Jade Fire Gold(63)

I don’t turn us around. I carry on forward, keeping my grip around his waist. “We can come back after you rest,” I lie.

I don’t want to come back here.

I don’t want to remember what I did.

Shortly, we stumble upon a large, empty cave. I settle Altan down on the rough ground and put a trembling hand to his forehead. He’s pallid and burning up. I rip off a piece of his unbloodied sleeve and douse it with water, reaching to place it over his forehead.

He grabs my hand forcefully.

“Heavens!” My scream bounces off the cave walls. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, reflexes. I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Making sure you’re real.”

“Those are not the words of someone who is fine.” I place the cool, wet cloth over his forehead. He looks like he wants to say something, so I shake my head. “Shush. Rest.”

“Your eyes.” He closes his own.

“What?”

Silence.

At the stream, I wash the blood off my hands and scour it from under my fingernails. I know it’s Altan’s blood, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about the man I killed.

Every life is precious.

What will Ama say now, knowing I killed another man in cold blood? Will she still welcome me if I blaze a path of dead bodies to get to her? I could have used my magic to knock that man out with a rock or something. But I did not.

Maybe I didn’t want to.

Silt stirred up by my scrubbing muddies the once clear water, turning it as murky as my thoughts. You’re a monster, my father’s voice whispers in my head. I remember the look in his eyes. The triumph.

I shiver.

Maybe he is right. Last night, when I was creating the miniature sandstorm in my palm, I felt no heightened sensations, no euphoric control. Today was different. This magic was different. But it was the same kind of magic I used on the two men in the alleyway in Shahmo.

Almost the same.

The bandit’s death was quicker.

I try not to think about the exhilaration that coursed through my veins as the man choked to death. About how it was stronger this time.

About how I might have enjoyed it.

When I return, Altan is asleep on the cave floor. And to my irrational chagrin, shirtless. He must have undressed and removed his weapons. The rays of the afternoon sun stream into the cave, and metal on the gritty floor gleams. I gape at the arsenal of blades and sharp things surrounding him. He was armed to the teeth.

There’s no blood on his bandage. I touch my hand to his forehead. Scorching. I could use my magic to try to freeze some water to ice him down and lower his fever, but the thought of using any magic now makes me sick.

I lean against the rough wall and draw my legs to my chest, thinking. We have no more food. Maybe I could set up some snares to catch a naive hare or two. But I’d have to leave Altan alone again.

I look at him, worry biting my chest. Curious how sleep changes a person. His strong jaw is soft and his brow smooth. There’s no trace of his usual focused and irritated expression. His eyelashes are impossibly long and surprisingly darker than his hair. Freckles sprinkle lightly across his straight nose and there’s a rosiness in his cheeks I didn’t notice before. I follow the scars that web his right cheekbone, once again wondering what terrible thing happened to him in the past.

I remember how he looked earlier when that strange white light shone from him just before my magic attacked him. How paradoxical it was to witness such beauty coming alive while I was in the midst of extinguishing another man’s existence. The two intertwine in my mind.

A memory I abhor.

My eyes run down to his chest, noticing an amulet strung onto a thick black string around his neck. An astonishingly detailed five-clawed dragon coiled in a circle is carved into the jade. Unlike the deep green of my own jade ring, his amulet is a luminous semitranslucent white. Mutton fat jade. Precious and rare.

My nose wrinkles in distaste. He must’ve stolen it or bought it with some ill-gotten money. What bad luck to be stuck with a mercenary. And to think I thought more of him when we first met.

But he didn’t pawn my ring, even though he said he did. What was the point of lying? I chew on my lip. I could ask him about it. Or I could steal it back and pretend he lost it in the fight.

I reach out, annoyed that I tied his pouch back to his belt instead of keeping it in the first place. Carefully, I slip my ring out and secure it under the collar of my top.

As I try to refasten the pouch, Altan shifts in his sleep. “Saran . . .”

I freeze and hold my breath.

“Sarangerel . . .”

It’s that name, the one I heard him say some nights ago. A Mengu girl’s name. There’s a new feeling in my chest I can’t quite place. Something like a dull ache. Altan’s hand lands on my wrist, fingers wrapping around it. His skin is chilled, his grip surprisingly strong.

“Don’t let go,” he mumbles.

My spine goes stiff. Warmth creeps over my body. I give a tentative tug. He doesn’t let go. The crease between his brows deepens when I tug again and he wakes.

“It’s you.”

Who did you think it was? I want to ask.

“Stay,” he whispers, looking at me in a strange way.

I turn my head, unable to hold his gaze. But I stay.

Slowly, his grip relaxes, and he falls asleep again. I slide my hand out of his. I hear him speak again as I’m leaving the cave, in a voice so soft I almost think I’m imagining it.