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“Sorry,” Father says as he tosses the last shell into the basket. He sinks back on his haunches. Even in the weak light, the lines in his face appear deeper than usual. “I need to take control of myself.”
“Just explain it to me,” I say, barely able to whisper. My cold fingers find his forearm, pleading with him to look at me. When he does, something strange flickers across his countenance. His brows descend, and I cannot still the tremor in my touch.
What does he see?
After a moment, though, he softens. “I will. I promise I will. But there is not enough time right now. They will not wait for me.”
“Who?”
“The men of the city. One of the solas has been sighted.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “A Light Creature? In the Vale?”
My father nods and pushes himself to stand. “And we need to hunt it down before anything worse comes.”
I have only ever read stories about the solas. Most valefolk children believe they are nothing more than fables, creatures of myth. Their bones light the market of Utsanek, the City of the Vale, but they’ve been there forever. I stopped wondering about them a long time ago. Now, I’m having a conversation that assumes their existence—a conversation that centers around the need to snuff them out.
Father, composure regained, assembles himself a hasty breakfast of ripened goat cheese and the crusty end piece of yesterday’s bread. He fills a waterskin from an earthenware pitcher, secures its closure, and sets to work lacing his boots and cloak. Satisfied, he takes a spear and dagger in hand, safely tucking the latter into a sheath at his waist.
“I need you to stay here today. Please.”
I shake my head. It’s market day. “Pada, I don’t underst—”
“Amyrah.”
My name, like a slap to the face, silences me. Wide-eyed, I gape at him as he takes a moment to calm himself and lean his spear against the door frame. My pulse hammers in my throat. He turns to me and pushes my heavy hair behind my shoulders, resting the heels of his palms on my collar bones and turning my chin up with his thumbs.
The light of the bolétis limns his face. Like roads on a well-worn map, the creases point me to the home of his eyes. Bottomless pools, heavily shadowed under prominent brows. His wayward hair is the same soft shade as mine, although his has begun to shine with silver threads in the last few years. The corners of his mouth angle down in concern, but it is hard to see in that thick, silver-streaked beard.
I have never seen him look at me with such intensity.
“When will you be back?” I whisper, trying to diffuse the pressure of his gaze and failing to hold back tears.
He closes his eyes and takes his time exhaling. His lips curve into a somber expression that is almost a smile. It’s lighter, at least. My shoulders relax under his weighty palms.
“I should return before the shadows deepen.”
My courage wanes. The prospect of facing an entire day of isolation and uncertainty makes me protest, but he holds up a palm to still me.
“Do not venture beyond the clearing. I need you to promise me that.”
Irritation blooms like an itch that can’t be scratched. Why must he always forget I am seventeen years old? I don’t need his protection, or for him to always keep me tucked away.
Disheartened though I am by what feels like a lack of trust, I summon up the resolve to push the hurt aside and nod.
He catches me up in one of his all-consuming hugs that makes me feel small and childlike, but whole at the same time. I sigh and decide I don’t mind being his little girl, for a short while longer, anyway.
A scent of fresh air, leather, and wood smoke hangs about him, and I am comforted. Everything I can’t make myself say aloud, I squeeze into that embrace.
I feel his reply.
I love you too.
Too soon, he takes up his spear and waterskin and plants a whiskery kiss on my forehead. Then, my father steps over the threshold of the cabin and into the darkening day.
2. Teron
ON
