“Did they actually say that to you?” And why didn’t you cut their hearts out?
She gives me a look that says she hears my unspoken thought. “No one’s saying anything out loud.” She lets go of me and runs both hands through her wet hair. “I wouldn’t have spoken as I did, especially so soon, but the suggestion that we take a knee before my uncle, after what he tried to do . . .”
“I know.” I swallow hard. “I’m with you. Whatever you want to do.”
Her hands fall to her sides. “You might not say that if you knew what I’ve done—”
“Sander told me what you proposed.”
“Oh . . . yes.” She closes her eyes. “Ansa, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You are Lars’s daughter, and you were born to be a great warrior!”
“Sometimes I feel like it’s just a skin I wear.”
I squint at her. “How can you say that? It’s in your blood and bones. All you have to do is embrace it.”
She gives me an uneasy look. “And what, exactly, is in my blood and bones? War? Killing?”
I hate the distaste with which she says those words. “The thrill of conquest. Territory and triumph. Blood and victory.” I laugh, but it carries an edge of frustration.
“How can that be enough for you, Ansa? It certainly isn’t enough for me.”
“Tribe, then,” I shout. “You were born to lead this tribe. Born to keep us strong. And if you don’t—” I clamp my lips shut and turn away. “Give us our pride back. Build us up. Remind us who we are. Plan our revenge on Kupari. But don’t let us become prey.” Please. I wrap my arms around myself as the memory of blood and fire and my parents’ empty eyes makes me feel so small, so small, like anything could snatch me up and take me away from everything I love.
“Ansa.” Thyra touches my arm. “Ansa.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” I say in a choked voice.
“I always have.” Her blue eyes are wide and unfocused as she stares at the lake. “But . . .” She blinks and tosses me a quick, sad smile. “Never mind.”
“You will triumph. I know it,” I whisper, reaching up to touch her hollow cheek. Perhaps, if she feels my faith in her, she’ll find the strength she needs to fight, to keep us whole.
A tired smile pulls at her lips. “Your hands are so warm. As if you brought the fire with you.”
That’s what you do to me, I want to say. But I don’t want her to push me away. “If I did, I’m glad. At least I can say I did something for you tonight.”
She bows her head, but presses her palm over my hand, holding it to her cheek. “In the last day I have watched nearly everyone I love die,” she says quietly. “And I suspected that what I had to say tonight might make the rest walk away from me, yet it was a risk I had to take. But I couldn’t bear . . .” She looks at me through eyelashes sparkling with mist and firelight. “If you looked at me with disappointment, if you walked away . . .” Her voice is so soft that I have to move close to capture her words, my gaze focused on her mouth.
I’m your wolf. Your fire. Your knife, your blanket. If only you ask. “All I see when I look at you is my chieftain.”
“Is that really all you see?”
“You want all my honesty?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, and then slowly, so slowly, she turns her head and kisses my palm. A tiny but potent pang of ecstasy streaks along my arm and straight to the center of me like a ray of sunlight focused through a crystal drop of dew—one that awakens a wildfire inside.
My heart pounds, sending heat pulsing along my limbs. Caught in a storm of hope and searing need, I rise onto my tiptoes.
Thyra gasps and steps away from me, her hand clamped over her cheek, leaving mine suspended between us, reaching. She lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you feverish?”
I tuck my hand into the folds of my cloak. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“I think you burned me.” She pokes at her cheek, wearing a bemused smile. There’s a reddish outline on that side of her face, her pale skin blotchy with heat. I blink at it, telling myself it’s just a shadow as she begins to walk up the narrow path to the settlement. “I’m going to help get things calmed down. You coming?”
I nod, but as she turns her back, I stare down at my hand. At my fingers.
And at the tendrils of flame swirling merrily in the center of my palm.
CHAPTER FIVE
Now I understand why the witch let me live. It is the only thing that makes sense. And as the truth sinks in, it drives my hate for her deep into my bones.
She cursed me. Instead of giving me an honorable death, she filled me with her poison and sent me back to our people. She killed all our warriors, but it wasn’t enough for her. I had thought the warm wind, which rose from nowhere to blow our scrap of hull back to our home shore, was a gift from heaven.