Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(24)
“Which god do you belong to?” Hal finally asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I had no seed of truth from which to grow my own story. I never had. Miriel didn’t lie, which meant that the gods hadn’t told her the truth about my parentage. By proxy, they had lied to me. A surge of anger accompanied the realization, so strong it nearly felled me. I fought it down, not wanting Hal to see me fall apart. I gripped the strap of my satchel like it might hold me together. “I was told the wind god was my father. That he brought me to my mountain.”
He looked at me with pity in his expression. “No chance of it. You would have heard us ages ago, and if anyone had ever caught wind of your voice before those glorious vespers, you would have had all of us begging you to sing us to sleep every night.”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I stared at the ground. The worst part was that I had always longed for what he described—to know what it was like to be wanted like that.
“Hey,” Hal said. “I’m sorry. I had no idea . . .”
“It’s not your fault.” I sniffled. “Someone lied to me. I just wish I knew why.”
“Well, I don’t have any answers, but I can offer you this if you need something to hang on to.” He held up his arm.
I hesitated only a moment before taking it, and like a gentleman he walked with me toward the trees. I swiped at my tears with my free hand, choking back the rest of my emotions. At this point it barely mattered who I was or where I’d come from. I ought to wait until I stopped Ina to worry about it, but still, it nagged at me, an impossible question to ignore. How was I supposed to start over somewhere new when I didn’t even know who I was?
Miriel had seen to my childhood needs for food and education, but sometimes at night when I woke from nightmares, I had cried, wishing for someone to stroke my hair and sing me back to sleep. Was it from my mother that I’d inherited the brooding tendencies for which Miriel had frequently scolded me? Did I look like my father? Which of them had been a god? Maybe my mother had been a healer, or another cleric of the earth god like Miriel—a person who might be responsible for my gifts with herbs or the deep connection I felt to the land. Perhaps my father had given me my dark hair or hazel eyes. Either way, it was unlikely I’d ever find any answers now. The thought gutted me. I belonged to no one.
Hal tripped just as we entered the forest, startling me from my dark thoughts. I let go of him, and he stumbled a few paces away to brace himself on a large rock.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Anxiety rose again.
“I hoped it was just the darkness, but my vision is beginning to go. I must have overextended myself compelling those guardsmen.” His words tripped over one another.
I cast nervous glances at him as we skirted the edge of the forest. I wanted to put more distance between us and Valenko before making camp. The dark color of his eyes and the dim moonlight made it hard to tell, but the deeper we got into the woods, the wider his pupils seemed to be.
Then he stopped, and gripped my arm with a shaky hand. “We’re in trouble,” he said.
“What? How?” I asked, looking around and seeing nothing but shifting branches cutting through shadows and moonbeams.
“They’re coming,” he said, leaning against a tree. “I hear them.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
CHAPTER 11
I SANK TO MY KNEES BEHIND HAL AND SPOKE HIS NAME, but he didn’t stir. Some small nocturnal creature rustled in the bushes nearby. I extended my Sight but sensed only the forest around us and the city glowing with life in the distance.
“Wake up,” I whispered fervently. I didn’t want to face whatever was coming alone. It had to be Tamers, or worse, city guards. Fighting wasn’t my area of expertise. All I had in my satchel that could be used as a weapon was my silver knife or a handful of nightshade powder.
Then I remembered—if Hal had overextended his abilities, his collapse must be the result of a severe headache. I dug through my satchel, pulling out a vial of lavender oil and another of peppermint. I dabbed the lavender on his temples and held the peppermint under his nose. His head tipped to the side and a groan escaped his lips.
“Hal? Are you awake?” I put my hand on his forehead.
“Don’t talk,” he said. “Hurts.” His eyes stayed closed.
I made a small noise of frustration. An unsympathetic part of me hissed in my ear, whispering at me to leave him. We didn’t owe each other anything, really. He could take care of himself, even in this situation, even in this strange place. This couldn’t be the first time overextending his gift had left him stranded. But the voice faded away as I looked at him lying there in pain. I couldn’t repay him for helping me escape the city guards by leaving him unconscious in the middle of the woods, and I had to admit it would be easier and safer to stay with him out here than to go back to the city before morning.
My nerves jangled. I took off my cloak and laid it over Hal. The night air nipped at me like a familiar unkindness, the chill spreading gooseflesh up my arms. Prickles of fear followed close behind. At home on my mountain, my power had been the only thing I needed to be afraid of. Now, it seemed I might never know that kind of peace again. If a day lay ahead when I would once again feel as fearless as I had racing through the mountains in summer or as complete as I had lying with my head in Ina’s lap, I couldn’t see it ahead of me.