The Queen and the Cure (The Bird and the Sword Chronicles #2)(20)

Without her veil he could see an angry strip of red, blistered flesh on the side of her neck where the relentless sun had found exposed skin.

“You’re burned,” he said, returning her scarf. It had helped to remove the sand from his eyelashes, if little else.

She nodded, shaking the veil once and recovering her head. He drew it aside and pressed his palm to her sore skin, making her flinch. When he moved his hand the blisters were gone, leaving a line of large, golden freckles in their wake. The freckles bothered him. He ran his thumb across them, wanting to wipe them away, puzzled. When he’d healed Tiras, he’d left no scars. He’d restored him completely.

“Don’t do that,” Sasha said, her voice sharp. It surprised him. Sasha’s voice was never sharp. He dropped his hand, raising his eyes from her skin and stepping away, confused. She’d welcomed his proximity in the cave.

“It is a burn, Captain. It will heal on its own.” She pressed her fingers to her neck, hiding it.

“It is done.”

Her shoulders slumped. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“I can. And I will,” he retorted, covering his confusion with ire.

“I didn’t know your healing came with a cost,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to heal when you don’t have to.”

Realization flooded him. She didn’t want him to heal her because she thought it cost him. For every life he saved, he gave a day of his own. He didn’t know if soothing blisters constituted saving a life, but she was clearly upset by it.

“For all I know, I will live to be a very old man with more years on this land than I know what to do with. That is the one thing about my gift that has never bothered me, the possibility that I might be trading my days away.”

“You are kind,” she said softly.

“I am not kind,” Kjell scoffed.

“And you are good,” she added.

“I am not good!” he laughed.

“I have never known a man like you.”

“You were a slave in Quondoon! The men you knew were not trying to impress you.”

“Neither are you, Captain. Yet I am still impressed.”

“Then you have a lot to learn.”

She nodded slowly, and he was immediately remorseful. Her old master had told her she was simple. She was not simple. She was wise . . . and infuriating.

“Why do I make you so angry?” she asked.

“You don’t make me angry,” he argued, frustration making his hands curl.

“I do,” she insisted, looking at him steadily.

“You do not know me. You have no idea who I am. You think I’m a Healer, but I have slain more men than I have healed.”

She was silent for a moment, absorbing his confession. He began walking back toward the cave, expecting her to follow.

“You are wrong, Captain,” she called after him. “I do know you. I knew your face before I met you. I saw you more times than I can count. You have always given me hope.”

His heart tripped and his feet followed, and he stopped walking to avoid falling on his face in the shifting sand. He didn’t look back at her, but she had to know he heard her. With a lusty exhale, he resumed walking, minding his step.





There were serpents in the cave. Coiled in the dank corners, unaccustomed to being prey, and blinded by the fire starter, they were little match for lances and swords, and the men ate well for the first time since leaving Bin Dar a fortnight before. Sasha didn’t help them kill the snakes, but she didn’t balk at skinning them, and she ate the meat with the same relish as the men. It didn’t take long for someone to remind her that she’d promised them a story when the storm passed, and she nodded amiably and settled in for her tale.

“When Isak held the fire in his hands today, it reminded me of a story I once knew. In the beginning, there were only four gifts. Telling, Spinning, Changing and Healing. But as the years passed and the people multiplied over the land, the gifts grew and changed, and new gifts emerged. Power grew and evolved. In some of the Gifted, telling became seeing and healing became transforming. Some of the Changers began to shift into more than one animal, and spinning became more and more diverse. Some Spinners could turn air into fire, like Isak. Some turned objects into illusions. Some could even spin themselves into trees.”

“—but not animals,” someone inserted, and Sasha nodded.

“No. That would make them Changers.”

“But there was one Spinner who was so powerful he could spin thoughts into stars. They called him the Star Maker.” She was quiet for a moment, and the men all raised their faces to the stars, looking for the brightest light. The sky had begun to clear and the moon lurked behind the haze, glowing dully. Kjell raised his hand and moved his thumb across the muted swath, remembering Sasha’s golden freckles.

“When someone grew old and was close to death, the Star Maker would draw their memories into his hands and shape them into orbs of light, releasing them into the heavens, so they could live forever.”

Isak cupped his hand and created a flame, showing off for Sasha, and she smiled as he released it, tossing it as if he too were a Star Maker.

“Sometimes, he would call the star back, pulling it down from the heavens, so those still living could hold the memories of the ones they lost.”