“What?”
“You heard me. You’ll take Mavros and Mikael’s draken back to the den.”
“You can’t do that!”
But we both know he can. Unless I’m ready to challenge him here and now. If I do, Mavros will not defend me. It will be my fight, on my own merits. And I will lose.
I may as well wait to ensure my death is needed before I throw my life on the line.
“You’ll give our debrief. The priestess will be glad to see you taking a leadership role.” He winks.
My blood runs cold. “And you will…”
“Ronan, Maddox and I,” he says, “we’re going hunting.”
5
Lina
Iam ashamed to admit some days, before the sun rises, I surrender to the soul-deep tiredness that tells me death would be a blessing. The shadows whisper thoughts of despair, telling me that I should allow the darkness to take me, the way it has claimed everyone I’ve dared care for.
Mother, Father, Gran, Uncle Garrow. Mr. and Mrs. Burtaine, who took me in after all my family was gone.
Lucca. I try so hard to remember the boy he was, sweet and shy. But most of the time, I can only imagine the horrific way he died.
And most recently, Troy, Lorraine, and Thomas. I don’t know what happened to them in the chaos after the cult attacked. There was blood and horrifying screams. At least one body heaped on the forest floor.
But I was so focused on ensuring Astella got away first I don’t know which bodies they were. All I remember is the horror.
I remember the warrior’s eyes—the only human part I could see behind the mask and hood. I remember the pressure of his arms suffocating me. The crawling sensation of his breath against my neck.
My muscles clench at the memory.
I was not acquainted with that family long enough to grow too fond, but they were kind souls willing to aid two strangers in their search for free lands, and that alone is enough for me to mourn them in the small way I am able.
I stretch my neck, rustling in the debris. Dirt and leaves cover my stiff body.
Even though our clothes are simple, thin fabric wound tightly to each limb, made to keep the sands of the Morteres at bay, grit lines my chest. Dirt and sand are the most stubborn substances in existence, and somehow much of it has made its way to my skin.
My dry eyes flutter open, and I find a dim sky between the bare branches that reach out like claws.
A bird chatters nearby. The sky is still a dark blue but with a tinge of purple and pink in the clouds.
Breath fills my burning lungs, and with it comes hope.
When the sun rises, and I am alive to feel its warmth, I believe in the goodness of the world—however limited it may be.
“Astella?” I whisper, voice hoarse.
“Shhhh,” she responds. “I don’t know if they’re gone.”
My mouth is so dry it’s painful to swallow.
Wind rustles in the branches. The dried leaves crunch under the pressure of my slight movement.
Is Astella’s worry the cult warriors or the shadowscelp? I don’t dare ask.
There are many things to fear in this world, but the Drak’yn are what haunt me the most.
