He nods and I try to imagine how different their world is to ours. “What’s it like?” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You know, living in fire country,” I say.
He nods, almost to himself. There’s a solidarity in his eyes and expression that makes me feel like he’s someone you can depend on, someone who’ll cover your back no matter what. It reminds me of the way Buff is, only with fewer jokes.
“It’s hot,” he says with a straight face.
I stare at him for a second and then laugh, realizing he’s joking, but not. Maybe he’s even more like Buff than I thought.
“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” he says. “On a warm spring day when the wind is blowing, the prickler are growing, turning green, the burrow mice are scavenging in the sand, and the desert floor is rolling in every direction, it’s home. Especially if you’ve got someone special beside you, leaning into you.”
“Siena,” I say, picturing the two of them so close even when separated by bars and stone, holding hands, playing their thumb game. I try to take that memory and stick it in the desert.
“We go back a ways,” he says, almost wistfully.
“And Skye?” I ask, trying not to look at her ahead of me, whispering to Feve.
“I’ve known her just as long,” he says. “They’ve both changed over the years, but Skye more than Siena.”
“How do you mean?”
He laughs, a hearty chuckle that’s full of fond memories. “Well, Siena’s always been the way she is. You know, the way she has with words, always making me laugh, always wishing every day was full of more hours I could spend with her. She’s got a real unique way of looking at the world. The only thing she’s ever lacked is confidence in herself, which is the biggest change in her. Ever since she joined the Wilde’s, she’s got that spark, like she knows she’s more than just a stream of words, that she’s actions too.”
I take it all in, nodding to myself as I remember how quickly Siena made me laugh, and also how quickly she strung her bow to protect the lot of us against the guards. Yah, I’ve seen firsthand everything that Circ just told me. “And Skye?” I say.
“She’s always had the confidence, always had a lot of friends, was never afraid to speak her mind to anyone and everyone that’d listen.”
“You don’t say,” I reply, laughing.
“So you’ve had a taste? Well, that’s pretty normal. She’ll tell you what she’s thinking in a heartbeat, not caring whether you like it or not. And if you cross her or her family…”
“Watch out,” I say.
She sounds perfect, I think to myself.
“Dazz,” Circ says, and I hear the sadness coming in his words, the compassion.
“Don’t,” I say, unable to hear another I’m sorry from anyone.
~~~
We’re almost to the border.
We stop to rest in a blank spot in the woods. People are finally talking again. Buff to Wilde. Siena to Circ. Skye and Feve. I’m the odd one out for the moment. I stalk off into the woods, find a clearing of my own, big enough to fit me and my temper, which is rising for no reason at all.
I grab a stick off the ground, snap it over my knee. Too thin—too easy. I pick up a thicker branch, do the same with it, relishing the snaaaap! as it shatters into two pieces. I imagine it’s the king’s leg or arm or head.
“Argh!” I yell, and I’m sure the others will hear it, but I don’t give a shiver anymore. I’m done crying, I’m done mourning. My anger will sustain me now.
I hear sticks cracking in the forest and I look away from the sound. It’ll be Buff, my best and most loyal friend in all of ice country, hearing my temper-induced cry, who’ll come running to make sure I’m okay.
I can’t look at him, not by any fault of his. I can’t look at anyone right now.
The twigs stop snapping and feet scrape into the clearing.
“I’m fine,” I say to the forest. “Leave me alone.”
“I tried to git ’em to go back to the palace,” Skye says.
A tremor runs through me. Anger? Excitement? Both? Neither? Something else entirely? My emotions, while surface-deep, are like a labyrinth, a maze of false walls and trapdoors.
I stare deep into the cracks of a tree trunk, not seeing anything.
I don’t say anything.
“That was yer sister on the wall, wasn’t it?” Skye says. “With the king.”
I stare straight ahead, like a statue. She looked back too. Saw what I saw. I didn’t imagine it.
I don’t say anything.
“It’s a seven day journey,” she says. “Across the desert. A day to prepare and gather provisions and warriors.” She pauses and I can’t help but like the way warriors sounds in the rasp of her voice. “Then seven days back. It sounds long but it’s only half a full moon. We’ll come back stronger. We’ll crush that baggard.” I like the way she says crush, too, but I can’t enjoy it, because all I can see in the lines of the tree trunk is Wes dying while I watch helplessly.