Page 60

The Thoughts Swarm

“ I have excellent hearing,” I blurt out. “I can tell bird calls apart as easily as you distinguish one sword from another.”

My heart hammers. Thump, thump, thump .

Does Netharu’el see through my lie? If not, he should at least hear it in my pulse.

He keeps watching me, his eyes narrowed to slits, thin as stalks. He draws out his answer. “It’s alive.”

“Set it free, and I’ll forgive you.”

“For what?”

“For not telling me about your past sooner.”

“I hardly think?—”

“Set it free.”

“Even if it might kill me?”

“You’re paranoid, Netharu’el.” I twist to the left, finally wrenching one hand free. My fingers crack as I stretch them, pressing against the ceiling. Just shy of the tips of Netharu’el’s horns. “It won’t kill you.”

“It’s more than capable of spreading dangerous information.”

“About what? Our late-night conversations?”

“No, but rather?—”

“Let it go in Gorgoroth. It won’t pose a threat to anyone there.”

He tugs at his lower lip, his gaze distant.

“Your choice,” I say. “Do you want to be my enemy for the rest of the time we’re stuck together?”

A short laugh escapes him. “I don’t understand. It’s just a bird. You’ve never struck me as the sentimental type. I would’ve expected this from Acranta, but not you.”

I lift my chin, holding his gaze. It’s not just a bird. It’s Eístla. And it’s my fault she ended up in his hands in the first place. If she dies, that weight will be on my conscience, not his. But I can’t tell him that.

“It’s your decision.”

He exhales sharply. “Fine. You win. I hope you realize what a sacrifice this is for me.”

“I do. Thank you.”

I smile and rest my hand against his cheek. His skin is hot and damp. He presses into my touch, leaning closer. I freeze, barely breathing, afraid to break the moment, afraid to let go.

“I was worried about you,” he murmurs.

“When?”

“When you didn’t wake up after the trial.”

“How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

“You’re kidding. Three days?”

He intertwines his fingers with mine, his breath brushing my lips. “Acranta was completely beside herself.”

I go rigid. Heat flares through me like a wildfire.

Netharu’el is holding me, holding my hand. For real, this time. Fingers intertwined, our palms pressed against each other.

I can’t breathe. I can’t focus. I can’t think.

No one’s ever touched my palms before—not Keelan, not Naeva, not even my mother or father. They’re sacred, meant for only two things: communion with the goddesses when pressed against the earth, tree trunks, grass, or flowers, and something far more intimate.

Among sun elves, the most profound expression of affection is pressing palms to palms, fingers entwined. This gesture is reserved only for those promised to each other, shared for the first time in the throes of intimacy. So many rules.

I swallow hard. My voice is rough when I speak. “Oh? Only Acranta?”

He doesn’t know. He has no idea what this means to me.

He’s a star elf. Kissing, hugging, and pressing palms together is second nature to him. Just like I spit out curses. He has no clue. And I’m not about to tell him. Not now. Not when it’s already been done.

“Because of the curfew, it took some time before I learned what had happened,” he says matter-of-factly.

“If I’ve been asleep for three days, why am I not hungry?” I must force myself to form words, to think of something, anything else. But all I can focus on is his hands. Hands, hands, hands. His heat against my skin. His palm against mine.

“I fed you, of course…” He hesitates, and then his voice softens. “Iszaelda, what happened? Why did you collapse?”

I glance at the fluffy caterpillars clinging to the ceiling, one deep appleberry red and another indigo blue speckled with black. I don’t want to lie. Not to Netharu’el.

Could I tell him? Decide to trust him?

No. Not yet.

“I think it’s my ability,” I whisper.

“The one you never got? Can they appear later?”

I shrug, my shoulders scraping against the walls. “It seems so, doesn’t it?”

“What can you do?”

“See into the future, I think.”

“That’s certainly not a bad gift, my dear.” He flashes that intoxicating smile, his lips maddeningly tempting. “What did you?—”

“How was it spending your days with Jelethia?” I can’t help the sharpness in my tone. “Acranta said you ran off with her.”

“I tried to get to you, but Baalvon had already carried you away.”

“So?”

“I ended up with Jelethia.”

“And how was that?”

Sesta! I have to drag the words out of him.

“Nothing special. She kept to her side, and I kept to mine.” His thumb brushes against mine. I’m unsure whether it’s deliberate or not.

“She’s in love with you, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is she?”

“Don’t act so fiery surprised. She clings to you like a fungus in symbiosis.”

He laughs loudly, his horns knocking against the ceiling as his chest shakes. “A fungus in symbiosis? That’s a new one.”

“Do you like her?”

His free hand drifts along my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my eyelid, gently pressing it shut. At the same time, his other fingers tighten around mine. His breath, warm and steady, ghosts over my skin. “Do I like her?”

I nod carefully so I don’t bump into him. Outside, the rain crashes down, pounding against the world beyond our shelter. It sounds like Sarador is crumbling while we lie hidden in this cocoon of bark and shadow. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and rain-soaked fur.

His thumb glides lower, brushing over my lips, down my chin, tracing the line of my throat. A slow, deliberate touch. “Why would I like her?”

“She’s very…”

“What?”

“Persistent.”

“That’s true.”

“Overbearing.”

“Also, true.” His thumb moves back up, pausing at my lips. “Persistence isn’t exactly what draws me in. There are other qualities I value more.”

“Like?”

His nose touches my cheek. My breathing deepens; my eyes are still closed. Warm darkness pools beneath my eyelids, flickering with scattered crimson bursts. I wonder just how close he is.

“Strength,” he murmurs, his palm pressing against mine, kneading, tracing over the most sensitive skin I own. “Skill.” His horns rasp softly against the ceiling. “Beauty.”

“And have you found someone with such qualities?” I barely breathe the words, the sound slipping from my lips like a secret.

His hand drifts along my soaked body. A shiver races beneath my skin, every hair standing on end. “Perhaps I have, Sota.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Sota?”

“Sota.”

I open my eyes and lift my free hand to his face, trailing my fingers slowly along the bridge of his nose. My other hand is burning, feverish, damp, trembling.

“What qualities do you value, my dear?” he whispers.

I slide my fingers down to his chest, where firm muscle tenses beneath the damp fabric. Hard. Like stone. “Muscles.”

“Muscles? That’s not a quality.”

I laugh, my lips grazing his jaw. “That wasn’t what I meant to say.”

He presses me down, his body closing the space between us.

His eyes are dark and filled with desire. He stops just a few flakes away, breathing heavily into my mouth. The air is charged, a live wire, sparking and waiting to ignite. Our lips are parted. He’s close, yet not all the way there. His heart pounds beneath his skin.

He hesitates, his gaze flickering between my lips and eyes. One hand grips my waist firmly, and the other presses my fingers against the wall, pinning me in place.

I don’t care. I don’t care about Akares, the bird, or the weight of everything I should think about. If only he kisses me.

And then the world erupts. A shuddering tremor, a violent crack through the air.

Everything jolts, vibrates, and collapses inward.

My ears ring. The space around us explodes in raw sound, a force slamming through the tree, through me.

I choke on a gasp, my body seizing. My hands clutch his torso, nails digging in, and my face pressed to the heat of his throat.

“What in all the fires—” I gasp. “What just?—”

“Weren’t you the self-proclaimed expert on forests?” His voice is sharp and breathless, the tension between us shattering like glass. “Lightning struck. We need to move. Now.”

I take his hand, letting him lead me out into the rain. We descend from the tree together, weaving through the storm back toward the hut. My throat is tight, my stomach coils, and my thoughts swarm like flies.

He didn’t kiss me.