Whisper of Blade | ✓ (Crimson #1)

Chapter 47: Crossing

She didn't belong here. Throughout the journey, the thought plagued her.

While they rode, the rest of the company talked and jested in the northern tongue. When they stopped to make camp, they handed Minerva a bowl of fish stew and forgot about her. Now, the howling wind chafed her nose and exposed knuckles. They'd reach the river later tomorrow—the natural border which separated the Flamelands from the Icelands.

It would be even colder on the other side. Maybe she'd catch Fire Fever and the Hydros would be rid of her as a hindrance. Most of the time, they acted as if she didn't exist, but there were the small glances followed whispered comments and laughter. Once, the lady with the silver crossbow spoke to her.

"I suppose you've never seen the river before? Or the ocean?" she asked with a heavy accent.

"Neither of the two," Minerva admitted.

The Hydro woman chuckled and exchanged a few words with her companions riding nearby. They joined in her amusement, all shaking their heads at Minerva as if she were too dumb to understand the joke.

The next morning, shouts rousted Minerva from her warm bed. Taras gestured at a bucket of water, eyes flashing. As near as she could figure out, they'd meant to dump it on her head. That is, until the king informed them it could kill her. They'd done the same to their companions who slept late after the rest had broken camp, but the event widened the rift between her and the Hydros.

She is weak and delicate. Cold wind and water wear her away. The fire is not so strong, their ice-blue eyes seemed to say.

Minerva listened to the monotonous beat of toka hooves with her back straight in the saddle. After a couple days of soreness, her body had accustomed itself to the exercise. Yesterday, they'd halted outside Sakurai, the last major Pyro city they'd see before reaching the border. Kodak and a couple others had gone in to purchase supplies.

He hadn't spoken to her at all. If she rode up to him, he'd drop back in the group and strike up a conversation. The message was clear—now that he'd completed his mission, Kodak wanted nothing to do with her.

The grey landscape looked as if spring would never awaken it. Dirt paths led off the main road to reach farmhouses in distant copses of trees. Pens held livestock—pigs and goats, sometimes toka, but she hadn't seen people since leaving the city.

Minerva ached for the familiar, but besides Kodak, no one could provide her that. Perhaps not even him, if getting close to her had only been a political ploy. He sat tall on his white toka, his azure cloak embroidered with silver thread. Never had he looked more like a prince and never had their friendship seemed more impossible.

Impossible until Kodak reached into his pack and shouted in surprise. He stuck his hand in again and withdrew a golden ball of fluff.

"Azuki!" Minerva exclaimed. Spurring Aquarius on, she galloped to the head of the column, where Kodak held her kat up by the scruff of his neck.

"It looks like we have a stowaway." Kodak raised his eyebrow at Azuki who licked his chops and blinked at the sudden light.

"You have very good dried squid and fish," Azuki purred.

Kodak addressed Minerva. "Shall I toss him overboard?"

"No! Please." Minerva stretched out her hand. Azuki was her piece of home. If Kodak asked her to cut off her right arm, she'd do it to be allowed to keep the kat. "I'll take care of him. He won't give you any trouble."

The prince looked her up and down as if sizing up a stranger for the first time. "Don't let me find you devouring all our rations again, kat." Kodak ruffled Azuki's head before turning him over to Minerva.