Roar (Stormheart #1)(86)
“Still, it is worth exploring,” Duke said. “Perhaps I can subtly ask around so that Jinx can focus on training Roar.”
“Is this your nice way of telling me you don’t think I can be subtle?” Jinx asked.
Ransom mumbled, “I think you have answered your own question.”
“I heard that.”
“You were supposed to.”
“All right, then,” Locke cut them off. “Sly and Bait, you’ll be with Duke the next few days. He wants to flesh out our maps of this area while we’re here. See if there are any hotspots within hunting range. Now all of you finish your breakfasts so we can get to work. Bait and Roar, don’t forget we need to go to the altar for our daily blood offering.”
Roar really wished she had just stayed in bed.
They ate quickly, and Roar only listened while the rest settled into their usual easy banter. They all teased each other like brothers and sisters, and she imagined that this was a family for them. She knew Locke had no blood family left. He had implied the rest were all the same. And look at the damage that she had already done to their unorthodox family. Sly barely spoke, which wasn’t unusual except that there was a palpable air of anger emanating from her. Locke didn’t join in the conversation with the rest of them either. He sat stiff and silent, and Roar knew it was her fault.
A while later, a quiet maid cleared away their plates, and everyone set off in different directions. She followed Locke and Bait outside toward the altar. In the morning light, it glittered like black glass, but she saw clumps of rocky sediment in it too. She guessed that whatever it was, it had been dug up from the red sands that surrounded the village.
The minister was not there with them, so she whispered to Locke, “Do we have to say the words? Or can we just drip and be done?”
He glanced around. The courtyard was not empty. There were people at the well, waiting in line for water. Others walked through the streets, presumably on their way to jobs or home. When no one seemed to pay them any mind, he shrugged. “Just the blood is probably fine.”
Bait stepped up first, let a few drops fall, and then called out, “I’m off to help Duke. See you both later.”
He ran off, his bright hair flopping in the early-morning wind. And then it was just Roar and Locke. He unsheathed a knife from his hip and stepped up to the altar. He let his offering fall, cleaned the blade of his knife, and held it out to her, still not quite meeting her eyes.
She took it, weighing the heft of the weapon in her palm. “This is a good knife,” she said. “Well balanced.”
His head tipped back toward the sky and she thought she saw the corners of his mouth lift up. “Where did you learn how to handle a knife?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I knew a soldier, back in Pavan. He taught me.”
Locke’s jaw tightened, and he stepped back, leaving nothing between her and the altar. She spun the blade in her hand. That same uneasiness rose in her again as it had for her last sacrifice. What if she wasn’t born without power as she always thought? What if her powers had just been warped somehow? She could not control storms, but could … read them? But that supposed they were like people with desires and fears and everything in between. She didn’t like to think that storms had that much life in them, not with what she was about to do. But she could not deny that the emotions she had experienced with each storm had been frightfully potent. If those belonged to the storms, then they felt even more alive than she herself did.
“Roar?”
She looked up at Locke. He had one large hand curved around the back of his neck, and his hair swung free from its usual tie. She flashed back briefly to the night before, to what he had looked like with the rain falling all around them. She felt an alarmingly strong ache low in her belly and she cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“Do you want me to help again?”
The only thing that came to her mind was the night before. She had pulled him so close that his mouth rested against the curve of her cheek, and she had asked him to help. She did want that again with a surprising ferocity. But then she saw that he was gesturing toward his knife that she still held. He meant help her with the blood offering. Skies, she was an idiot.
“No. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”
“Listen, last night was…” He trailed off, his hands going to the vials and weapons that hung off his harness. His fingers ran over each strap, as if checking that everything was in its rightful place. He looked almost … nervous. “Last night was my fault, and—”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It was. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”
That was that, then. She squeezed the handle of the knife in an attempt to calm herself. For a moment, she might have believed it was stuck in her belly rather than held safely in her hand. But this was … better, surely. What future could there possibly be here? Eventually, she would have to leave. He was saving them both from getting any more attached.
She stepped up to the altar and quickly pricked the tip of her finger again. Three or four heavy drops fell as soon as she turned her finger over, and once again the sky overhead flashed with lightning.
Before any more drops could fall, Locke’s hand shot out, pulling her hand away from the altar and pushing her back. With one hand around hers and the other at her waist, he tipped his head back, surveying the sky. The lightning had only flashed the once, but little bumps rose along the skin of her arms. Whether that was from the skyfire or Locke’s proximity, she wasn’t sure.