The Continent (The Continent #1)(29)

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s nothing like that, we simply—”

“You see the violence between my kin and the Topi, yet you do not interfere?” He does not sound angry, only puzzled.

I swallow. “It is not our affair.”

“Then why do you observe? Oughtn’t you rather tend to the concerns of your own people?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” I say, flustered. “The Spire has transcended the ways of war. The fighting here, it is a curiosity to us.”

I regret this choice of words as soon as I have spoken, and feel my cheeks burning. He stares at me, his lips pushed out slightly, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“I lost my mother to illness and my father to the Topi,” he says. “I have one brother left out of four—three slain in battle. My people are driven back, burned alive, tortured, and dismembered. The Aven’ei are on the brink of annihilation. You find this curious?”

I shake my head, my voice caught in my throat. “No,” I whisper. “I do not.”

“Then why are you here?”

I want to explain about the maps, about my interest in the Continent itself, but I cannot pretend that the war did not hold some fascination for me. I look down at my hands. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” He holds the pendant before me, dangling it by the broken chain. “Take your trinket. You can sleep where you are, or take the tent. We will leave at daylight.”

I stare up at him. “Where do you intend to take me?”

He frowns. “You are not my prisoner, girl. You are free to go wherever you like. I am returning to my village, and I assumed that you would wish to accompany me. But if you would prefer to stay here—”

“No! I will go with you. I am very grateful.”

He shakes the necklace impatiently, and I take it. I feel a dizzying relief at having the precious stone in my possession again.

The Aven’ei stands and stretches, then gathers two logs from the small pile beside the campfire. He adds them to the dwindling flames and pokes them around a bit.

“You should sleep,” he says. “I’m going to remove these bodies, lest they attract animals.”

I move closer to the fire, taking the fur blanket with me. The ground is warmer here, though not by much. I lie down, my back to the flames, and watch as the Aven’ei tucks the fallen knife—the one the archer pulled from his own neck—into a sheath at his waist.

“May I ask your name?” I say quietly.

He pauses before bending down to grab the dead archer’s wrists. “I am called Noro.”

“Thank you, Noro, for saving my life.”

“It is what any Aven’ei would have done,” he says, and drags the warrior toward the darkness of the forest. I watch him disappear, and only after he is gone does it occur to me that he did not ask for my name in return.

“Wake up, girl.”

I had been dreaming of soft things, of clouds and wisps of fabric, of rabbit furs and feather pillows. I awaken at the Aven’ei’s voice to find myself stiff and aching from the hard ground, miles away from anything remotely soft or comfortable. I sit up and rub my eyes with the back of my hand.

The fire has gone out; only a few smoldering embers remain in the pit. The morning is bitterly cold. Noro sits beside me, his legs crossed, with several knives laid out before him on a leather mat. He picks up one and then another, inspecting them carefully. Without turning his head, he says, “You said you were not injured.”

I look down to see that the blanket has fallen away, exposing the makeshift bandage on my wounded leg. I pull the fur over it and tuck the covering beneath me. “I thought you were asking if the warrior had…” I stop and clear my throat. “This happened yesterday afternoon, when the Topi captured me.”

He continues his inspection of the blades. “Has the wound been cleaned?”

“I—no. I’m not sure how I would even manage it. Nothing is clean here.” The word here seems to linger in the air like a solid thing. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I only meant—”

“Let me see it,” he says, setting down one of the knives and turning toward me.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Let me see the wound, girl.” He reaches for the blanket and I stand up immediately, holding the fur around my lower body. His brows rise as he looks up at my face. “What are you doing?”

I hold the blanket firmly in place. “My leg is fine. Don’t trouble yourself about it.”

His eyes narrow, the gentle outer slopes drawing into sharpened points. “What is the problem here?”

“There’s no problem,” I say, sitting down again—out of his reach this time. “I simply do not require a medical examination.”

He peers at me, the fine features of his face chiseled and striking in the pale morning light. “If the wound is not cleaned, it may fester, and your blood will poison,” he says. “We must clean it properly before we go. There is much walking to be done, for it is several days’ travel to my village.”

“Then I shall see to it myself,” I say, and gesture to the black satchel beside him. “Have you any bandages or disinfectant?”

He stares at me for a few seconds, then picks up a wooden jug; I recognize it as the flask of liquor that belonged to the Topi. With a patronizing smile, he sets it on the ground before me. “At present,” he says, “I find myself in short supply of medical gauzes and dressings. However, should you apply a bit of practical care to that wound of yours, I believe you may yet survive.”