Ignite the Sun

by Hanna Howard

  His familiar green eyes widened in shock.

  34

  CHAPTER

  Light, Siria!” Linden gasped, and crushed me against him, long arms wrapping me up like a cocoon. “I was afraid—I thought you were . . .”

  “I thought you were dead,” I said, pushing back and pounding my fists against his chest. “Almost two weeks I’ve had to wonder whether you were captured or tortured or even alive . . .” Tears blurred my vision.

  “You think I’ve had it any better?” His voice edged toward hysterical, and he hugged me so tight against him I thought he might crack my ribs. For a moment or two we stood there, locked together with twin pounding hearts and trembling limbs while the twilight deepened around us. Then Linden muttered, “Let’s get out of here.” But he seemed reluctant to let go of me and took my hand as soon as we pulled apart. “There’s an inn at the edge of town that’s safe. We can talk there.”

  It was indeed at the very edge of town, though it looked more like an abandoned townhouse than an inn, with a crumbling brick façade and dimly lit windows three rickety stories high. Linden dropped my hand before we entered, and I checked my scarf and followed him into the shabby, fire-lit common room. There were only three people inside, each of them hooded and sitting on various pieces of broken or sagging furniture, and they all looked up nervously when we came in. At least we were among kindred souls, I thought, pulling my own hood lower.

  “My brother and I’d like a room, please,” Linden told the innkeeper, plunking a few coins on the bar while I stared at the threadbare rug. “And if you could send up whatever supper you’ve got, we’d be grateful.”

  “’Course,” said the man, inclining his head. “Just this way, please, lads.”

  Our room was a small dormer on the top floor, with one sagging bed, a low table, a wooden chair with mismatched legs, and a cold fireplace. Though I had no idea where Yarrow and the others were, this room and its one bed seemed to indicate they would not be joining us tonight.

  One bed.

  I swallowed, faintly lightheaded at the thought of an entire night alone with Linden. I was better now than I had been at controlling my power, but I’d also had precious little practice under emotional duress. Could I tell him the truth of how I felt? I bit my lip and moved to look out the window. Behind me I could hear him lighting the lamps.

  “Siria,” he said after a moment.

  I turned around slowly, hood and scarf still up. My heart had become erratic, like a spooked rabbit in a cage.

  But before Linden could speak, a knock sounded at the door. A serving boy came in with a tray of hot food and a basket of firewood and made quick work of reviving the hearth. When he had finished, Linden slid all three bolts into place behind him and turned again to face me.

  Now that the intensity of finding each other had cooled, he seemed uncertain how to proceed. I shifted, wanting to take off my hood, but feeling like it would be suggestive if I started pulling off articles of clothing while he watched.

  “I’m sorry for hitting you,” I said. “I’ve just been worried about you. And Yarrow, I mean,” I added, a little wildly. “And the others, obviously—”

  I felt stifled by my hood as my face flamed. Jerking the scarf away, I flung it onto the chair and threw back my hood, shaking the hair off my sweaty neck. “Sorry,” I said. “I was boiling.”

  To my surprise, Linden laughed. “I was wondering how long you were going to leave that thing on.”

  In the clearer light of the room, I could see that there were deep purple shadows under his eyes, like bruises on his slightly darkened gray-brown skin, and at least two weeks’ worth of stubble covering his jaw. Had he slept at all since we’d been separated? His nut-brown hair was wilder than ever, and despite the obvious fact it hadn’t been washed in many days, I couldn’t quite repress the desire to touch it. I balled my fists, watching him watch me, and wondered if my thoughts were written all over my face.

  “The others are fine,” he said, still standing by the door. We were like pieces on the board of some invisible game, immobile, each waiting for the other to move. “They didn’t think you’d stop in Polter, so they went on to the next town. Yarrow and I argued, but in the end, he let me do what I wanted.”

  “You know me well,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted. His eyes caught mine again and held them a moment longer before I ripped my gaze away, feeling like I was drowning.

