before the soldier arrived. If only I had controlled my power better. If only I hadn’t been distracted enough to let myself get wounded.
If only, if only, if only.
Sometimes I wonder if a person can have so much regret they’ll drown in it.
At the memory of Celeste, of me reaching into her mouth for the alman stone, my food feels like coal going down my throat. I don’t dare waste any, though, because who knows if we’ll catch any game tomorrow. I swallow more water to help keep it down.
“How’s your headache?” Sayida asks Esteban.
“Better. Instead of feeling like I took a mace to my skull, it feels like one of Dez’s right hooks.” He takes a swig from his flask. Dark eyes roam the canopy above, the trees that conceal the stars and give nest to all sorts of critters. He offers it to Sayida, who declines.
“You’ll be able to see across far distances yet,” Margo says, ripping bread with her fingers. She washes it down with her waterskin, giving him a broad smile. “Your duties as a postmate will be complete.”
“I am not a glorified messenger,” Esteban says, trying for dignified.
Sayida and Dez chuckle. I break off a piece of the hard goat’s milk cheese and nibble at it. I’d like to tell Esteban that when he uses his power to contact Illan across leagues he appears to be talking to a ghost, but I wonder if he’d take that with the same humor as this. It’s hard for me to insert myself in their conversations, so I remain quiet. I drink. I eat. It’s so hot out we go through our water too soon, tapping the last drops onto parched tongues.
“We should rest early and refill our water reserves,” Dez says, undoing his leather vest and tunic ties. Even though we’ve all seen each other in various stages of undress while out on missions, I look away from him. “I’ll lay some traps.”
“For the guards or for our breakfast?” Margo asks.
He flashes a cocky smile. “Both.”
“I don’t care for the taste of guards,” Sayida says, wrinkling her nose.
“I hope the Hawk Unit brings a jar of pickled peppers,” Esteban says dreamily.
“Not if Costas eats them before he gets here,” I say. When we’re back home, one of the youngest Whispers, Costas, is known for eating everything in sight. Only Sayida chuckles, and Dez gives me a pitying smile.
“Esteban, Margo, will you refill the waterskins?” Dez asks.
“I can do that,” I say. I get up, dust crumbs from my hands.
“You’re wounded, Ren. Let us help you,” Dez says, and I wish he wouldn’t look at me the way he does—as if I’m fragile and breakable. I should remind him that I’m supposed to be a shadow in the night and all of those things he called me in Esmeraldas.
Margo lets out a tiny grumble for my benefit, but she and Esteban gather the empty waterskins. He lights an oil lamp, and they head off into the dark. The rush of the river is loud enough to find, and the ground of this forest is easier to traverse than yesterday.
While Dez takes his ropes and iron traps into the forests, Sayida and I wipe mud and dust from our packs. Even when something doesn’t belong to us, we help each other this way. Living with the Whispers was different than my time in the palace. I learned to share, even when I didn’t want to. I learned that if we all spent the same amount of time cleaning our rooms and our training weapons, we’d get everything done faster. It was supposed to teach us how to be a family, regardless of blood. But part of me can’t connect. As I dump out the dirty water, I wonder why I keep trying.
I wash my face and clean my teeth with the gritty paste that staves off gum rot and bad breath. The water is ice cold, but I rub the towel along my bare arms until my skin is red. Sometimes it’s like I’ll never feel clean. Unraveling my hair from the tight braid releases some of the tension at my temples.
“You could join me if you feel restless,” Sayida offers.
She sits close to the fire and meditates to keep her emotions balanced. The elders encourage all Moria to do this, but I hate having so much time with my thoughts. Her hands are loose at her sides, fingertips dug just into the earth like she’s drawing power from