“Forgive me. It was the only thing I thought of at the moment.”
“You did well,” Zev croaked. His stomach ached and the rhythm of his heart was too slow for his kind, but the burning had reduced to only his arm now. Had his father not built his tolerance to poisonous plants against werewolves, the extract might have done more harm than good.
Dyna rifled through her satchel and took out a sprig. “Eat these. They will treat your stomach.”
Zev chewed on the sweet leaves as she applied a topical salve to his wound. He winced when she touched the swollen ridges, but soon the wound cooled and the pain lessened further. By tomorrow, it would scar, although it would always be tender, as were most scars on his body. Wounds caused by silver never fully healed.
“There, I think that should do it. Has the burning ceased?”
“Aye, thank you.”
Dyna sat with her knees propped up and looked out at the stream. The water lapped up the bog, reaching for the tips of her shoes. Azeran’s journal and the knife lay in the grass beside her. He didn’t need acute hearing to catch her conversation with Cassiel. She had been shouting, unusual for her gentle manner.
Zev sat up at the sound of distant rustling behind them. Cassiel was quiet, but his scent had given him away. The Prince didn’t come forward though. He briefly paused behind the dense wall of shrubs then turned away as if he had only come to check on their location.
“What is a Nephilim?” Dyna asked, unaware of his presence.
Zev surreptitiously glanced at the Prince’s still back through the foliage where he halted in mid retreat. “I should not have called him that, Dyna. I misspoke in my anger. It’s an awful word.”
It wasn’t his place to explain further, and he sensed Cassiel’s unease. As much as the Prince held to his air of superiority, he cared what she thought of him.
“He’s different, isn’t he?”
“He certainly is,” Zev smirked. It was a jab at Cassiel’s temperament, but he knew what Dyna was referring to. Though, she would never use the word half-breed.
Dyna picked up a stray stick and used it to draw shapes in the mud. “Prince Cassiel does not trust us, but I believe it’s more than that. He does not trust anyone. How could he? His family …”
“What about them?”
“I was present at the king’s table as well, Zev.”
He had not forgotten. The repulsed expression Queen Mirah wore when she looked at Cassiel reminded him of the way his mother used to look at him.
“Prince Malakel said horrible things,” Dyna huffed. “I had half a mind to throw a fig at his pretentious face.”
Zev chuckled, imagining the eldest Prince’s reaction if she had dared to do such a thing. “That would have been the last day we drew breath.”
She laughed. “Thank the God of Urn I didn’t.”
His chuckles died away, and Zev sighed again. Cassiel was listening so he may as well air his doubts.
“The question is can we trust him? He purposely came armed against me. Why join us if he felt unsafe? He is not here to accompany you across Urn, Dyna. He came for your map. I’ve seen the way he stares at it all hours of the night. If it were not sired to your Essence, he might have taken it for himself. Mount Ida is a place that instills ambition and greed in all who hear its story. We can’t assume he’ll be any different.”
Cassiel held quiet. It had to mean there was some truth to what Zev said.
Dyna drew the rune for humankind in the mud. One straight line and a half-circle crossing upward at the top. It looked like a lone man holding up the world or pleading to it. “People are similar to plants. Neglect will cause them to wither, but with proper care, they will flourish. Prince Cassiel is only in need of a bit of sun and water.”
Zev smiled at the analogy. “I take it this means you will allow him to continue with us?”
She stood and picked up the knife, tapping a finger against its pointed end. “Life is a risk, and he risked his life several times for my sake. I’m indebted to him, but I won’t put that ahead of your wellbeing, Zev. Whether he is to accompany us, I’ll leave that decision to you.”
She pitched the knife. It sailed far through the air, further than he had thought she was capable of, before plunging into the deep end of the stream.
Zev rose to his feet and stretched his arms backward, feeling some of his strength returning. It had been a few days since he stood on two feet. His mind was clearer now than when he was a wolf.
“He has reason to think ill of me but I cannot blame him for it,” he said. The Prince had seen what he’d done to the Lykos Pack. That would frighten anyone.
Dyna glanced at him, catching the nuance he failed to hide behind his words. Zev couldn’t bring himself to confess what he had done. Wolves were predators. She must have known he had to kill to make it out of the glade alive, but she didn’t know how far he had gone. As aggravating as Cassiel was, he hadn’t told Dyna. And for that, Zev was grateful.
