Page 94 of Starside

I could wait here and potentially find my death in these cold waters. I could scream and see if Harlan “I Need You Alive, For Now” Raker would save me. Or, I suppose, I could take this man’s hand and see what life might be like as a stolen bride.

I sigh. “Then I guess I’m stuck here staring at your ugly face all night.”

The man frowns.

I stare at him. He stares at me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t drop his hand, as if believing I’ll just give up and take his mysterious invitation.

Stolen brides.

On Stormside, people rarely get married. Survival oftentimes means betrayal. Families divided. Killed. Most don’t live that long in those conditions. Love or care or even sex take lower priority than hunger and thirst.

You’re on the wrong side, I think. Thousands on Stormside would take this man’s hand willingly if guaranteed a lifetime of enough to eat.

My feet go numb. So do my fingers. I shiver, teeth rattling, and curse myself. Curse this man. Curse a god who can’t get a bride unless he steals one. I curse this entire forest, and all its creatures, and even Raker’s heavenly soap.

Just as the sun is about to surface, the man turns and disappears into the woods. Shivering, I wait for the red-tipped slice of sunrise to reach me.

A little cry sounds in the back of my throat as I rush through the stream, faint heat finding my limbs again.

My skin is pruney. My nails are blue. Tears sting my eyes at the sensation of the sun on my frozen skin.

The shivering makes it almost impossible to put my clothes on. I didn’t get a chance to wash them.

I grab the soap and my sword and rush up to the cave.

Raker is sharpening his metal when I enter. He takes one glance at my dripping hair and trembling body and looks away.

“Idiot,” he says beneath his breath.

I can’t say I disagree with him. Behind his back, I slip the soap into his bag, grab my food, and leave the cave. I braid my hair, then lie outside beneath the sun, waiting as it warms me just the slightest bit.

When I can feel my toes again, I find the coin in my pocket and lay it on the grass.

“Come back,” I say to the skies, willing my dragon to sense the gold. To want it as much as she wanted rubies. “Please.”

Please, give me a path to the gods that doesn’t involve this asshole.

My coin glimmers beneath the sunlight.

She doesn’t come.

Three days pass in the same way. Endless silence. Raker, doing his best to pretend I don’t exist. Me, doing my best not to risk it all by smothering him in his sleep.

Sometimes, we’ll make camp at one of the waterfall-doored caves earlier than sunset. It gives Raker more time to hunt, and he regularly returns with food. I stop looking. I stop complaining. He never offers anything to me.

It’s fine. I don’t need it. I collect a pile of sticks and, over the days, make a small basket, with skills the weaver taught me over the years. I forage so much that it’s overflowing with fruits, mushrooms, and nuts. The Prism Pass is nothing if not fertile.

I’m wading through a moss-laden forest, brimming with buttercups and asters and violet-tipped tulips, pockets full of crimson berries, when I hear it.

A blade, smashing against something hard. I go still. My blood turns to ice.

Another challenger. Or an immortal?

No. The sword didn’t hit metal. And that sword … I know it. Unless there is an immortal walking around with a blade as large as Raker’s, it’s his.

He’s out hunting.

Raker has eaten plenty. There are more than enough berries and mushrooms here. Maybe … maybe if I could save one creature … My feet move before I can think about all the reasons getting in Raker’s way is a bad idea.