Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (children's ebooks free online .txt) 📕

He felt no offense at her harsh words or acid tone. She insulted others out of the fear of being thought weak or unimportant. The irony she missed was that only those who truly were weak needed such tactics. It was a shame she wasted her considerable determination on such pettiness. “I believe it is your turn to cook, Mistress,” he said. “I would be happy to help.”

Renna rolled her eyes. “Make Nira do it, then.”

The young woman snorted, not looking up from the small blaze she had coaxed to life. “I won’t. I cooked the first night. I’m not taking your turn.” She had a hard frown painted on. She couldn’t look the older woman in the eye, but she wasn’t going to back down, either. She’d grown bolder since they left the city.

The rangy woman’s eyebrows shot up. “It wasn’t a moon’s turn past that you nearly wet yourself when I looked at you.”

“You’ve threatened to kill me just about every day since,” Nira said, “and I’m all out of piss. Take your own damn turn as cook, Mistress. I’m not your slave.”

Renna bared her teeth. “You could be,” she hissed. “I could make you want to do what I ask. Or I could make every moment a screaming agony until you beg to do my bidding. Would you prefer that?” Gamarron noticed Kest off to the side in the shadows, waiting for the conflict to pass. He must have been tending to Guyrin.

Nira tossed her prodding stick into the fire, throwing up sparks. “Listen, lady. If you’re going to use your tricks to make me cook dinner, you’re going to run out of your little bag before you know it. Then what will you do when you run into a real problem, like the Naga, or a demon, or the demon? Remember him? I sure do.” She thrust a finger at the woman across the fire. “So go ahead – show us all how stupid you are and waste your tricks getting out of chores. I’ll enjoy watching some monster eat your face.”

Gamarron held up a placating hand. “Please, Nira, let’s not be unkind. As I said, Mistress, I am willing to help. I can peel the manioc. I’m afraid it will have to be sausage stew again. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice.”

The two women were glaring at each other. To his surprise, Renna looked away first. She hid the fact by casting a glare at him. “Do it yourself, old man.” She turned to stalk away.

He sighed. As much as he had disliked being called ‘Lord Gamarron,’ it seemed that familiarity only led to abuse with this woman. “No,” he said firmly. “I will help, but I will not do it for you. We must share our burdens.”

She whirled on him. “You’re mistaken,” she spat. “I do not share burdens with you. You do what I say, when I say, and you thank me for it. Did you forget?” She held up a dark, waxy orb in her fingers – the other half of the bloodthorn seed she’d put inside him.

Gamarron had not forgotten. “Let me echo Nira: your threats are ill-advised,” he said calmly, motioning to the wax capsule. “That is a punishment that can only be enforced once, and then I will be dead. Are you willing to waste that opportunity to force me into making supper? It seems better reserved for a more momentous decision.” He shrugged. “Besides, I already said I’d help.”

She wavered, but she was too proud to back down with everyone watching. “I decide what’s important,” she shouted, covering her weakening resolve with an increase in volume.

Gamarron walked toward her with hands spread. “You believe me to be a man who will shape the world, yes? The one who will bring you to power, one whom you will shape and guide. Would you kill me over something so trite?”

She brandished the seed, blinded by fury and the fear of irrelevance. “If you won’t do what I ask, then you might as well die!” she shrieked. “You are mine or you are nothing!” Her fingers trembled with uneven pressure on the waxen sphere. She really would do it. This woman is ruled by her fear.

Faster than thought, he plucked the orb from between her fingers. “I am neither,” he said.

He crushed the orb in his hand.

The wax mixed unevenly with the pulp and sap of the bloodthorn seed, dropping to the leaf-strewn earth in clumps. He did not die.

Renna’s eyes bulged. “That’s impossible!” Her rage disappeared, replaced by confusion. “The bloodthorn kills! Every time. I tested it!”

“I told you that I moved my heart before I was stabbed in the arena,” he explained. “I did not bring the bloodthorn along for the trip. It was pushed out of my body on the point of Khraam’s sword, and its fibers leaked out along with my blood.” He wiped his fouled hands on his robes and gave the woman a level look. “I am not sure I believe in the future you see, but I will not be your thrall. I am my own man.”

For once, Renna had no cutting response. She looked at her shoes, bereft of her last threat.

“It so happens,” he continued, “that I find you to be a very intelligent and resourceful person capable of impressive insight and creativity... when you are not consumed with the need to win every interaction. I welcome your counsel and your help. In truth, I need it. But we are equals, or else we part ways. Yes?”

She gave a very slight nod. Her pride and the shame that followed on its heels had stopped her tongue.

“Excellent. I’ll get started on the manioc.” She gave him a look that was equal parts surprised and calculating, and then she went to fetch the food from their packs.

Kest approached the fire warily as the bony old Hand stalked away, carefully avoiding eye contact with Gamarron. The savage