He stood to wait for Duke, and paced the small area of the tent.
There was no keeping the memories of his sister at bay now. It was always harder when he was stressed, and seeing Roar lying there, pale and unconscious, had him more than a little on edge. They didn’t look alike. The girl lying on the rug was fair and lean and willowy, while his sister had been much younger and looked like him: dark olive skin, brown hair, brown eyes. It was not appearances that made him connect the two but … their spirits.
He had precious few memories of his sister. The day she died remained fuzzy in his mind, and he was all too happy to let it stay that way. The grief had stolen bad and good memories alike. But he remembered the feel of his sister, the timbre of her soul, the bravado with which she had lived. Roar had that same strange mix of vulnerability and strength.
He had not been able to help his sister. He had been too young, too weak. But he could help Roar. Whatever she was into, he would help her get out of it. And maybe helping Roar would let him find some measure of peace that he had been missing all these years.
The flap of the tent opened, letting in the dull noise from the market. He saw gray hair and sighed in relief. Duke was his mentor. Locke might have considered Duke like a father if he let himself grow that attached to anyone. But he didn’t, never could. Life taught him early that to love something was to tempt fate to take it away. The old man moved closer and knelt with a grace that belied his age. His long gray hair was braided and tossed over his shoulder, and his hand tangled in his beard for a moment before he touched the bandage work Locke had done.
“How’s the wound?” Duke asked. “Any sign of infection?”
“No. It looked fresh. Had to use battle moss to soak up the blood.”
The old man frowned. “Did it happen in the market?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful. She bled through a previous bandage, so I think the wound reopened.” The old man’s knowing green eyes fixed on Locke now, and even though he kept his expression blank, he knew his mentor saw much more than Locke wanted.
“You all right, son?”
Locke had been eleven when Duke had taken him in. He had hit a growth spurt, and could no longer depend on childhood cuteness to gain him sympathy and coins when he begged in the markets. Instead of looking at him with compassion, people saw a gangly boy—dark skinned and dirty and undoubtedly trouble. When you live on the streets for five years without parents or authority figures, you’re bound to end up with some rough edges. But Duke saw past the attitude to a potential beneath that not even Locke had believed existed.
“I’m fine,” Locke said. “Just make sure she’s okay.”
“Tell me what happened before she fainted. Was she agitated? Did she seem ill?”
Quickly, Locke recounted the last hour. “It was strange,” he said. “She was in the market, so she had to know of the storm trade, but she was shocked to find out that Jinx and I had magic.”
Duke hummed and smoothed a hand over her forehead. “There is something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. She might have stumbled upon the market by accident. It does happen.” He touched both sides of her neck, then her wrist. “Clammy. But her pulse is normal.” He peeked beneath the bandage to study the skin around the wound. “I don’t see any swelling or bruising or rashes, nothing that could indicate an infection or poisoning. She likely fainted from the blood loss. And exhaustion by the looks of it. Some rest and food, and she’ll be fine.”
“You think she’s hungry?” The thought sent another riot of agitation through him. “Is she on her own?”
“I doubt it. She’s too well groomed and clean. She’s fatigued, to be certain. But there are no signs of prolonged malnourishment. Whoever she is, she takes decent care of herself. Or someone else does.”
Duke meant his words to be reassuring, but it was not enough. It worried Locke that she hadn’t woken, and it bothered him more that he was torn up over a girl he did not know. He had not survived this long by being softhearted.
She would wake. He would find her somewhere safe to stay. His status as a hunter meant plenty of people would jump at the chance to do him a favor. He could find her a job. Something that would pay well. There wasn’t much time to do it in, but he couldn’t leave Pavan with this still weighing on him.
The crew came and went, bringing in merchandise from the booth as the market closed up. Each time they ducked into the tent, their eyes tracked to him, and then Roar.
Bait, a sixteen-year-old novice hunter, was the first to do more than look. He squatted down beside Roar and reached out for the scarf wrapped around her head.
“Bait, if you put a finger on her, I’m going to break it off.”
A chuckle sounded behind him, and his friend Ransom clapped a hand on his shoulder. Ran had joined the crew two years after Locke. He had been sixteen to Locke’s thirteen, and they hated each other at first, both vying for Duke’s approval. Now he was the closest friend Locke had. And Ran was giving Locke a knowing look that only made him more agitated.
“She’s pretty,” Ran said.
Locke only grunted in response, and his crew rumbled with laughter around him, which only gave him the urge to pace again.
“You’re awfully touchy about this one. What exactly were you doing with her before I came in?” That was Jinx, who sat at the table enchanting jars for their next hunt. She winked, and he scowled.
“It’s not like that. She reminds me of my sister.”
The tent fell silent. He didn’t talk about his sister, ever. But it was a poorly kept secret among the group. Everyone knew he had watched her die. He’d had nightmares when he was young that had given away that secret. Luckily these days, he didn’t dream at all.
Ran was the first to speak, squeezing Locke’s shoulder. “Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting this girl.”
Maybe it was disingenuous to let his team think that’s all it was. Locke would be lying if he said he looked at her like he might a sister. Ran was right … she was pretty. He’d have to be scorching blind not to think so. But he didn’t want them harping on this, not when he still hadn’t puzzled it out himself.
His foul mood kept most of the others away as they waited for Roar to wake. Jinx was the only one brave enough to broach the territory he had staked out. She didn’t say anything—she just sat with him and waited. Jinx was more how he imagined a sister would be. She was loud and opinionated, and she made hurricanes look tame when she didn’t get her way. But she understood that being there was more important than saying the right words. He imagined that was the earth witch in her. She knew the importance of balance.
Eventually, he started to doze and decided to catch a quick nap. He was a light sleeper, a necessity on the road, and he knew he’d wake as soon as Roar made a noise. So he pulled a pillow beneath his head, sprawled out on the ground beside her, and slept.