Make me forget myself. My enemies.
See me to ruin.
Know no love, I promised, yet here he flaunts her in front of me.
The creature inside me pushes at the cage of my flesh, sharp claws raking me from the inside out. It wants freedom, it wants its wings, it wants her.
I force it down, breathing through the primal fury.
Then I scowl at the faint glimmer of the moon I can see through the cavern’s hollow ceiling. “I’m not playing your games, you prick. Not this time.”
A sudden wind sweeps down through the roof, stirring through my hair and bringing with it a handful of loose red rose petals and the scent of… I stand up sharply, all my senses on alert as I hold the knife against my thigh. There’s something else out there. Something that’s not Kasaros.
Something I can almost remember, though I cannot bring myself to name it.
“Show yourself,” I demand.
The wind stirs through my shirt, feeling like a woman’s fingers tracing the curve of my spine. Rose petals swirl around me in a small whirlwind. Nothing answers. And as I search the cavern, I realize nothing will.
There are no hunters here. No monsters, nor mortals. The monsters would have scented me and shifted to avoid us, and the mortals… well, as meagre as my magic currently is, it still works to keep them at bay. All they’ll know will be a prickle of unease. A primeval sense of dread. And whilst they might not even recognize the cause of it, some part of their primitive brains will scream at them to stay away from this place.
Zyla shifts in the warmth of my cloak as the rose petals scatter over her like the kind one throws across one’s wedding bed in honor of the Goddess. Or what one used to do, before the Great Departure.
“Who are you?” I whisper, as her soft lips part around her sweet breath.
Whilst she’s no enemy of mine, it’s clear that she has her own list. And I’m right there at the top of it.
But perhaps it’s better if it stays that way.
Chapter 10
Zyla
Of all the peoples in this world, thedreihave an unusual mating structure. Women are viewed as equally as powerful as males within the relationship.”
—KARI SILVENDALE, AUTHOR OFA HISTORY OF THE DREI
The next day we set out through a misty morning, forging our way into an overgrown segment of the maze. We lost Kari’s tracks, but Bael doesn’t seem too concerned.
“I know where Rhykus is going,”was all he said.
Bael strides ahead of me in silence, using his sword to slash and hack his way through the thick rose bushes that congest our path. Not a single blossom blooms, but the thorns are vicious. There’s something quietly furious about his movements, muscles flexing beneath the tunic, and sweat gleaming on his olive skin.
We pause for a momentary break and I cannot help thinking about the way I woke to find myself beneath his cloak, whilsthe dozed nearby, arms crossed over his chest to try and keep himself warm.
It’s a little troubling to realize how deeply I slept.
I never sleep well unless I’m behind a locked door.
“Your arm?” he grunts at me, offering a slice of bread and cheese from his bag.
I swing the arm slowly. “Better.” In fact, there’s barely a twinge. “Thank you.”
Not even a comment about how I must have learned new words in his language overnight.
Bael devours his breakfast, licking the crumbs from his fingers. He’s definitely on the irritable side this morning. “Come. Rhykus will be nearly at his destination and time is wasting.”
And then he sets off again, sweat marks dark against the charcoal linen that shields his back.