  He shrugged. “I ought to, after ten years.” Though there was a practiced carelessness to his tone, I heard tension beneath the words, like he meant them slightly differently than they sounded.

  I ought to, but I’m not sure I do.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek.

  “You should eat,” he said, an edge of irritation in his voice now, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me or himself. “You look like you haven’t had a decent meal since you left us.” He gestured toward the table and the food tray.

  “Half of that’s for you.” My stomach was a tangled knot, but hunger had nothing to do with it.

  Tell him, I thought. Be brave. Be brave like your mother, like Queen Elysia. I sought his eyes, but he was avoiding my gaze.

  “I’ll eat when you’ve had your fill,” he muttered, and moved to the bed, where he began to unpack and repack his rucksack, getting out a pair of buckskin trousers and a woven shirt that looked only slightly cleaner than the mud-stained ones he was wearing. Facing away from me, he set to unclasping buckles and loosening laces until he had shrugged out of his bracers, lined leather jacket, greaves, boots, and various belts, sheaths, and quivers, all of which he folded or stacked neatly and replaced in his pack.

  I watched, mesmerized. In the gear he’d been wearing since we left Umbraz, Linden looked like a mountain ranger or a seasoned huntsman: strong, tough, and capable. But stripped down to his thin shirt, half untucked and open to the collarbone, his filthy trousers and his bare feet, he was just an eighteen-year-old boy again, flesh and bone. Not invincible, not all-knowing. Just my friend Linden. Familiar, beautiful . . . and confused.

  It was not his job to understand me without my help.

  I waited as he checked over his bow and quiver, unstringing the former and propping it against the wall, but he still did not turn around. Before I could stop him, he mumbled something about a washroom and left, leaving me to pick at the food on the tray in increasing agony.

  A quarter of an hour later, he returned with wet hair and several dripping pieces of clothing he seemed to have washed. He draped these over the screen in front of the fire, making rather a business of arranging them.

  His damp, tousled hair seemed to mock me. But even as my fingers twitched to touch it, I wondered how long it had been since I’d had anything like a bath.

  “Um,” I said, “where was that washroom?”

  Linden didn’t turn around. “Down the hall to the left. But lock the door, and be careful in the corridor. The last thing we need is someone spotting you.”

  “Right.” I swallowed. “I’m finished eating. You should have the rest.”

  He glanced back briefly. “Be careful in the hallway.”

  “You said that.”

  “Sorry.” His voice was terse.

  I stood up to leave, but hesitated. “Linden?”

  He turned, jaw clenched as if steeling himself for something.

  “It’s really good to see you.”

  The hard expression loosened like dry earth beneath a sudden rain, but without it, I saw profound sadness in his eyes. He gave me a weary smile. “You too, Weedy.”

  He turned away from me again.

  I stared at his back for a long moment, and then left.

  35

  CHAPTER

  I spent the entirety of my cold and rustic bathing experience obsessing over what I should say to Linden when I returned. My hands trembled and my heart thrummed as I left the grimy washroom and retraced my steps to our room.

  Be brave, I thought as I bolted the door and
draped my own semi-clean, wet clothes over the fireplace screen.

  Linden was sitting on the bed mending a sock, and he looked up warily when I came in. His hair was nearly dry now, but standing up in all directions, as if he had been raking his fingers through it the entire time I’d been gone. I smoothed the front of my wool dress—still clean, as I had only worn trousers since leaving Bronya and Roark—and went to sit beside him.

  He stood up and moved to the hard, wooden chair across from me. I dug my fingernails into my palms. Be brave.

  “Wine?” I said, indicating the untouched flagon the kitchen had sent up.

  Linden ignored this. “Tell me about the last two weeks.”

  “I think you could do with some wine, frankly.”

  “Tell me about the last two weeks,” he repeated, “before I go insane wondering what happened to you.”

