Page 58 of Ruby
The smell rolling off it is nearly overpowering. But I have more pressing concerns.
“Ani,” I call.
She freezes, gasps, and turns. My throat tightens at the sight of her.
Gray, pink, and yellow smudges are scattered across her face. One eye is swollen.
“Szhe’ka!” she cries, racing toward me and leaping onto my body.
I catch her easily, lifting her against my neck as her arms wrap around me. She squeezes tight, song muffled against my skin. I can’t make out the melody, but I know it’s joy.
“You alive,” she warbles, resonance revealing her disbelief, somehow still mixed in with that edge of defiance always underlying her melody.
I laugh.
Still defiant, and also happy to see me. What she doesn’t know is that I am happier.
I want to sink into her warmth, but the presence of the stranger nearby keeps me alert. He watches us with a solemn expression. There are no hunters left standing. Only him. Ani doesn’t seem concerned, so I force myself to stay still.
I wrap all my arms around her and pull her closer, savoring her warmth. She is far more fragile than she pretends to be.
Abruptly, she pulls back, climbing down from me, a stain of yellow spreading across her pale face. I let out a hum of confusion, remembering a similar effect happening on her skin, but it was pink before. My eyes dart to her mouth, which also used to be rimmed in pink, but is now a dark yellow.
I open my mouth to ask her about it, but she is already singing.
Her tones shift rapidly between relief, guilt, excitement. She’s chirping quick, frantic songs, hands waving wildly. It would be comical if her voice weren’t shaking.
“Slow down,” I murmur before she exhausts herself.
“I worried, Szhe’ka. Thought died. Scared.” Her newly yellow mouth trembles.
A small, selfish part of me glows at the knowledge she was worried. It’s quickly smothered by the weight of her fear.
“Does not matter,” I say softly. “I here now.”
She shakes her head.
“It matters. Was my fault.”
Conviction burns in her red eyes.
I open my mouth to argue—to tell her that she is the reason I kept going, that the thought of her pulled me forward—but she presses her hand over my mouth.
“Please. Let me speak.”
I nod.
“My regrets,” she says haltingly. “I made journey longer. Should not have been.”
I bend down to press my forehead to hers.
“No regrets, Ani. No fault.”
Water spills from her eyes and I wipe it away gently.
She takes my hand and leads me toward the stranger.
“He save me,” she says, glancing up at me. “Forgot ask name.”
