Page 22 of All the Wandering Light

“I’ll stop them.” Tem sounded so completely certain that I almost believed him. Almost. But the strain on his face, the grayish tinge of his skin, belied his words. The magic he had used today had cost him dearly. His cough, which had been lessening steadily, had worsened. He was in no position to protect anyone.

He pressed my hand between his own. “Promise me you won’t use Azar-at’s power again.”

Tem’s mouth was a hard line. He was angry, I realized, but not with me—with himself. As ridiculous as it was, he blamed himself for what had happened. And so he had decided that it was his responsibility to fix it, even if it killed him.

I felt my own anger rise. I looked at Tem, his face pale with concern, and wanted to run away. I knew he was right about Azar-at, and the decision I had made—that wasn’t the point. I was angry because it had been my decision. And now he was taking that away from me and making it his.

I pulled my hand free. “I won’t promise anything. If I need to use Azar-at to protect myself, or anyone I care about, I will.”

Tem’s expression clouded. “How can you say that? You haven’t read the stories of what happens to shamans who abuse a fire demon’s magic.”

I laughed humorlessly. I knew exactly what the magic did to shamans. I had felt it—twice. Suddenly, my anger went out like a snuffed flame. Lusha wasn’t speaking to me. Mara looked at me like I was liable to curse his head off at any moment. And now Tem—his gaze was hard. The anger that had been turned inward was now directed at me. Something in that made me feel oddly satisfied.

Because he should be angry with me. Hadn’t I been the cause of all this? Our lives were in danger because of me and the decisions I’d made. Didn’t he realize that I deserved the fate I had chosen?

I turned away. I liked this cold, empty feeling. I didn’t need to be hurt by what Tem thought, or anything else for that matter. “I made my decision. It was necessary—I had no other choice.”

Tem gave me a strange look. “You sound like River.”

I blinked. “What?”

“That’s how he used to talk,” Tem said. “Necessary. No other choice.”

“Fine,” I said, my voice cold. “Then I sound like River.”

Tem was staring at me. “It’s already changing you. Since when do you give up so easily on an argument?”

I faltered. I thought about what River had said about Azar-at making it more difficult to feel. Was this strange coldness what he had meant?

Tem stood. His expression was closed again. “All right. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Now you sound like Lusha,” I muttered. I turned away, pretending to occupy myself with the fire, which was blazing healthily. Tem let out his breath, and he seemed about to speak again. But then his footsteps moved away.

I forced myself to eat, keeping my gaze on the fire. Lusha drifted off to her tent, followed by Mara. I wondered idly who that arrangement was more uncomfortable for. It would have made more sense for Lusha and me to share a tent—but then, to suggest that, I’d have to talk to her. My eye gave another throb.

In order to reach Azmiri in a fortnight, we would have to cover twice as much ground as we had today, which meant finding every possible shortcut and avoiding bad terrain whenever possible. As the most skilled navigator, I would be the one choosing our path, and scouting for water and safe campsites. A shiver of loneliness traced its way down my back.

With a start, I realized that I missed River. Not the person he had turned out to be, but the person I had thought he was. The River who used to sit with me as our campfire died down, helping me plan our next adventure. The River who would challenge me to a game of Shadow, and then laugh with pure delight when I beat him. The River who had been my friend. Not just because I had thought I loved him—even before that. I had always felt like an outsider in Azmiri. Traveling with River had been the first time I’d felt like I belonged somewhere. I wondered if I would ever feel that way again.

I drew my chuba up to my chin and inched closer to the fire. Its warmth did little to dislodge the chill inside me. An idea occurred. Hesitantly, I held out my hand to the flames.

Give form to the magic, Azar-at had said.

I pictured the fire growing larger, hotter. Almost as soon as I had the thought, the flames leaped into the air, their warmth expanding.

I felt a whisper of pain, gone in a flash—I barely had time to wince.

I loosened my chuba. I was much warmer now, and pleased that I hadn’t needed to use more of our firewood. Tem would be upset, but I was still angry enough to find satisfaction in that. Compared to what I had done to the fiangul, surely a minor spell like that was nothing.

A small shape crept out of the shadows and sniffed at my bowl. Finding it empty, the creature let out a growl.

“Ragtooth!” Relieved, I scooped the fox up, holding him beneath his front legs so that his plump tail hung to the ground and his green eyes were level with mine. “Where have you been?”

Ragtooth consented to be held for only a few seconds before starting to squirm. I stood, tucking him under my arm. “No more skulking around for you. It’s time for bed.”

To my surprise, the fox allowed me to carry him. He seemed tired, and his fur smelled smoky, as if he’d been sleeping next to the campfire.

I paused next to our jumble of supplies, hoping to find some ruhanna bark to lessen the throbbing in my eye. I remembered using most of the healing herb on Raksha to treat Tem’s injuries, and so was surprised to see an entire satchel of it, full to the brim.