  I frowned but didn’t argue. And Linden listened to my story with a solemnity I had rarely seen in him, his jaw set and green eyes fixed on my face as I spoke. He flinched when I told him about the arrow, briefly shutting his eyes and bowing his head, but he did not interrupt. When I was finished, he leaned forward onto his knees and put his forehead in his hands, fingers curling into his hair.

  “Linden?”

  “We should have done more,” he groaned. “We should have split up sooner, tried harder to find you. What if you’d been recognized or questioned on the road?”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “And what if that couple hadn’t helped you?” He looked up through his fingers. “You could have died from that infection.”

  “But I didn’t.” I stood up and stepped toward him, taking his hands from his face. Heart banging, I held on to them. “You did all you could, and I was fine. Better than fine. Think about it, Linden. I’d never have worked so hard at my powers—never stopped being so afraid of them—if all that hadn’t happened.”

  He looked for a moment at our hands, interlocked, before he squeezed my freckled fingers and brought them to his lips. Heat jolted through my body, equal parts terror and desire, and I suddenly understood in a new way what Elegy had meant when she said bravery was acting in spite of fear. As Linden lifted his eyes to mine again and made to release me, I screwed up my courage and gripped his hands tight.

  His eyes grew round. A flock of birds seemed to flap inside my stomach as I met his gaze and did not look away. His brows contracted. Then, slowly, deliberately, never once taking my eyes from his, I lifted his long, callused hands to my own mouth and pressed my lips against his knuckles.

  Linden was on his feet in one fluid movement, hands slipping through mine, cradling my face as if it were made of glass.

  “Wait,” I gasped as the light flared within me, and he stopped, eyes scorching mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  His expression froze, then closed, and his fingers went rigid against my skin.

  A beat of confusion—then, “No!” I cried, clasping his wrists. “No, no, Linden, not like that—I mean literally!”

  He blinked, still immobile. “Hurt me?”

  For answer I released him and traced the handprint, just visible as a darker smudge beneath the rough stubble on the left side of his jaw and neck. Comprehension kindled in his face, and then a rainfall of unreadable emotions seemed to wash across it.

  “You’re afraid you’ll burn me again.” He sounded stunned, disbelieving. “You told me in Beq’s house that I shouldn’t touch you, but I never thought . . .” His mouth fell open. “But Siria, what you said to me in that cave . . .”

  I ducked my head, but he leaned toward me, searching out my eyes. “You didn’t mean it?” His expression was half desperate, half jubilant.

  “I was trying to protect you,” I whispered.

  He stared at me for a long moment, eyes darting back and forth between mine as an incredulous smile spread over his face. Then he threw his head back and laughed, an exultant sound. “Weedy, you know I’m not fussy about a burn or two. There are far worse ways to get injured.”

  “But I care,” I insisted. My whole body was weak with relief, and I was fighting hard to keep the sunlight contained. “How do you think I’d feel if I did worse than that to you? This power can kill people, you know. Even now, I barely have it under control.”

  “Now?” He sounded fascinated. “You mean it’s almost coming through right now?”

  “Yes!”

  “Really? Because of me? In a good way?”

  “Linden, you’re a clot-head.”

  He laughed again, as if turning me into a lethal, blazing torch was the greatest triumph of his life. Holding me slightly away from him, he looked down into my face, and for a moment he seemed unable to keep his eyes away from my mouth. I took a shaky breath, knowing I would not have the willpower to resist him if he kissed me. But then half a smile quirked his lips, he swept his eyes up to mine, and his expression became very earnest.

  “I understand,” he said. “And I know you’re still figuring it out. But I also think it won’t be like this forever. Yarrow and I will keep helping you, and you’ll get the hang of it.” The grin was back, and he released me to put his right hand over his chest, as though making a vow. “I therefore promise not to kiss you until you’re ready. Until you think it’s safe. Unless, of course, we’re going to die anyway. Then I want a mercy death by burning.”

  I laughed, both relieved and the tiniest bit disappointed he had surrendered the point without a fight.

  “But can I ask you a question?”

