“What happened?” Estrid asked, pulling back and guiding Sibba to the fireside. “I saw you leave with Evenon and I thought”—she paused, flushing—“well, I didn't think this.” She lifted a hand to Sibba's bloody shirt.
On the other side of the fire, two horses were saddled and tethered to a tree, their heads drooping in sleep. Sibba’s eyes followed Tola as she led their horse to the others, wrapping its reins around a low tree branch. Estrid pulled Sibba down to sit beside her beside the fire, leaning her raven-haired head on Sibba’s shoulder. Tola came and sat on her other side, her face illuminated by the dancing sparks from the fire. The three of them huddled close together for warmth.
Sibba closed her eyes. She had to talk, to say something, to keep her mind off of the fact that she was sandwiched between these two, her heart racing almost audibly in her chest. “His brother is the man I killed,” she said, flinching away from the cold rag on her cheek. Estrid jerked upright, her hands flying to her mouth to hold in a gasp. “He wanted revenge,” Sibba said simply, leaving out the crown and the vague details about the Malstrom family. If Darcey was a Malstrom, that meant she was a Malstrom and that someone across the Impassable Strait wanted her dead. She didn’t want to dwell on that, or how close to death she had truly come.
“Where did he go?” Estrid asked.
“To Ydurgat, to find a way across the Impassable Strait.”
“Across the Strait? Why?”
“He was going home. And he stole something from me—something that belonged to my mother.” It hadn’t occurred to her until just then how much the loss of the circlet meant. It was the last thing she had held onto, the last clue she had into her mother’s past and her own history. “I’ll never see it again. She is lost to me forever.”
“Not if we stop him first,” Tola said. During the course of the conversation, she had scooted closer to Sibba until she was flush against her, leg to leg, arm to arm. Not a breath of wind sneaked between them. On her other side, Estrid had buried herself deep in her furs. Warmth radiated off of the trio in their own little pocket of the forest.
Sibba thought about her options. They could continue on to Ydurgat as if nothing had happened. Evenon thought she was dead and he would tell Chief Isgerd that. The chief would think she had time to spare before her father’s next rescue attempt. Maybe that would be the best choice, but it felt wrong to Sibba. It felt incomplete. She wanted to catch Evenon; she wanted her revenge. Maybe she was Fielding after all. Tola shivered, shaking the log they sat on, and Estrid leaned forward, stoking the fire with a long stick that sat nearby. Stretching an arm out beneath her cloak, Sibba wrapped it around Tola’s shoulders and squeezed.
“He's long gone,” Sibba said in response to Tola's optimism, trying to ignore the way the vala fit perfectly against her side.
“We'll see about that.” Tola dug in a drawstring pouch at her belt, then paused and looked over at Sibba. They were so close that Sibba felt Tola’s breath on her lips. “We can catch him if you want.”
Estrid looked back at them, the fire lighting one side of her face. A horse nickered and overhead, branches rustled. Aeris, Sibba though absently. She saw Estrid’s eyes flick to her hand on Tola’s shoulder.
“I do want to,” Sibba admitted. “But how?”
Withdrawing a pinch of something like dried leaves, Tola threw them onto the fire and then dropped to her knees. Cold air wrapped itself around Sibba’s side where Tola had been, and she tucked her arm back into herself, feeling suddenly very small. The fire flared and bellowed blue smoke into the air. With her eyes closed, Tola leaned forward and inhaled sharply. Estrid pulled the neck of her dress up over her mouth and nose, and Sibba followed suit with the collar of her tunic.
There was a change in the air as if all of nature turned to their camp and focused its attention on the vala. The trees, the horses, even Estrid, faded away and Tola was sandwiched between the eerie glow of the firelight and the creeping shadows behind her. She began to chant in her deep voice, words that Sibba didn't recognize but rather felt deep in her bones. It reminded her of Evenon’s tattoos—something she should recognize but that had been long forgotten. A chill raced up her spine when Tola threw back her head and spread her arms wide, blue smoke streaming from her mouth. Sibba wanted to go to her, to shake her out of her trance, to make sure that she was okay, but she was stuck, less able to move from her spot by the fire than she had been when she was frozen on the barn floor.
She closed her eyes and was struck with an image of a small beast running through the woods, four legs scampering quickly and confidently over roots and leaves, great tusks protruding over lips. There was the sound of heavy breathing, a squeal, ragged snorting, a scuffle in the leaves. And there was pain. Sibba pressed a hand to her stomach but didn’t—couldn’t—open her eyes. There was pain, and there was a hand on rough skin, and blood. So much blood.
Sibba’s eyes shot open, the iron taste of blood in her mouth. All at once, the fire swelled and then died, leaving only smoldering black sticks in a circle of hot rocks. Tola fell to her knees in a cloud of black skirts and red hair, and Sibba was freed from her trance. She rushed forward, wrapping an arm around Tola's back. There was a rush of energy that set Sibba's arm to trembling and then Tola pushed herself up to her knees.
Sibba leaned back. “What was that? Are you okay?” she asked.
Tola ignored her and instead lifted her eyes to the tall trees around them. She raised an arm and extended a finger, pointing into the canopy. Sibba followed the slope of her arm to a bare branch high above them, to a flash of golden and white feathers.
“He won’t be going anywhere now. We'll follow the bird. Aeris will show us the way,” Tola said, a small smile on her lips before she collapsed sideways into Sibba's waiting arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rayne
Unfortunately for Rayne, the Orabel garden was a popular spot. The mild southern weather and the way the abundant flowers masked the permeating fish smell meant that it was always teeming with people. Most of them avoided the sorrow tree in favor of the more classically beautiful flowers, but she didn't want to risk anyone seeing her anywhere near the leaves that would kill her sister, and so she stayed away, biding her time.