He barely had time to fall upon her, forcing her low to the ground to shield her when he realized what the whistling meant.
“Astegur!” she screamed into his ear as he pressed her as low as he dared in the water and mud.
“Stay low,” he rasped out, wrapping his arm around her and stopping her confused struggles. The whistling sound zipped directly overhead where they had just stood and he dropped his weight a little more upon her. “Spears,” he said, trying to calm her.She cannot hear what I can. Her struggles stopped. Another spear shot above his horns, followed by two more. One grazed his shoulder before it stabbed the ground a short distance away. Several more shot by, searching for their mark. He lowered his mouth over Calavia’s ear. “Quiet, now.”
She nodded against him. “They’re here.”
“It appears so.” He licked the curve of her ear and lifted up just enough to meet her eyes. His gaze caught the faint red slashes on her cheek where the thrall had slashed her with its nails. Tiny little dots of blood seeped from the minor wound, but it was enough to ensnare him. He breathed in deeply, lowering his nose to the source, almost afraid that what he smelled wasn’t real, wasn’t powerful. But as the scent flooded him again, he knew it wasn’t an illusion. His mouth watered.
“We’re not ready,” she said, breaking him out of his trance.
Another spear whistled above them, boring into the mud less than three feet away, snapping him further out of his transfixion.
“A scouting party,” he muttered, lowering his voice further and swallowing the saliva in his mouth. “They are listening for us. We need to move.”
“Yes.” She twisted around underneath him to crawl on her elbows and knees. She made her way slowly back toward the center of Prayer, and he moved with her, shielding her back, easily keeping up with her slow progress. As they made their way steadily, and at some point while wading where the water was at its deepest, the spears stopped being thrown. They were replaced with cackling hoots and jeers deep in the mist and beyond the green lights.
His eyes remained on Calavia’s back, and as the blood on her cheek began to clot and was displaced with the swamp water, the rest of the citrusy smell faded from his nostrils. His focus shifted to the centaur scouts, their voices, and how many separate sounds they made.
When they reached the temple steps, one of the thralls came forward and helped Calavia out of the swamp while several others moved to flank her sides.
Astegur followed her up and put his arm around her, drawing her into his wet chest. The thralls went still around them, eyeing him as if they did not trust her safety with him, and he stared them down. Eventually, they moved to flank him as well.
“Are you well?” he asked, searching her person. Her entire body was on view through her thin, sodden dress.
She raised her wet hands to her face. “Yes. They’re here. How did they get back so soon? I thought we had more time… And their spears came through. It’s notpossible. Nothing has ever come through my barrier that has sought violence.”
He grunted, pulling her with him as he went deeper into the entrance of the temple. Once there were walls on every side of them, he relaxed enough to let her go. Calavia shed her wet dress in front of him and ducked into the kitchens. He moved to follow her, if only to keep her in sight, but she returned with another old, ragged shift in her hands and dressed herself. The shift was just as old and thin as the first and would do nothing to protect her from the elements, let alone centaurs.
He wanted to tear it from her body with his nails and teeth.
His pent-up frustration roared back to life. “Stay within my sight. You can no longer move through Prayer freely.”
She looked up at him, her expression sober. “I can be quiet, and there are places here I can hide. I have hidden from the world in the past, but I don’t want to hide. I want to fight and protect my dark spot in the world.” Her eyes moved from him toward the exit several times. “We need to kill them.”
What was she looking for?
Astegur looked behind him to see the thralls hard at work again, but he could not find Calavia’s mother within the group. His tail flicked in annoyance. The female thrall had run away like an animal, had tried to bleed itself dry, and had put Calavia in danger.It’s still out there.
He turned toward her. “Who was she?” he asked, wondering if she would lie.
She frowned and looked away, but he caught her chin and tilted it up. His thumb slid up to caress her scratch.
She reached up to clutch his wrist but did not struggle to get away. “My mother.”
“Your…” He shook his head. “I know. How can I not? She looks like you.”
“Yes.”
No wonder she wanted to protect Prayer.Some of the pieces fell into place, and some of her actions started to make sense. A rumble built from the pit of his stomach to rise menacingly up his throat. “You have dwelled here all these years because of her?”
Her gaze remained steady on his. “This place is my home. Her home.”
“She hurt you,” he snapped, tapping the scratch with his thumb. He could not look away from it even though the small beads of blood had been washed away.
Calavia reached up and covered the wound with her hand, jerking out of his grip and turning away. “It’s nothing. The centaurs—”
He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around, plastering her slight frame hard against his chest, consuming her presence. “Iknow,” he growled.
