Kael had killed three of them already. The first melted —ice beneath fire, its screams curling around him. The second had pierced his side with a spear edged limb dripping in sickly poison. The third nearly took his head before his shadows rose in fury and snapped its neck in a shower of black ichor.
He moved on foot now, his horse reduced to red pulp miles ago, when one of the horrors leapt from a cleft in the canyon wall, jaws gaping wider than its skull could support.
Still, Kael pressed forward. His cloak had long since been torn away, his armor scorched and dusted.
He was only halfway there, and already, he felt as if he’d crossed the edge of the world. The borderlands between Nythra and Calanthe had always been treacherous, but now they were warped.
He hadn’t seen another soul in three days. Only creatures.
Veilspawn.
The latest one, a slithering mass that whispered in tongues not meant for the waking world, its body contorting, more shadow than substance.
Kael had killed it. But not before it sank jagged claws beneath his ribs.
Now, the wound festered. A slow, molten agony of fire spreading through his torso. His shadows had tried to seal it with no avail. A impossible feat for his weakened magic.
He collapsed somewhere past dusk, barely off the path carved into the ravine wall. His fingers trembled, still stained with the creature’s black ichor. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one sharp as knives in his lungs.
And yet the silence of the bond ached worse than the pain of the wound.
Maris.
He’d spoken her name in prayer to keep himself sane — one whispered syllable at a time attempting to conjure her presence through sheer will. But there was still nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. No warmth. No regret. No thread.
Only cold.
He must’ve passed out at some point. All he knew was the sound of hooves then wheels creaking.
“Oh, hells. What nightmare has done this?”
Kael tried to lift his head. A blur of color, a flicker of golden eyes and skin. A tall older fae male with hair braided in silver cords, dressed not in armor but in the colorful garb of a merchant.
“Still breathing,” the fae muttered, crouching low. “Barely. What in the six shrines are you doing alone out here? These roads are cursed.”
Kael opened his mouth. Blood bubbled at the corner.
“Right,” the fae said, glancing up and down the path. “Less talking, more hauling.”
The next moments blurred, rough hands under his arms … the sharp press of wood beneath him … the groan of a cart as he was lifted in. A soft blanket thrown over him. A water skin pressed to his lips.
The cart rocked gently as the fae turned his mule onto the trade road again, heading west.
“I’m bound for the city of Bellwind,” the stranger said casually. “You’ll get a healer there. Hopefully one who doesn’t charge in teeth.”
Kael faded in and out as darkness crept at the edges of his vision, but he held onto one image.
Her.
Black hair whipping in the wind. Pale green eyes with a touch of molten silver. A goddess wreathed in ruin smiling done upon him.
Maris.
He wouldn’t die here.
He couldn’t.
Not when he had to know if she’d left him by fate or choice.
