Peta stopped pacing. “One of your own?”

I nodded. “You aren’t the only bad luck around here, Peta. I’m not well liked within my own family or the Pit.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, her body shimmering lightly as she shifted to her housecat form.

My whole body tingled from the heated water, but slowly the discomfort faded, and my skin went from a brilliant shade of pink to its natural tones. Healing as an elemental was usually fast, but I didn’t think this was all on me, not when my hand that Peta had bitten was stitching itself back together.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m letting you draw on me. That is what elementals do; they allow their charges to be stronger, faster, and heal at a speed that keeps them alive. Or is supposed to, anyway.”

I frowned. “Well, stop it. I don’t want to draw from you.”

She frowned at me. “Too good to draw from a cat?”

There wasn’t a chance to answer her as Smoke reached us, out of breath. “Why in the world did you jump into the river?”

Peta shook her head slightly and I lowered mine as I cradled my clawed and bitten hand. “I didn’t mean to, I stood and then stumbled forward. I’m a klutz, always tripping on things.”

I dared a look up. Smoke wasn’t buying it, as she placed her hands on her hips. “Did you make eye contact with her?”

I blinked several times as I tried to process who she meant. “Her?”

“The smaller specter. Did you make eye contact with her?”

Shivering, my body cold after being in the superheated water, I nodded. “I did.”

“Well, that explains it, then.” Smoke held a hand out to me as if the conversation and what had happened was all over. And maybe for her it was.

For me though, her words started a chain reaction in my head. The specter seemed familiar to me, and then a Terraling tried to kill me. Cassava was still in hiding after her failed attempt at taking the throne at the Rim, but could she be here, looking for revenge? Or maybe looking for a way to convince Fiametta to help her? They were friends, I knew that, so Cassava being in the Pit in hiding was more than plausible.

Standing, I followed Smoke to the laundry and helped her pile it into the basket.

“That is enough excitement for one day,” Smoke said.

Peta snorted. “It’s not over yet.”

Smoke’s body stiffened. “Ah, mother goddess, this is not good.”

I looked over her to several women who strode toward us. The one in the lead was very pregnant and had dried tear tracks streaking her cheeks.

My familiar leapt to my shoulder. “That is the wife of one of the Enders you killed.”

Heart sinking to my feet, I lowered the basket. I’d caused this pain, no matter the reason behind it.

I let out a slow breath. “Whatever comes of this, I will take.”

CHAPTER 5

Smoke tried to stop them, but was pushed aside by the woman in front. “Out of our way, half-breed freak.” Smoke stumbled, going to her knees in the soft ash at the edge of the bank, but she wasn’t hurt.

I held my ground as the pregnant woman reached me. Her eyes were bloodshot with tears, the pale yellow irises that of a weak flame. It looked as though she’d shorn her hair herself, and I vaguely recalled something Salamanders did when they were grieving.

“You are the Terraling who stabbed my mate?” The words bubbled out of her alongside more tears.

I nodded. “I am.”

Her slap was hard, and snapped my head to the side. A second and third slap followed close on its heels, my still aching skin screaming to back away. But I didn’t move. She collapsed forward, surprising me. I caught her and lowered her to the ground as her sobs shook her unwieldy frame. Her hands dug into my arms as she clung to me, her grief overtaking her.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the memory of my own losses allowing me to understand how deep the pain would go. How it burrowed into your bones and stole a piece of you that you didn’t even know existed. A piece that once gone could never be replaced, but only seen from a distance as other people lived their lives without fear of loss because they’d never experienced it.

“I hate you,” she whispered, an echo of my words so many years ago to Cassava.

“I know,” I said. Her eyes lifted to mine, spilling with tears and her friends drew her away, their eyes as condemning as any executioners. They helped her stand as she babbled, her words sounding as if she’d said them hundreds of times.

“I saw him in the healer’s rooms, I saw him, and he smiled at me and he was fine. They stitched him up, the wound in his side wasn’t all that bad. They said he’d be fine, out in the morning. Ready to come home.” Her breath hitched and her friends cooed that it was all right. They knew all she said was true. “But they were wrong, the healers were wrong. He wasn’t all right. In the morning, he was dead, his wound open as if he’d been stabbed again, the stitches ripped, blood everywhere. Goddess, the blood!” She would have fallen if her friends hadn’t had their hands on her.

I ran around, getting in front of the woman. “Wait, stop. You said he was fine. That the wound was healing?”

Her eyes found mine slowly. “Yes. I held his hand, he touched my belly. Said he didn’t want to be an Ender anymore, not if he had to take orders like that again. He wanted to see our baby grow, not always fear that he would be taken from us. And he was.”