Ba’an recovered slowly.

Her muscles were weak, and her joints still ached. Even so, she was much better than she used to be, and within the week she had started her daily activities again. Lukios had raided her store of powdered herbs, so they resumed their daily schedule as though nothing had interrupted it. It would be some time before she could travel again, and they would use that time wisely to replenish her stores.

The only difference now was that Lukios…

…hovered.

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that he crowded her. It was that he was always close, handing her something she had needed before she said so, or putting out a hand to steady her if her movements became clumsy. Sometimes, he made her sit down and rest while he finished whatever they had been doing.

It was very nice, which was horrible. Ba’an was becoming lazy. She would have to do everything by herself once he left, and she dreaded retraining herself into waking early and sleeping late.

There was more to it than that, of course.

The brief season of rain had come and gone now, so there were no more bas’ta flowers. But he had brought them most mornings while they had bloomed, leaving them in a pot in the kitchen.

Now he filled the pot with other things, like night bloom from the cliff and fragrant grass. Her kitchen always smelled very sweet now. Sometimes he caught her sniffing at the pot, but he had grown in wisdom: he smiled, but said nothing. It was a relief, though she knew she always went furiously red whenever he spotted her doing so.

And of course, there was a great deal of firewood now.

Every morning, Lukios went out as usual and chopped wood. He seemed to think that she would run out, and now the one woodpile had grown into two.

Ba’an would not have to chop wood for herself until, perhaps another three months or so. He would be gone by the time Ba’an woke, and she would lie in the bed inside her not-vuti and listen to its emptiness.

Once Lukios left, he would not return to chase the emptiness away.

She would miss him.

It does not matter. Everything had its end, even the sun and stars, the earth beneath her feet.

It would be better if he left sooner. Her heart would cling tighter the longer he stayed.

Within the week, she decided. They should leave for Kyros within the week.

---

“We should leave within the week.”

Lukios raised an eyebrow at her from across the fire. “Do you think you can walk that far?” He sounded doubtful. Ba’an heard the scrape of a wooden spoon against a bowl.

He was a strange one. She was certain he was wealthy, but his back was a mass of terrible scars that had been placed with deliberate, ruthless precision. It seemed…excessive, even for Dolkoi’ri discipline.

The other oddity was that he never wasted food. As crows, Ba’an had seen life inside Dolkoi’ri cities, towns, and villages. It was not unusual for the wealthy to toss their food to their servants or slaves. They never thought twice about it. But Lukios always ate everything in his bowl to the last drop.

“I can.” The aches and pains were from disuse. Walking would be beneficial, not damaging.

Oddly, consuming Tik-tak Mal’uk had been filling. Painful and debilitating, yes, but filling. Ba’an thought she would not have to go soul-hunting for quite some time—not unless she was reckless with her power. This was good news; she was not nearly as restlessly hungry as usual. It would make travelling easier.

The only concern were her dreams. Ba’an still had nightmares, though now she was able to recognize one for what it was and force herself awake. She was tired these days for a mundane reason—bad sleep.

Sometimes she still dreamed about Lukios. Some of those dreams were nightmares—Lukios dying or dead, or Lukios smiling as he throttled her, face elongating into some inhuman thing—but some of them were not. Some of them were…very rude. Those nights, she was glad he was gone to the akaikai grove when she woke. It would have been too embarrassing to face him.

There was something wrong with her. Ba’an had always been very good at dream-walking. She should not have been having dreams she did not want, but now her dreams came however they wanted. It was maddening.

Ba’an stared into her bowl to hide her expression. Lukios had caught some rabbits that morning. She had wanted to try searing the meat and lathering it in a kind of berry jam, but Ba’an had had no berries.

Well, that was what happened when nobody went out foraging or hunting for weeks: one ran out of food. Her food stores were nearly empty still. She would have to buy replacements when she got to Kyros.

So really, it was an urgent matter.

Strangely, Lukios always seemed to find some excuse to delay.

Ba’an stirred her soup, getting as many meaty bits as she could onto her spoon, and put it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, trying to think of a good way to broach the topic. He had been missing from his life for nearly five of his months now, but he did not seem at all anxious to return. It was very bizarre. By the time Ba’an had chewed and swallowed all the rabbit she had in her mouth, she had a better idea of what she wanted to say.

“Lukios.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you not want to go home?”

He choked on his soup and started coughing.

“Lukios!”

He shook his head and waved her away, grabbing his cup of water.

“What makes you think that?”

She clicked her tongue at him. “You keep saying ‘this needs to be done’ or ‘that needs to be fixed’ or ‘you’re not well enough.’ But Lukios, I can do everything when I get back and I can walk. I will not get better by sitting at home. You have been gone for nearly five months.” She looked at him curiously. “Do you not miss your kin? Surely they are searching for you?”