  I raised an eyebrow at the familiar thread of mischief in his voice. “Maybe.”

  “All those times you’ve lit up like a candle . . . Weedy, were those all because of me?” His grin was fiendish now, and it broadened as I flushed and glared at him. “They were, weren’t they!”

  “No, you arrogant toad!” I tried to fend him off as he reached for me.

  “That’s as good as a confession!”

  “Linden Hatch, I do hate you.”

  “I know.” He smirked, slipping his hands around my waist and pulling me close. “You hate me so much it makes you glow.”

  It was going to be hard for either of us to uphold our agreement at this rate, so I made him pull the wooden chair several paces back from the bed while he told me what had happened to him and the others after we were separated in the forest.

  I’d been right: Yarrow had indeed scattered us all with an enchantment, to get us away from the Night Wyrm and the soldiers. But it had been an insane thing to try by the laws of his magic and should have failed. As it was, the spell had sapped Yarrow’s powers and energy for almost a week, and when Linden, Merrall, and Elegy had found him at the bottom of a ravine, they’d feared he was dead. Of our company, Yarrow and I had been scattered farthest, and though they found Yarrow within two days, they could discover no trace of me.

  They agreed to canvass the forest in that area as well as they could while avoiding the increasing numbers of soldiers, and when they still didn’t find me, decided I must have landed outside the woods. They began to worry I had been captured.

  “Yarrow didn’t speak for days after that,” said Linden, tracing patterns on my palm with his finger. He had pulled the chair close to the bed and was holding my hand on his knee. “I don’t think he’d have forgiven himself if you’d been taken. But we decided to try the road, just in case you’d gone that way, and eventually we noticed starthistle growing where there’d been none before. Yarrow almost cried.”

  They had followed the starthistle trail, he said, searching towns along the way, and sleeping as little as possible in order to catch up.

  “Tonight, of course, Yarrow felt we’d better move on, since Polter was so swamped with soldiers. We also had some trouble last night in Slaye when someone recognized Yarrow.”

  “I heard about that! How’d you get away?”

  “Magic.” Linden grimaced. “So I think they’ll tighten everything up along the Queen’s Road soon. We’ll have to be even more carefu
l tomorrow.”

  When holding Linden’s hand no longer felt too risky, I made room for him on the narrow, lumpy bed and we sat curled together atop the thin blankets, propped against the headboard. We sat for a while in drowsy silence, then I asked, “Was it lonely, growing up with just me and Yarrow?”

  He paused in the act of brushing a curl back from my forehead, and I felt a pinch of painful realization. “You gave up a lot to come south, didn’t you?” I said. “No one could ever find out what you were. That’s why you didn’t go into the village, didn’t have other friends . . . Linden, I’m sorry. I never realized. You must have been so lonely.”

  His fingers resumed their lazy twirling of my hair. “I had some friends,” he said, “but no, never for long, and never very close. Naturally I had friends before I left the north too, but I barely remember them.” For a long time, he was silent, and I wondered what the last four years had been like for him while I was at Gildenbrook learning to be a snob. Eventually he squeezed my shoulder. “I was never lonely when I was with you.”

  I twisted around and put my arms about his neck, pulling him closer. Then, making sure my sun energy was well contained, I tilted my chin up and pressed a kiss against his temple.

  I felt his breath catch, and then his chest rumbled with laughter. “Testing my promise already, are you? Trying to make me trip up? Well, you won’t find me so easily swayed, Siria Nightingale. Do your worst, sunchild. I’ll resist your wiles.”

  I laughed too, and had to give a sudden internal snatch at the light that tried to spill off my skin. It was not, I realized, from being curled into Linden’s arms, or feeling his hands against my back, or his chin against my hair. It was not even from the release of letting him know how I felt about him.

  It was from the joy of being with my best friend.

  The firelight was glowing soft gold against my closed eyelids when I slipped into dreams beside Linden, his fingers still woven into my hair.

  36

  CHAPTER

  Linden woke me when it was still dark.