She had failed Krimathe. Mala would make no alliances now. No warriors would answer the call of a woman who wore Vela’s Mark. And two years would pass before the House of Krima would know of her failure and attempt to send someone else.
If ever she returned to Krimathe at all. She had failed her quest, but she would not abandon her vows—and before she left this cursed land of Blackmoor, she would see Barin dead.
Though she did not know how to do it. While she’d been wearing the red cloak, Vela might have guided her. Mala could not expect help from the goddess now.
Mala could ask for help from no one else, either. Not even the man who’d tried so many ways to kill Barin before.
Kavik.
As soon as he slipped into her thoughts she desperately tried to shove them away. But it was too late. The shattered ache erupted through her chest and doubled her over into helpless tears. Vela forgive her. She should have been more patient. She should have been more stubborn.
She should have let him stab her over and over.
But, no. No. Her tears passed, leaving only the hot agony of the salt burning in her marked cheeks. She could not believe that was Vela’s intention. The goddess could be cruel. But Mala had believed Vela would not make the taming a cruel one—and it made no sense that she would not be cruel to Kavik, but would be cruel to Mala. She couldn’t believe that the goddess had meant her to love a man, and then ask her to endure as he shredded her heart whenever his fears threatened him.
He’d thoughtlessly, deliberately hurt her. She was not sorry for walking away.
And she had not abandoned her quest. She had not. She had only stepped on the wrong path.
She would find it again.
Pushing her hood back, she looked up. The moon shone fat and bright. Tomorrow Vela would look fully upon all of them, but Mala rode by her light now. Not completely forsaken. And with so much to be grateful for.
“Thank you,” Mala called to the sky, and the next breath she drew was an easier one. “You sent me to him. What you put into my path would have been so much more than I expected. I didn’t come to find love. Only strength. But you chose well for my heart. I wish Kavik had taken the same care with it.”
There was no reply. Mala hadn’t expected one. She was still forsaken.
She looked to the path ahead again just as the mare shifted nervously beneath her. Tension gripped Mala’s neck. Her gaze scanned the barren hills.
A piercing whinny split the night air.
Shim.
No. Oh, no. The mare answered and wheeled toward the call. Mala tried to rein her in. The mare slowed, then fought the bit when Shim trumpeted again. Curse it all. Mala would not saw at this horse’s mouth.
Swinging her leg over the saddle, she slid from the horse’s back to the ground. The mare galloped away and into the dark.
“Do not follow me, Shim!” she shouted.
He did. Within minutes he strode behind her, nose nudging her back with each step. The mare walked alongside him, and every time Mala tried to mount her again, Shim nipped at the mare’s hindquarters and her wild bucking sent Mala flying to the ground again. As if it were a game.
Her heart would not stop aching. “Do you not know what this mark means, you god-swived scut of a horse? You will be forsaken, too. Danger will come into your path. Your fortunes will turn.”
He blew air at the back of her neck and shook his head.
Oh, Temra. Why had that goddess not given this horse sense? She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. But she didn’t know how to send him away without hurting him herself.
Shim’s sudden snort had her reaching for her sword again. His ears pricked forward, he faced the darkness behind them.
“What is it?” Gripping his mane, Mala prepared to haul herself onto his back. Not riding together again—she would defend him. Then when the danger had passed, she would make him go.
A rider crested the low hill. Mala’s heart constricted. At this distance, he was nothing but shadow, but she couldn’t mistake him. Kavik.
He’d pushed her away. Why come after her now?
But it mattered not. “Shim,” she whispered. “Let me mount the mare. Please.”
He only lifted his head and whinnied loudly. Kavik’s horse answered. All part of Shim’s little herd.
Heart racing, Mala drew up her hood and swiftly struck out north again. Dead grass crackled under her boots. Shim and the mare plodded along behind. And the pounding of the gelding’s hooves was growing ever louder.
Abruptly the gelding slowed. She heard Kavik dismount. Moments later, the crunch of grass under his boots caught up with her own.
“You must go away from me.” She did not shift her gaze from the path ahead. “I am forsaken.”
“So am I,” Kavik said softly.
No. Not like this. “Danger will come into your path. Your fortunes will turn.”
“Danger has always come into my path. And how could my fortunes be worse, little dragon?”