“Mating. Scent.” Iridiel snorts.
“I told you to keep your nose to yourself, beast.” Gareth climbs up behind me.
“And then you stroked my mane like it was hanging between your legs.”
Gareth sputters. “During the battle? You were terrified. I was trying to calm you down. You—”
“Relax.” Iridiel tosses his head. “I was only jerkin’ your gherkin.” He ambles ahead and gets in step with the other unicorns as we head upward, away from the Abyss and onto the bright surface of Arin.
“I missed the sun.” I peer at the light mist swirling just above us. We’re almost through it. “I wonder what the mines are going to look like.”
“A lot of holes in the ground.” Iridiel nips the unicorn ahead of him to speed its pace.
“Very insightful.” I pat him while rolling my eyes.
“The oldest maps have this area as a dense forest, but the newer ones paint a different picture.” Gareth wraps one arm comfortably around my waist and lets the reins drop. “The trees are gone, and in their place are dry dirt and mounds of Arin piled up higher than the Spires. Along with that, the ground is indeed pocked with deep, dark pits.” He points to the rock on our right. “The obsidian ends at the edge of the Abyss, and what lies beyond is rock created from the Brute Volcano.”
“The one guarded by wyverns? That’s real?” I’ve heard of volcanoes before, but I can’t imagine a mountain spewing molten gold and silver. It seems like a tale told by dwarves and other races who, above all, value gems.
“It’s real. The gilded southern wyverns used to make their homes in its cliffs. But the volcano no longer belches its black smoke into the sky or creates rivers of platinum with fine gems buried deep underneath.”
“It’s dead?”
Gareth nods. “That’s what I’ve heard, though they say its heart always smolders and always will. But maps change. Arin is always changing. Slowly, but it’s there. Things could be different now. The mines are here to dig up everything the Brute Volcano created, and they’ve been using slaves to work the mines for thousands of years.” His voice softens suddenly. “I can’t imagine how many have perished.”
“All those gems that line the throats of the nobility in Byrn Varyndr. All the gold Granthos had worked into his walls and floors—it was dug up by slaves. And their reward was a painful death, one that, if they were lucky, came swiftly.” I shake away the bleak mental image, though I worry the reality may be even grimmer. Anger is better than sadness now. Anger is fuel; sadness only drains it.
We ride at a steady pace, and Chastain gives some of the fighters instructions to sweep the road ahead for threats.
The mist is almost cleared, the Abyss yawning at our backs. I itch to turn around and taunt it, to rejoice at surviving its terrors. But that sort of hubris would likely lead to another giant Iwoo attack or a host of spiders coming for blood. So, instead of crowing with victory, I send a silent thanks to the Ancestors as well as a prayer for those we lost.
“You all right?” Gareth’s concern wraps around me like a warm cocoon.
“Fine. Just thinking.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“You’ve no idea.” I crane my head back and share a leisurely kiss with him.
He rests one hand at my throat as I pour my emotions into him, our bond so solid I can almost feel it running from his heart to mine.
Pulling back, I take a breath. “Better now.”
“Good.” He nips lightly at my ear.
Iridiel turns so he can see us with one blue eye. “All this canoodling makes me miss my cousin.”
I gawk at him. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but why would you miss your cousin?”
“She gave great tongue.”
“That’s disgusting.” Gareth sounds half revulsed, half amused. “Yourcousin?”
“What can be better than your own kind?” Iridiel faces forward, his gorgeous mane shining in the warm sun. “She knows me so well. I miss her.”
I shrug. “The royalty of the summer realm are known for their inbreeding. It’s what makes Queen Aurentia so powerful. Generations of magic distilled into one fae who wields it with impunity.”
“Yeah, what you said.” Iridiel snorts. “But great tongue, that’s the real draw.”
