A Touch Of Darkness

33 || Friend Of Mine

Dizziness rocks through me. Clinging to the tree, I stumble back, ducking behind Sarielle. I pray she will shield me from those eyes, the sapphire flame bright within them.

"And you are?" Dalton steps forward, his hand drifting to his sword hilt. I desperately will him to draw it. I need to say something, to warn them of who they're dealing with, but my voice has curled up somewhere deep at the bottom of my dry throat.

Tipping away from the ledge, Fiesi spreads out his hands, palms tilted towards us. "Finlay Hunter," he replies with an exaggerated bow, "at your most humble service." He rights himself with a grin.

I hate that grin. It belongs to Finlay, to my friend, to the person who showed me snow, who sat beside me on the rocks, who talked with me in the darkness. The first person who I ever remember touching me without consequence. More than anything, I hate the way some part of me still yearns for it, tugging at my lips with the forgotten ghost of an old smile.

It's difficult to pair that person with the chilling image of Fiesi. A flaming knife doesn't belong in his hand. I can't picture the sparkle in his eyes fading, darkening to a twilight sky.

But it can, and all too easily. I have to remember that. I shrink lower.

"I'll ask a better question," Dalton says, folding his arms. "What are you?"

Fiesi tips his head to the side. "I've been called many things, but the one you'll be most interested in is traitor. Neyaibet traitor, to be exact." His fingers toy with the scruff of his hair. "You are Captain Heathe of Oscensi's seventh regiment?"

Dalton stiffens, his hand snapping back to his hilt. "How do you know that?"

"A little birdie told me." Fiesi's lips twitch. "He also mentioned I might find a friend of mine with you."

His eyes are roaming my way. My thumb hooks under the cuff of my glove, yet freezes there, unable to push any further with Sarielle so close. What is the greater risk? What can I do to make him leave me alone? Can I do anything?

I need to run. I need to tear these gloves off and run until I can no longer make out the vibrant shade of his flowing cloak, until the mountains close in around me, until I'm nothing but lost black fire again. But then his shining blue gaze lands on me, and my feet turn to lead.

"Nathan!" He moves closer, five paces away, four. Fear lashes my lungs, scorching where it digs in. "It is you, isn't it? I almost didn't see you there."

Another step. Bark breaks apart under my fingers. Sarielle steps sideways, opening my path to him, eyes filled with uncertainty as they dart between us. I want to plead with her to protect me, as feeble as it sounds even in my own head. Yet my voice is suddenly raw, hoarse, scratched away like everything else inside.

"You're trying out a new look, I see," he continues, smirk shaping his lips. "Can't say I'm a fan. It doesn't compliment your eyes very well."

I flinch. Sarielle jerks forward, fist curling around her hilt. "What do you want?" she snaps.

"A moment alone with my friend, if that's not too much bother." He tries to take another step, but Sarielle holds out a hand, blocking him.

She looks over her shoulder at me. "Is he your friend?"

My sharp inhale catches in my throat. I stare at her, searching for the strength to reply.

"Come on, Nathan." Fiesi fails to slip around Sarielle, her step moving easily to mirror his. I notice the glint of a spearhead poking over his shoulder, out the top of a bag perched there, and my hand curls around my glove again. Run. Move. An itch skitters over my fingertips.