Page 84 of The Garnet Daughter
“I’m sorry.” His whisper’s calmer, his palm reaching for mine hesitantly. “I should not have spoken of it until after, like we agreed.”
Did we agree to have a conversation after we go to the temple? My head is so fuzzy, like I’m being pulled in too many directions by different emotional strings.
“After,” I concede because it buys me time to process my emotions and what it means for my plans.
I must have joined my hand in his at some point because his rough palm is perfect against mine, our fingers entwined and his thumb grazing the top so gingerly.
There is so much I want to say to him. I am so used to saying whatever is on my mind, comfortable that he won’t judge me. Tease, yes, but never judge.
I can’t trust myself to say the right thing, to filter my doubts in a way that isn’t hurtful. It wouldn’t be fair to process them aloud and work those emotions out when he seems so certain. Even just remembering his confession makes my heart surge. But I can’t let myself get swept away.
But then I crash land back into the present, harder than my escape pod in the swallowing sand, when movement catches my eye in the branchy, seemingly dead tree near us. A piece of light-colored fabric dances in the subtle wind that reaches the high cliffs in this desert. It’s torn but tied tightly around a low branch, the end wiggling like a flag.
Every alarm bell inside me sings. “Remember when you said to tell you if I saw anything strange? Does that count?”
He turns to view where I am pointing.
The way his whole body stiffens justifies my sudden worry, as if he thinks the same thing. A marker. Unlike the trail markers I’ve seen some hunters use on Frith, this is not for us to find our way. This seems like it’s to mark for someone else.
He rips it from the branch with tearing force and stalks back into our camp.
“What is this?” He throws the fabric down in front of Sav.
“Keep your voice down, Viathan,” she hisses.
“Explain.” He removes his smaller gun from his hip and nudges her feet to get up.
She slowly turns over, glancing between us both with no emotion at all. And even when August points the barrel of hisweapon at her, she does not break her calm, only flips up the offending fabric with an index finger.
“No idea,” she says.
“August . . .” I notice the dirty but still light in color fabric wrapped around her hands matches the one from the tree. “Look at her hands.”
“Who are you signaling to?” August spits through gritted teeth.
“No one.” She finally looks concerned, sitting up and shaking her head. “It’s not mine.”
“It was tied, marked our campsite. Who is coming?” August steps closer, pointing his gun.
“No one!” Her eyes gloss with panic. “It must have gotten caught in the tree when I relieved myself.”
“Bullshit,” August snaps.
“I swear it on First Mother and the old gods!” She raises her hands and shrinks away from him, but he does not back off.
“You said there were others who would come for the pod and for me,” I say.
“There are many out here who scrap. I do not call them friends. It was said in warning. Please, this is a mistake.”
She cowers like a trapped animal, her pupils dilated and lined in tears.
“August.” I put my hand on his shoulder because she seems so terrified. We don’t have much proof other than suspicion, and for all that she is harsh and strange, she has kept me alive from the start. Why would she do any different now? I have a pit in my stomach that I can’t shake, but it is not something to shoot someone over. Fold and abandon the moment we can see the temple’s tree line, yes, but not kill. “We shouldn’t do anything with her tonight, and we do need to keep our voices down.”
“They could be coming for us as we speak,” he mutters.
“Who?” Sav asks. “There is no one, please.”
“Let’s wait until we can see the bird beak in the morning.” I give him a meaningful look. “Even if it is marked for someone, I only saw it when we were right next to it. It would have only been seen in the light. We have time to figure this out.” I press his forearm down.
