Priestess

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The darkness was thick. Ara could barely make out Coen and Gyniv in front of her. The only sounds were the clicking of the horses’ hard hooves against even harder stones. Lodan lurched beneath her. He limped a few paces before settling back into a swift trot. “Are you fit?” she asked worriedly.

“The stones bruise my hooves,” he stated matter-of-fact.

Ahead of her, Gyniv nearly went down. Coen shook his head and dismounted. “If we continue like this, we’ll lame both of them.” His gaze settled on a thick copse of trees. “Come on, let’s get off the road.”

Ara dismounted and followed. Beneath the trees, it was even darker. Branches and roots reached out to snag her clothes and trip her feet. Not realizing that Coen had stopped, she stumbled into him.

His warm hands steadied her before moving away. She barely made out his form retrieving blankets from his pack and handing something to her. Feeling blindly for his hand, she recognized a strip of jerky.

“You all right?” he whispered.

She was so stiff and numb she felt as if she’d been dunked in ice water for hours. But she couldn’t say that to Coen. She was grateful he didn’t press it. Wrapping up, they huddled side by side. They ate in silence—drinking from their waterskins to choke down stringy jerky.

With the stillness of her body, Ara’s mind began to remember . . . and unthaw. Like frozen fingers dipped in hot water, her soul zinged with pain.

 “I’m sorry we can’t light a fire,” Coen whispered.

She hadn’t realized that she was trembling. She clamped her clattering jaw shut. “I’m not cold.” It was true. Her shaking had nothing to do with the temperature. She closed her eyes to escape. It was a mistake. Images flashed in her mind.

Death. The look on a man’s face as death gripped him; the death she’d delivered.

Blood. Staining the ground, befouling the air, soaking her skin.

Mother. Bruised, swollen, broken.

Tenan. Anger in his fists, hate in his eyes, bloody sword lifted in farewell.

Horror. Overcoming her, sucking away her soul, ripping her—

“I’ll take the first watch.” Coen interrupted her thoughts.

She lifted a haunted gaze to where she knew the sky must be. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

His eyes caught light from somewhere as he studied her. “The first few battles are always the hardest.”

In that one glance, she knew that he understood. Wholly. But kindness felt too close to forgiveness. Forgiveness for what she had done. Forty six men, if her count was right—and the deaths of her villagers. All because of her Gift. It felt more like a curse.

Tears stung at her eyes. She looked away so Coen wouldn’t see them. After a while, he seemed to accept that she wasn’t going to offer an answer. He lay down. Within moments, his breathing deepened.

Touching her mind, Lodan soothed, “Let the rest go.”

With each tear that fell, she grieved. Grieved for the men she had killed and the lives laid down for her own folly. Unseen, the moon moved across the depths of stars, and still she wept.

When she had no more tears to give, she felt hallow. As if she’d bled out all of her emotions, leaving behind nothing more than a raw shell. She woke Coen for his turn. Pulling the surprisingly warm cloak tighter around her, she fell into an exhausted sleep.