“I’d love to hear that story.” She sits demurely on one of the sofas, her feet tucked beneath her robe.
“What are you doing here?” I take his arm and drag him into my chambers as Emma watches. My feral itches at the thought of him being in Emma’s room without me there. But Bladin is loyal, so I shake that feeling away.
“I’ll just go, um, get dressed,” Emma calls.
“You’re back.” I run a hand over his wound, sealing it as he winces. “What happened? Why aren’t you at the eastern border?”
He sinks into a side chair along the wall, and it’s only then I realize he’s utterly exhausted. “I rode nonstop to get here along with a few of the soldiers. The rest I left to defend the border.”
I pull my towel away and run it through my hair, then get dressed as he speaks.
“We were patrolling the valleys of Uin. I split my force into three squads. The towns there were quiet, no attacks in a month or more. I thought I’d gotten the plum assignment.” He laughs, but his usual humor is gone. “Things were quiet for a little while. I even found me a sweet tavern tart to visit here and there—”
I give him a stern look.
He clears his throat. “Moving on. We heard reports of trouble in the Brookvine village, so I took my squad and cut through the swampy lands to the west of there. One wrong turn, and we were stuck in mire. By the time we got to the village, it was empty.”
I turn to him, the buttons on my tunic forgotten. “Empty? There are hundreds in that town. Their elder, Xantia Lynn, was here at the Shard only two months ago to discuss the attacks.”
“Gone.” He shakes his head.
“Where?” I sink onto the bed as Emma returns, now dressed in a smart set of loose brown pants and a cream top.
“We couldn’t find a trail, so I split us up further, sending groups east to the border, north along it, and south along it.” He runs his fingers along the dried blood at his temple. “I went southward, toward the Nightlands.” His gaze flicks to Emma, who I pull into my lap.
She sits there comfortably and leans against me. “Is it the same as the farmlands? The attack we saw there?”
“Different.” Bladin returns his attention to me. “No bodies, none killed, not even a drop of blood. They were all just gone.”
“Ancestors.” She crosses her arms in a protective move.
“And you’re sure they were attacked?” I ask.
“Yes.” He leans forward, his bruised hands on his knees. “On my journey south, I found clues. A child’s shoe, an earring, even a spoon. But there was no trail in the high grass.”
“Flying,” Emma says.
“Can’t be.” I wrack my mind for a plausible answer, but there isn’t one. “There’s nothing in the Daylands capable of doing such a thing without leaving evidence behind.”
“But flying is exactly it.” Bladin snaps his fingers. “Exactly. The enemy can take to the air. That’s why they come and go so quickly and strike without warning.”
“But who?” Emma nibbles her lip. “Pixies can’t carry people, and any dragon, or even a gryphon, would leave marks.”
“I’d know if a dragon was in my skies.” I nod at Bladin. “Go on.”
“We kept journeying south, following the border, moving closer and closer to the Nightlands. A storm rolled up, lightning and wind crashing around us as a funnel formed several miles southward. We should’ve taken shelter, but we didn’t. We kept racing, following the clues and trying to find the townspeople.”
“Did you?” Emma grips my hand, worry like a current running through her.
He shakes his head, his eyes grim. “No, but we found the next best thing. The funnel left us a broken gift.” Standing, he heads toward the door with a slight limp. He’s even more beat up than I first thought. “I’ve brought you a prisoner, my lord. A seeker.” He looks over his shoulder, murder in his eyes. “And when you’re done with him, I’d like to flay him alive, if that’s all right with you.”
27
Emma
We enter the throne room, my hand in Solano’s as we hurry toward the impossible prisoner. Just as Bladin said, a seeker is caged in the center of the room, a contingent of guards around him, all of them wary.
Grimelda appears at my elbow, her nose in the air, sniffing like a hound that’s scented blood. When did she get here? I can’t focus on her, though. The sun shines, its rays bathing the caged creature in light, but its skin doesn’t burn, its wings—though broken—don’t have a single lick of flame along the dark feathers. It’s so wrong, so unnatural that I can’t seem to understand what I’m seeing.
