Her knuckles shifted against the leather.
How could a supposed goddess let her people bleed while the Horsemen roamed free? How could she call herself a protector and offer no shield?
Perhaps Rynna would ride south and see the woman who dared to crown herself thus, while corpses still smoldered on her borders. Maybe she'd show them what wrath really looked like.
Rynna’s eyes narrowed on the trail ahead, where green reeds bowed under the breeze and wildflowers tangled along the bank. Her lips curved. It was the kind of smile that knew exactly what it wanted.
“Let’s go, girl.” Her hand smoothed along the mare’s neck in one slow, grounding stroke.
The sooner they got there, the sooner she’d have something to distract her from the gaping wound bleeding unseen beneath her tunic.
It was easy to zone out on the back of Empty Night. The steady rhythm of her powerful muscles, the measuredclunk, clunkof her hooves striking the earth, and the alert swivel of her ears—ever watchful for predators—all lulled Rynna into a semi-conscious haze as they rode south with the great river to their left.
Rynna did not enjoy most company, but she hated solitude even more. When she was alone, her mind unraveled. Memories and sensory fragments tumbled through her thoughts—blinding flashes of pain she could neither place nor fully understand.
If she sat still too long, the fire would seep from where she buried it in her gut and flood her entire being. It would become an all-consuming cacophony of suffering, the convergence of every agony that had ever existed into a single, overwhelming torment.
She’d felt it since the moment she came crying into the world.
She didn’t remember her parents’ faces, only the sounds. The snap of leather against flesh. Her mother’s wheezing inhales between sobs. The man’s voice, slurred with fury, rang louder than her own newborn cries.
“What god did you offend to send us such a pitiful babe?”
Her mother hadn’t answered. Just bled quietly on the packed dirt floor, shoulders hunched inward as if to hide the child in her arms.
Rynna had kept screaming.
Nothing excused what came next, yet she understood why they had stopped loving her, if they had ever felt such feelings for her.
The familiar throb shifted from her belly, crawling up her spine.
“Ahhhhh! Fuck!!” She scraped her fingernails into her forearms until pain and blood answered in relief.
It was a practiced move, a primitive reset that snapped her out of the rising abyss. Her open palms cracked against her cheeks, left hand then right, the sharpSLAPechoing into the quiet night.
Empty Night did not flinch. The mare was used to her rider’s erratic behavior.
Rynna shook the fog from her mind and looked around. The sun hung high, already on her long journey downward, and in the distance, she spied the beginnings of a large town or perhaps a city. She must have drifted into sleep to have traveled so far. It was unmistakably the epicenter of the self-proclaimed Queen’s dominion. The road leading to the city gates confirmed it: flanked by immense, vividly painted statues crowned with various animal heads.
“What?” The word half-formed on her lips as she neared the giant gateway.
Had she got it wrong? This couldn’t be the capital. No merchants hawked their wares. No farmers juggled hauling carts full of produce. There wasn’t a fresh footprint or wheel rut on the packed earth. Even the river’s raucous birds and scrappy street dogs seemed to have vanished in the eerie hush.
The grand statues—perhaps once awe-inspiring—now radiated abandonment. Their majestic animal heads stared ahead with vacant, unimpressed expressions. And with each step deeper into this ghostly realm, oppressive silence wrapped around Rynna like a damp shroud.
“Something’s wrong here, girl. Stay alert.” She patted Empty Night’s shoulder with a firm hand.
The mare whinnied low and shook her mane, as if to say,Obviously.
No guards approached as she passed through the gate. Normally, vigilant sentinels would have scrutinized any traveler daring to enter this domain. She carried a sheathed sword on her back, a clear statement of potential violence. Someoneshouldhave stopped her. Yet the city remained indifferent.
Rynna’s eyes drifted upward as she passed beneath the final statue. The jackal's head atop it grinned, unreadable, suggesting an inside joke of cosmic proportions.
“That’s not at all disconcerting.” She paused for a heartbeat, wondering if she should turn back. No good would come of this.
Then Rynna nudged Empty Night forward, anyway.
The city stretched before her in a maze of sun-dried mud-brick buildings painted in sandy reds, their domed roofs and arched doorways hinting at ancient grandeur and hidden secrets. Carvings traced along walls, suggesting architectural mastery honed over centuries.
