Roar about Taraanar. “If you thought the Eye was impressive, just wait until you see the Taraanese markets. They go on for what seems like forever, and even the nonmagic markets are a sight to behold. Rich tapestries and spices and pottery—”
Locke interrupted to ask Roar, “You speak Taraanese, right? That’s what you said before.”
Roar sipped soup from her spoon before answering, “I do.”
“But you’ve never been?”
She shook her head. “A childhood friend was Taraanese. I picked up most of it from her and practiced by reading books in the language.”
She was puzzling to be sure. There were ranking nobles that didn’t speak any other languages, and yet this girl from the streets spoke several.
“Well, go on,” Bait said. “Speak Taraanese to me.”
She laughed. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever met, and you’re falling madly in love with me.”