parting the branches to allow a shaft of light through the greenery. As though the Gods had a flair for the dramatic, the beam settled lazily on Kataria, turning her shoulders gold, setting her hair alight, making the sandy smudge glisten.
Thinks she’s so . . .
The sunlight clung to her, he realised, upon a skin of perspiration. Even as the dirt painted her body bronze, the sweat caught the sun and bathed her skin in shimmering silver. In the moments between the fluttering of the leaves, she looked like something that had sprung from the forge of the Gods, brightly polished metals, rough edges and brilliant, glimmering emeralds.
‘What are you looking at?’
He stiffened up at that, going rigid as though he had just been rudely awakened. The reaction did not go unnoticed as Kataria tilted her head to the side, eyeing him as she might a beast, her body tense and ready to flee . . . or attack.
Not the ideal response.
Now’s your chance, he told himself, you’ve got to talk to her and you’re alone together. Start with a compliment! Tell her about that forge of the Gods thing, she’ll like that!
‘You look like—’
Wait, WAIT! He bit his tongue as her face screwed up in confusion. She’s a shict; she doesn’t believe in the Gods, just Riffid. Does Riffid use a forge?
‘I look like what?’
Damn it, damn it, damn it. He clenched his teeth. To the pit with this, just say something.
‘Hey.’
Genius. He sighed inside his head. Throw away your sword and take up a pen, you Gods-damned poet-general.
‘What?’ Kataria’s long ears quivered, as though she heard his thoughts.
If she can hear your thoughts, he scolded himself, you might as well just say whatever’s on your mind.
‘I want to talk.’
All right, not bad. Straightforwardness is key.
‘We don’t talk during a hunt,’ she replied, ‘ancient shictish tradition.’
‘What?’ He blinked at her, puzzled. ‘You talk to me all the time when you’re tracking.’
‘Huh.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I just want you to shut up this time, then.’
Easy, he told himself, drawing in a sharp breath of air, she wants to fight you. Don’t fall for it.
‘I want to talk,’ he repeated, ‘now.’
‘Why?’
Because, he rehearsed in his mind, you’re the only person I can trust not to get me killed or murder me in my sleep. It likely sounds stranger to hear than to say, but you’re the only person I can sleep easily around and I’d very much like to keep things that way.
He cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Why not?’
Damn it.
‘You don’t want to do this now,’ she replied.
‘I do.’
‘Then I don’t want to do this now.’
‘Then how are we going to—’
‘We’re not, that’s the point.’
Her stare was different as she slid off the tree, something flashing behind her eyes as she regarded him. He had seen everything in those green depths: her morbid humour, her cold anger, even her undisguised hatred when she met the right person. Up until that moment, though, he had never seen pity.
Up until that moment, he had never had to turn away from her.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘it’s not that I don’t trust you any more, but you’re just . . .’ She cringed, perhaps fearing what his reaction might be should she continue. ‘You’re skulking, secretive, snarling. That was charming, in moderation, don’t misunderstand me. But now . . .’ Her body shuddered with her sigh. ‘You’re not even Lenk any more.’
‘I’m not Lenk?’ He threw a sneer at her as though it were an axe. ‘Answer me this, then, how is it you get to decide who Lenk is?’
‘I don’t,’ she retorted sharply. ‘I knew who I thought Lenk was, though. Apparently, now Lenk is some deranged lunatic who talks to himself and refers to himself in the third person.’
‘Lenk is most certainly not—’
He caught himself, bit his lower lip as she caught his sneer, twisted it into a haughty smirk and smashed him over the head with it.
‘Point taken,’ he muttered. ‘Being perfectly fair, though, you’re not Lenk. You,’ he thrust a finger at her, ‘have no idea what’s going on in my head.’
‘Not for lack of trying, certainly,’ she spat back. ‘Is it so shocking that someone might be interested in your weak, insignificant life?’
‘Oh, of course, a reminder of my humanity.’ He rolled his eyes and threw up his arms in one grand gesture. ‘You held on to that for as long as you could, didn’t you?’
‘A reminder?’ Her laughter was long, loud and unpleasant. ‘How could you not be reminded