A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(18)

I glare at him. “I have no freedom, no privacy, and now I don’t even get to have my own mind? Don’t tell me how I feel!”

Flynn sets his ax down with a sigh. “You hate Griffin, even though you shouldn’t, and the rest of us are just lumped in because that’s easiest for you.”

I roll my eyes as I contemplate making a lunge for the ax. I would if I thought I could lift it. “Spare me your psychological ramblings.”

“Do you want a bath?” Carver asks, his question cutting straight through our argument and ending it.

We’re fifty feet from a stream with a tempting clear pool. I’m hot and dusty, and I desperately want to jump in. Swimming is in my blood. I’m a fish in Poseidon’s sea.

I plant my hands on my hips. “No.”

He shrugs. “It’s just that you and Griffin keep going off for long baths.”

My mouth drops open. What in the Underworld is he implying? “He doesn’t give me any choice! Apparently, I stink.”

Kato leans over and sniffs me, his cobalt eyes dancing with humor. “You don’t smell that bad.”

That bad? “That’s because I bathe.”

Carver glances at the water, then back at me. The rope hangs loosely on his narrow waist. “Except for tonight?” He has the nerve to look like he might laugh, so I level the same cold look at him that I used to give my siblings. It’s my The Ice Plains will melt away and the Underworld will freeze over before I give one inch to you look.

Carver arches dark eyebrows, looking annoyingly like a certain warlord whose ass I’d like to kick from here to a Harpy’s nest. “Suit yourself.”

A bitter smile curves my lips. “Always.” It’s a good thing my own lies don’t burn me.

*

I hate stinking. I hate it with the passion of the Gods. I regret my stubbornness before dinner, and even more after when I’m forced to lie down next to Carver, who smells even worse than I do. Kato is on watch, Flynn is already snoring, Beta Sinta is off in the brush, and Carver doesn’t feel right. His body isn’t solid enough. He doesn’t smell of citrus soap and sunshine. He’s just…not the same. As much as I hate to admit it, I was getting used to his brother.

Sleep takes a long time coming and then is fitful, troubled by memories that resurface in dreams. Anxiety bubbles in my stomach, acidic and sharp. The churning has me fumbling in the dark, tumbling in the undertow, getting dragged out to places I don’t want to be.

The first scorching blast sinks into my belly, and I snap awake with a startled cry. He only attacks at night, when I’m asleep and can’t see. I don’t know how he gets past the locks on my door, but it’s him, always the same one. He wouldn’t dare come after me when I’m ready and alert. I’m too good with a knife.

His magic rips through me. Fiery needles pierce my skin, burning deep into the heart of me. I arch off the bed, throbbing, and scream until my throat turns raw, blind with pain. Red with fury.

He lets up, and I just barely suppress a whimper. He’s not strong enough to keep going. If his magic were mine, I could go for hours, slowly cooking him until the last breath left his body. He’s not me. For every five minutes of torture, he needs one to recover. That’s when fists fly.

I block, curling into a ball until either I can strike back without leaving myself too open, or Thanos comes to pull him off me. He hovers over me, fingers digging into my shoulders and pushing me down. His hands on my blistered skin are excruciating, but I thrash to loosen his hold, shrieking for all I’m worth, and then hammer a fist into his throat.

My knuckles connect with flesh, and everything suddenly feels too real. My eyes fly open, and Carver is doubled over me, grabbing his neck. His eyes are bulging, and the breath he finally manages to drag into his airway rattles in his throat.

Seeing him, I go limp with relief. A shudder tangles in my chest. I’m not there.

“What in the Underworld was that?” he rasps, rubbing the Cat-sized fist mark already shadowing his skin.

I glance at my shaking hands, expecting to see red bubbles and slashes, blood turned to lava in my veins. They look normal, but I know the truth; they’re stained.

“Nightmare,” I croak.

Carver sits back on his heels. He shoves a hand through his hair, frowning. “You were twisting and howling like a damned lunatic. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I clamp my mouth shut. If I open it, I might scream.

Drawn by the commotion, Kato and Flynn exchange a look. Flynn drags his bedroll closer until I’m pinned between Carver and him, and Kato sits down near my head, using one of my knives to carve a likeness of Athena into a chunk of fragrant cedarwood.

I should tell them all to go away. I really should. I unlock my jaw, and something else comes out. “Why Athena?”

“Wisdom and war,” Kato answers. “What every man needs.”

“Not home and family?” I ask.

He grins. “Not a young man. A hearth and a wife are for later, when the battles are won.”

“Haven’t you won? Sinta is yours.”

“Sinta is Egeria’s,” Kato says. “There are battles yet to come.”

His cryptic words send a chill down my spine. Is Tarva next? Fisa? “What makes you think she’ll rule any better than the royals before? Capricious, violent, cruel, bestowing favors only to take them away…”