Inkmistress (Of Fire and Stars 0.5)(62)

“But—” he started.

“Come on.” I cut him off. “Let’s move before the sun is too high and it gets harder to tell which way is north.” Thanks to the water horse, we had a lead on Nismae and Ina that we couldn’t afford to waste. Judging by the lengthening days, summer solstice couldn’t be far away, which meant we had no more than three or four moons before the birth of Ina’s baby. Dragons healed quickly—it might take her even less time to recover from childbirth than most mortals.

I hurried to clear our meager camp in an attempt to avoid further conversation, but once we were trekking over the hills, Hal couldn’t help himself.

“Asra . . . shouldn’t we talk about this? Your gift making you age like that? What I wouldn’t give for an antidote to my headaches . . . or even something to make them less incapacitating . . . gods. But the price of your gift—it’s not reasonable.”

I pulled my cloak more tightly around my shoulders. I didn’t know how to have a conversation about my gift and the relationship it had with my mortality. Most demigods lived for centuries. I wouldn’t—unless I found the Fatestone. I sighed, resigned. He might as well know that there was more to finding Atheon than unearthing family secrets.

“There is a way to stop it from happening,” I said.

“How?” he asked. “If there’s something you can do, you have to do it!”

“The Fatestone,” I said with finality.

Hal stared at me wide-eyed, grabbing my sleeve and pulling me to a stop. “What?”

Without further explanation, I pulled Veric’s letter out of my shirt and handed it to him.

When he looked up after reading, his eyes were filled with shock.

“This is why you want to try and speak to the shadow god. This is why you asked me about Veric, isn’t it?” he asked.

I nodded. “He’s the only half sibling of mine that I know of.”

“‘The blood of Sir Veric can make you a king,’” Hal recited. “That stupid song was true—mortals sought his blood for the same reasons Nismae took yours.” He cursed a few times under his breath.

“I may not be able to do anything about my blood that’s already been stolen. But if I get the Fatestone, I can use my power without worrying about how many years it takes off my life. I have to find Atheon.” It was the only way to rewrite the past without sacrificing my life. The only way to stop Ina from killing the king. Most important, the only way to bring back the people of the village I had sworn to protect.

“I should have done a better job defending us at the lake. Maybe I could have called on one of the other children of the wind. Or even my father. If I’d known what it would cost you to get us out of there . . .” He trailed off, anguish in his expression.

“Ina had you cornered. You did everything you could,” I said. “And compared to what I’ve done, that escape of ours was relatively without consequences. My gift isn’t a thing that happened to me—it’s part of me and always has been. Nothing will change that.”

Hal handed Veric’s letter back to me with a furrowed brow. I met his gaze with a challenge in my eyes, daring him to feel sorry for me.

“Thank you for getting us out of there. You were amazing and I’m grateful,” he said.

An unexpected smile bloomed on my face, and for a moment I forgot the way my bones ached with every step.

“You’re welcome,” I said. The pain would fade—at least this time. A few strands of silver hair wouldn’t kill me. Not yet. And he knew that too.

“So, onward to Corovja?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said resolutely.

We crossed many hills and valleys, ignoring the rumbling in our stomachs, both of us glancing over our shoulders as though we expected Ina or Nismae to swoop in at any second, but the skies stayed clear and the sun grew warmer until we reached a town. It was little more than a few weathered houses alongside a narrow dirt track, far enough off the main trade route that it felt like a safe place to stop for a couple of days to regain our strength before pressing on to Corovja. The people greeted us with trepidation until we clarified that we were just travelers, not bandits or tax collectors—apparently their village had experienced problems with both. The more of the kingdom I saw, the less certain I was of the king’s objectives. Was he as negligent as Ina seemed to think based on his treatment of Amalska’s plea for help? Or was his answer to banditry taxing his people so that there was nothing left for the bandits to steal? And why did he want an amulet that would grant him eternal life?

Hal traded two days’ work in the fields for the things we needed—some soap, packs, and a few warm meals. The villagers thought the two of us were married, and though it made me blush scarlet the first time someone made the assumption, I found that I didn’t mind. I liked that it meant we shared a bed, chaste but close, his familiarity keeping me grounded. He was there to soothe me when I woke one night from a nightmare, murmuring gentle words to me and brushing the sticky hair out of my eyes. I clung to him like he was the only person who mattered, then tried to forget the intimacy of it in the morning, when daylight reminded me that we were only temporary allies.

With each day, the aches in my body slowly faded back into something more normal. While Hal spent a few days planting spring crops alongside the villagers, I occupied myself by teaching the children where to find herbs and what could be made with them, replenishing my supplies of the most basic poultices and tinctures that might be useful. The children’s incessant questions kept my mood from souring with the knowledge that Nismae had my satchel, journal, and silver knife—the only three material things that mattered to me. Dread raked its claws down my back every time I thought about what she’d do with them.