Talks in the Fire
Talks in the Fire
Chapter 116:
The healer finished cleaning, and dabbed a thick green paste over the wound. Kael winced, the air filling with the sharp scent of bitter roots, crushed leaves, and the faint iron of blood. The young lady tied round his head with clean bandages, then stood and nodded to Aria, her expression unreadable as she packed up her herbs. “He’ll heal fast,” she said. “But don’t push him too soon.”
Aria could only manage a faint smile of gratitude “Thank you.”
The healer only dipped her head before disappearing back into the shadows, Lucien’s gaze following her until she was gone.The sound of low voices drifted from outside the mouth of the cave, murmurs, footsteps, the faint crackle of fire.
It didn’t take long for Kael to fall asleep, his head turned towards her, his breathing shallow but steady. Aria sat back against the wall, exhausted. Lucien sat rigidly on the edge of the cot, his bandaged shoulder looking swollen in the light. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, like a bowstring pulled to breaking. Even injured, he still managed to look untouchable.
Aria watched him from across the dim space, exhaustion weighing heavy behind her eyelids. The fire burned low, shadows curling against the walls of the small shelter.
His eyes never stopped roving, studying the rogues, the healer, the guards outside, the ones pretending not to listen to what was going on inside. Every movement around them seemed too controlled, too deliberate. “They seemed well-skilled in this,” he muttered.
Aria looked up, confusion swiming in her eyes, “In what? Tending to strangers?”
“No,” He shook his head. “In tending to injured warriors.” For a while, they didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. The tension pressed down on all of them, heavy and alive.
“This place,” he murmured, “it’s organized. More than a group of runaways.”
The older rogue, gray-eyed and scarred across the jaw, leaned against the stone entrance. “We’re survivors, not runaways. Packs called us unstable, cursed, unworthy of the Goddess’s light.” Her voice hardened. “But we survived long after they turned their backs.”
Lucien tried to cross his arms and winced at the pain, so he settled for glaring at her, “Survival doesn’t make loyalty.”
“No,” she agreed, “but it makes truth.” Her gaze shifted to Aria. “And wolves are tired of being told what to worship or follow.”
Aria frowned. “You think I’m any different from the packs that rejected you?”
The rogue’s lips curved slightly. “You walked away from your Alpha. You bled for rogues, not just the sane wolves. You carry the Moon’s mark and still live free.” Her eyes glinted. “That’s difference enough.”
Lucien inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring in anger, “She’s not your savior, don't put that burden on her shoulders.”
“Maybe not,” the rogue said calmly. “But try telling them that.” He didn’t respond to that, and she took the hint, bowing her head slightly before slipping out through the curtain of hides that served as a door.
Silence followed. Only the steady crackle of the fire remained.
Aria rubbed her arms, the weight of her damp clothes clinging to her skin. Her fingers brushed the faint glow beneath her sleeve where the Rune still pulsed, a slow heartbeat in time with her own. It hadn’t flared since she touched Lucien, but she could still feel its presence, restless beneath her skin, like it was listening.
Outside, faint voices murmured–low, reverent, almost prayer-like. The sound pricked at her skin.
Finally, she broke the silence, “You should rest,” she said softly, looking over at him.
Lucien’s gaze lifted from the fire to her, the corners of his eyes tight with exhaustion, “I will. Once Kael’s stable enough to watch over you.”
“You’ll rest now,” she countered, moving to kneel in front of him. “He’s breathing fine, and I can handle myself, while you can barely sit upright.”
His brow furrowed, a flicker of amusement breaking through the exhaustion. “You’re giving orders now?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Someone has to.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He didn’t argue this time, but he also didn’t lie down. His golden eyes drifted toward Kael, then the doorway, his instincts clearly still at war with reason.
He exhaled, dragging a hand across his face, slowly. “We shouldn’t stay long.”
“Kael can’t move yet, and so can't you,” she replied. “We need the both of you fully healed.”
“I heal faster so I can just carry him if I have to.”
She looked at him. “And where would we go, Lucien? Back into the rain? Back into more blades? These people, whatever they're after… they aren’t attacking us.”
“They’re watching,” he countered. “Every breath, every glance. Like they’re waiting for something.”
Aria hesitated, then admitted softly, “I know.”
He turned toward her then, eyes searching hers. “They see you as one of them.”
She met his gaze. “Maybe that’s not the worst thing.”
Lucien’s expression darkened. “Don’t start that.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly, though her voice shook slightly. “But if we’re going to survive, we need allies.”
He gave her a look of betrayal, “You trust them?”
Aria hesitated. “No. But I don’t think they’re not exactly lied about anything either.”
Lucien leaned back slightly, wincing when the movement tugged his shoulder. “That’s the problem. Wolves who don’t lie usually want something worse.”
Before she could reply, a soft sound broke the quiet, a rustle at the entrance.
The curtain shifted, and the gray-streaked rogue woman stepped inside again, carrying a small clay bowl. Steam curled from it, thick with the smell of mint and bark. “Drink,” she said, setting it down beside Kael’s cot. “It’ll dull the pain and help him sleep.”
Lucien’s eyes flicked to the bowl. “What’s in it?”
She arched a brow. “Not poison, that's what.”
Lucien didn’t even blink at the sarcastic tone, “I’ll pass.”
Aria rose, taking the bowl instead. “I’ll make sure he drinks it.”