Lukios had shaved off his beard, but his expression was still hard to read. “Well, it’s like I told you. We’re a barrel full of bad apples, and Rekos was the only good one. So to answer your question, I don’t really miss those fuckers and I’m sure they don’t miss me. Well, I have one half-brother who’s not so bad, but…” He trailed off and scratched the back of his head.

“The truth is, everything is going to be a huge legal mess once I get back. It will be awful. How awful will depend on if they have listed me as missing or if they have listed me as dead. If I am ‘dead’, I’ll need a lawyer. Lawyers are expensive, but dead men don’t have assets. So that means I have to borrow. And then—“

He broke off at the expression on her face. “That’s not making any sense to you, is it?”

“…You are saying that your kin fought each other for your wealth and will fight you for it once you return. Thinking of it exhausts you.”

“…Yeah.” He made a disgusted sound. “The worst part is that they’re already rich—richer than I am—but they’re still going to hold onto whatever my sad evisceration by bandit dropped into their sweaty little palms.”

“…That is very sad, Lukios.”

He put his palm over his eyes and gave a little laugh. “I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

Ba’an put her soup down and got up.

“Ba’an? What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”

She didn’t answer. Ba’an began walking into the bir-vuti.

“Ba’an?” She heard Lukios get up. “What are you doing?”

She tsked at him again. “Eat. I will be back soon.”

“Well, then you can eat too and do whatever it is later.” She heard him following her into the cave system. Stubborn.

They reached one of the dead-ends.

Here, hidden beneath the roots of wild-growing cave moss, was her small chest of personal things she had brought when she was banished. It had not been much—everything had fit inside a satchel—but she had purchased a small chest in Kyros when she had first gone there so she could keep the items safe.

“Oh. I guess I should have known you’d have some hidey-holes here and there. Um, you sure it’s okay for me to see this?”

“You followed me. I told you to stay there.”

“…Sorry.”

She ignored him and opened her chest. There was a smooth, round rock that was an unusual green colour, with little white ripples across it like little waves on a lake. A wooden hairpin whose head was in the shape of an ever-bloom flower, worn smooth with age. A bone whistle. A leather bag of oracle bones.

Ah.

She took out the spearhead. It was black and glassy, made of a rare stone that had been spat out from the mouth of a fiery mountain, far away from here. The edge was still sharp.

The magic in it made her skin tingle where she touched it. Its song seemed to retreat as she held it between her fingers, dimming.

“Hold out your hand.”

He looked at her warily but obeyed. Ba’an unceremoniously dropped the spearhead into his palm.

“Wear it when you go to fight with your…family. It will help you.” Ba’an dusted off her hands and shut the chest, then pushed it back into its place against the wall.

“I…Ba’an, I don’t think I can accept this.”

“Why?”

He looked at her, then at the chest. “You put all your important stuff in there, right?” He looked at the spearhead sitting in his palm. “This is something special to you, isn’t it?”

Ba’an shrugged. It was true. Ul’ma had given it to her when Ba’an had first come to sit in the shi-vuti as a witch. Ul’ma had sacrificed a strifa with it to a spirit of victory. It had accepted the offering.

Ba’an had always worn it around her neck, under her dress, when she went to council meetings. She had never been good at persuasion, but the spirit had always helped her.

“It will help you talk very well. Take it. Or throw it in the privy.” She shrugged again. “I will never use it again.”

She began walking back to the kitchen.

“Ba’an, I didn’t tell you that story to…get something. I don’t want to be—well, I don’t want to be one of those people who keep taking from you.”

Ah. He was thinking of Salu’ka and Ku’rin.

“It is a gift. So you are receiving something, not taking. But it is true you can refuse it. Throw it in the privy, or across the sand.”

He was too trusting. Ba’an knew she was being selfish. It was a gift meant to push him into going to Kyros sooner, which was what she had meant for him to do by opening the subject. And—

It would be a reminder. Lukios spoke as though they would not become strangers once he returned, but Ba’an was older and she knew people. His days would become busy and he would reacquaint himself with familiar faces. Eventually, she would become a faded memory, and one day, not even that.

If her gift gave him his victory, he would remember her every time he saw it.

Ba’an had been trained to be a witch her whole life. She gave away nothing; everything had its price. Everything.

She sat by the fire and picked up her soup. By the time Lukios came down and slowly sat across from her, she had finished it and was considering seconds.

No, she was full. Her hunger had never been a physical thing, after all.

“…Would you mind loaning me a leather strap? I don’t have pockets.”

“Lukios. How do I feel about stupid questions?”

He slapped his hand over his mouth, but the snort escaped. “Right. I guess I’ll just take one then.”

By the time dinner was over, Ba’an was satisfied to see her gift dangling around his neck.

They would leave within the week.