A Touch Of Darkness

36 || Hope

By the time the rain comes, Sarielle is beginning to regret bringing Fiesi along.

"Keep up!" she snaps for what feels like the millionth time, feeling her temper fray. Fiesi drags his feet several paces behind. He doesn't attempt to obey.

"Here's a deal." He shakes out his shackled wrists with a pointed rattle. They're tied so intricately that his clasped hands are hardly visible under the mess of chains. "You take these off, and I'll walk faster."

She huffs. "Not a chance."

"Then I'll keep walking slow."

Frustration jolts her into action before she can consider it. Snatching her sword from its sheath, she marches over to him, flicking its tip towards his neck.

"Here's a deal," she growls. "You keep pace with me, or I'll kill you."

He gives a hurried nod. "Sure, sure, seems fair."

She waits a moment, letting him see the reality of the threat in her eyes, before she retracts the sword and sheaths it again. She shoves the base of his shoulders, and he stumbles forward, falling into a continued stride as she resumes walking.

He shoots her a subdued glare. "You could just say you'll kill me. It's rather exhausting, all this almost-slitting of my throat."

Despite herself, a thin smile flickers over her lips. "This way is more effective."

Another reason not to have Dalton with them. He hadn't been best pleased with her methods of subduing Fiesi, protesting that there might have been a more amicable way to strike a deal with him, and no amount of arguing had changed his mind on that. Usually, Sarielle would be content to hear him out and follow his lead, but she isn't in the mood for friendly negotiation. Fiesi broke that when he buried a spear in her best friend's leg, and shattered any hope of reconciliation with his flickering knife and fiery threats.

If it were up to her, he would already be dead. But she has to admit that Dalton is right about one thing. Fiesi is an unfortunate source of information. She just won't be particularly gentle about extracting it.

Her foot catches on a fallen tree branch. Bending down, she runs a finger over its greying bark, noting the shrivelled leaves hanging loosely from its clawed twigs. One snaps easily between her fingers. Dead. She stands, kicking it aside. They're on the right track.

Her pace quickens, driven by the sight. They've been moving this way all afternoon, checking for signs that Nathan's flame might have left behind. She's even come across several footprints, scorched perfectly into the grass. She likes to think that it's his way of leaving a little trail for her, a series of clues to guide her onward, though she knows inside that every mark is nothing but an accident. His flame is too wild to be that purposeful.

His flame. Nathan's flame. She shakes her head, still slotting together the two realities. Not only is he alive, but he was there, right before her, nothing to separate them. How could she have not seen it earlier? As soon as the mask ripped away, she knew him instantly. That familiarity flooded over his features, etching him in pale shadows, and she knew.

"I should have known," she told Dalton as he wrapped Fiesi's hands in careful loops. "There can't be another boy out there so pale."

They both laughed at that. She couldn't have asked for him to take it better. Then again, if there is one person she was going to tell her deepest, darkest secret, there was no way it couldn't be Dalton.

The storm of doubt and nerves behind his eyes had been clear, of course. But he did his best to hide it. He even pushed to accompany them, although it only took pointing out his duties as captain to make him reluctantly step back and agree to return to camp, along with the majority of the supplies they bought in town.