Page 23 of Fire to the Stars

“I wouldn’t call this situation good luck,” he replies. I open my mouth, but he cuts off my retort. “And before you mention that trophy head in Bourlin, I don’t consider fawna sightings lucky if the animal isdead.”

“Says the boy who ate fawna venison for lunch. Youhuntedone.”

“Believe me, I wish I hadn’t.”

Well. If he wants to let negativity win, so be it.

I pretend to occupy myself with petting Lucy while he peels his tunic off his dripping torso. Shiny pink scars crisscross his abdomen and right forearm, too jagged to be blade wounds. Dragon claws? Fangs? Beneath the overcoat, I run a fingertip along the scar on my chest. A knot forms in my stomach. He’s had multiple close calls on the job, hasn’t he?

The fog of his breath ripples as he strings a clothesline from tree to tree and throws our clothes, tent, and camping furs over it. Strung in a half circle, they form a meager wall that blocks out some of the breeze. It doesn’t stop the cold. Still, with the indent in the rock behind me to complete the circle, at least our little campsite secludes us from the rest of the forest. I close my eyes and try to focus on the warmth.

“Thank you.”

Abel’s voice lures me from my trance. Did I imagine him speaking? It would seem so. He kneels across from me, the fire between us, and adds new stones to the perimeter. When I catch his eyes through the smoke, he rubs the back of his neck and averts his gaze.

I stroke Lucy’s soft, dry ears. Her whiskers twitch, but she doesn’t wake. “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

Abel nods, sniffing back the cold as he flays wet bark off a few branches and arranges them over a batch of dry leaves. The flames grow and the warmth blooms.

I pull his overcoat tighter around me. “My horses died back in Sellecastel. I can sympathize.”

My breath catches at the lack of change in his expression. I’mbasically confessing I killed my horses—and Papa—and Abel has no idea. It seems impossible that he can’t see my secret when its enormity could burst from my skin. I want someone to help carry the weight of my truth as much as I want to pretend I’m still human.

Once he piles extra wood beside the fire for later, he sits cross-legged beside me and offers Lucy’s snout the gentlest of strokes. I flush at the sight of his muscular arms up close.

Abel’s attention remains fixed on Lucy. “I lost my first tinderfox when my brother turned.”

“Lucy isn’t yours?”

“She was my brother’s familiar.” He shakes his head but smiles fondly. “Micah loved her too much to properly disciplineher.”

I blink at him. Is that the first time I’ve seen him smile? I have an inkling he didn’t mean to show me. Compared to the arrogance and ego I remember from Étienne Houdin, this slayer seems to carry kindness.

Abel’s smile turns wry. “That’s why she’s such a menace.”

I press my lips together, stifling a laugh. He has too much love for animals. He belongs on a farm, not in dragon armor.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, sounding wary.

“You are.”

I turn my focus to the stars. The owl constellation blurs, as if cocking its head to the north. I mimic the gesture. The light makes me squint. The stars shine so brightly, it’s as if they absorbed the full moon I missed while under the effects of sleep powder.

“Claire.”

I blink at Abel. “Hmm?”

“Are you all right? You look dazed.”

“Just stargazing,” I answer. “We had a tradition in Sellecastel. The night before every Ignition, we’d sit around the campfire, watch the moon and stars rise, and tell Noctu about the things we were grateful for.”

“You’re supposed to tell those things toDiu. In church, during daylight hours.”

“We did. We just happened to share them with Noctu aswell.”

He frowns at the sky. “Odd choice to appeal to the unforgiving God. Especially on nights before the Ignition.”

“Is it so unusual?”