Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(21)
“I am not a glorified messenger,” Esteban says, trying for dignified.
Sayida and Dez chuckle. I break off a piece of the hard goat’s milk cheese and nibble at it. I’d like to tell Esteban that when he uses his power to contact Illan across leagues he appears to be talking to a ghost, but I wonder if he’d take that with the same humor as this. It’s hard for me to insert myself in their conversations, so I remain quiet. I drink. I eat. It’s so hot out we go through our water too soon, tapping the last drops onto parched tongues.
“We should rest early and refill our water reserves,” Dez says, undoing his leather vest and tunic ties. Even though we’ve all seen each other in various stages of undress while out on missions, I look away from him. “I’ll lay some traps.”
“For the guards or for our breakfast?” Margo asks.
He flashes a cocky smile. “Both.”
“I don’t care for the taste of guards,” Sayida says, wrinkling her nose.
“I hope the Hawk Unit brings a jar of pickled peppers,” Esteban says dreamily.
“Not if Costas eats them before he gets here,” I say. When we’re back home, one of the youngest Whispers, Costas, is known for eating everything in sight. Only Sayida chuckles, and Dez gives me a pitying smile.
“Esteban, Margo, will you refill the waterskins?” Dez asks.
“I can do that,” I say. I get up, dust crumbs from my hands.
“You’re wounded, Ren. Let us help you,” Dez says, and I wish he wouldn’t look at me the way he does—as if I’m fragile and breakable. I should remind him that I’m supposed to be a shadow in the night and all of those things he called me in Esmeraldas.
Margo lets out a tiny grumble for my benefit, but she and Esteban gather the empty waterskins. He lights an oil lamp, and they head off into the dark. The rush of the river is loud enough to find, and the ground of this forest is easier to traverse than yesterday.
While Dez takes his ropes and iron traps into the forests, Sayida and I wipe mud and dust from our packs. Even when something doesn’t belong to us, we help each other this way. Living with the Whispers was different than my time in the palace. I learned to share, even when I didn’t want to. I learned that if we all spent the same amount of time cleaning our rooms and our training weapons, we’d get everything done faster. It was supposed to teach us how to be a family, regardless of blood. But part of me can’t connect. As I dump out the dirty water, I wonder why I keep trying.
I wash my face and clean my teeth with the gritty paste that staves off gum rot and bad breath. The water is ice cold, but I rub the towel along my bare arms until my skin is red. Sometimes it’s like I’ll never feel clean. Unraveling my hair from the tight braid releases some of the tension at my temples.
“You could join me if you feel restless,” Sayida offers.
She sits close to the fire and meditates to keep her emotions balanced. The elders encourage all Moria to do this, but I hate having so much time with my thoughts. Her hands are loose at her sides, fingertips dug just into the earth like she’s drawing power from it.
I shake my head, but realize she can’t see me. “Another time.”
A low whistle coming from the trees signals Dez’s approach. Relief unwinds the muscles of my shoulders, and I let go of a small anxious breath when he comes into full view. He’s undone the laces of his tunic down to his sternum. He grins when he catches me staring, then nods, eyes sweeping over our camp.
“Are Esteban and Margo still gone?” he asks suggestively.
Sayida lifts one eye at him, her smile lazy like a cat’s. “Let them be.”
“On the contrary,” Dez says, shooting a wink in my direction. “I only worry one of them might make the other smile.”
He takes his position at the edge of our campsite, leaning against a roblino tree like a sentry, his stolen sword staked in the ground at his feet. He told me once that the Forest of Lynxes was his favorite place for how green the leaves always were, the trees with bark so thick they retained water and could be drained of sweet sap. Long ago, lynxes roamed this forest, but they were hunted so much that the creatures haven’t been seen in a decade. It’s why Dez chose to name us Lynx Unit.
The campfire crackles and sparks, warming my skin as the sun sets, bringing out a chill in the air. I think of the brush of Dez’s thumb on my cheek, the easy curve of his lips, the gold flecks in his eyes. When I realize Dez is staring at me, something in me wants to leap forward. I wrench my gaze away and busy my hands with wrapping the rest of the cured meat in waxed paper and stoppering a bottle of olive oil and throwing another log in the roaring fire. I look at anything but him because I know a person can never really belong to another—I should know it better than anyone. And yet, when Dez looks at me the way he just did, I want to believe he could be mine.
Suddenly, Sayida is leaning into my ear, her meditation over. “We should change our unit name to Squirrel Unit. Instead of walnuts, our commander collects swords and daggers.”
Despite my best efforts, I laugh. “I don’t believe our commander would appreciate being compared to a furry rodent.”
“That boy would let you call him anything, and you know it.” Her voice is low and conspiratorial among the chitter of night birds and insects. “Should we find out?”
I gently shove her away, but the movement still sends pinpricks of pain up my stiff arms. “Be serious, Sayida.”