Iron Heart by Nina Varela

Author:Nina Varela [Varela, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062823977
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

12

Ayla woke when the sky began to lighten, deep blue shifting to lavender. Crier, who had played sentinel all night, now watched as wakefulness spread like the dawn over Ayla’s body—first her fingers twitched, then her brow furrowed, then her lips parted, revealing a glimpse of her front teeth, then her eyelashes fluttered. Without opening her eyes, she took a long breath through her nose, a prolonged sniff that dropped into a hum at the end, a tiny throaty noise.

Ayla opened her eyes and blinked at Crier in the soft light. “We were s’posed to take turns,” she said, voice scratchy with sleep. “You were s’posed to wake me up.”

“You needed the rest,” Crier said, and got to her feet. She brushed ineffectually at the mud on her clothes, succeeding only in smearing it further. “You can keep watch tonight, if you choose.”

“Mm.” Ayla tried to stand up and stumbled, one knee buckling. Crier grabbed her shoulder, alarmed. She was more than a little stunned when Ayla didn’t shake her off.

“’M fine,” Ayla said, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m fine. Just—light-headed.”

“You need to eat,” Crier said.

“Yeah. I’m not sure how that’s going to happen, though.” Ayla breathed in slowly, then stretched, body a curve. Crier let go of her shoulder. “I could try to catch a fish again.”

Crier shook her head. “Our best bet is the woods. Even if we can’t hunt, I can find—mushrooms, winterberries, seeds, something.”

“How do you know how to forage in the wilderness?” Ayla asked. For once she didn’t sound accusatory, just curious.

“My father has a lot of books on herbology and botany,” Crier said. “I read about edible mushrooms and flowers and bark and—lots of things. I know what will be growing in this region at this time of year. It’s difficult, because warm days and overnight frosts kill off a lot of seeds before they get a chance to grow, but I think I’ll be able to find something.”

Ayla opened her mouth and then shut it again. “I see,” she said. “Foraging it is.”

They crept through the forest, Crier listening for bandits, hunters, any footfalls that did not belong to her or Ayla. But after an hour of nothing but birdsong and rustling leaves and the trill of river frogs, Crier let herself relax just a fraction. The ground was soft and spongy with moss, eventually giving way to a carpet of dead leaves as they wandered farther from the river. Crier breathed in and the air smelled of sap, wet soil, the earthiness of moss and the rain-smell of rotting wood. It was strange, the absence of salt. Back home—back at the sovereign’s palace—the sea was inescapable. The air was tinged with it. The rushing tide sounded like the world itself was breathing, in and out, in and out. Filling and emptying those gargantuan lungs.

“There,” said Crier, pointing to a cluster of white mushrooms at the base of a tree. “Those are safe to eat.”

Ayla gave them a doubtful look. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Crier expected an argument, but Ayla just nodded.

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