I took off running.
Chapter 31
ALARYK
The last of the wild Elthika fled just before dawn.
And on Samryn, high in the sky, watching the shadows retreat into the lightening sky speared with blues and pinks, I felt a deep seed of worry take root.
My heartstone magic hadn’t worked on the Elthika. For the first time, I’d snapped out my power with the intent of making them retreat before there was more bloodshed, more destruction.
But what I’d felt had been concerning.
The heartstone magic that was born within each Elthika was so depleted, a mere wisp, that I’d had nothing to latch onto, nothing to guide.
It confirmed what we’d already known for years: The heartstones were very nearly spent in the Arsadia. Thethalaratrees from the seeds we’d cultivated in Dakkar wouldn’t grow new heartstones for another decade, unless we could somehow discover a way to speed their growth.
The Elthika werestarving. They were starving to death. They needed the heartstone magic to fill that void…and there was very little left. And none would come for years. No reprieve.
What would happen then?
They’d sensed the lost heartstone in Ny’am. They’d likely wanted it for themselves, but we’d been able to defend our home. For now.
When I was certain that the wild packs had crested beyond view, I turned Samryn back around to look at Grymia. A smoldering, smoking Grymia. Much of the farmlands had been wiped out, though the grain field closest to the village had been saved. A surviving herd of livestock was being corralled to the landing field, the fencing having burned. Luckily much of the village hadn’t been touched by the Redback’s flames. And other structures that had, the villagers had been able to extinguish quickly.
The watch tower was burned, however, crumbled to the earth in a smoking pit. We had been fortunate. Though if more wild packs came, I didn’t think we’d be so lucky.
But there was something more pressing—the dread that had been present in my innards for hours, ever since I’d seen the glow of her magic.
I maneuvered Samryn down to the landing field, where most of the villagers were still milling around. Everyone was exhausted, but there was still a sense of urgency. The fires had been put out, but there were still a lot of people who were injured and plenty of work to be done.
I wondered how many were dead.
I could sense the tiredness in Samryn, his strength waning, still too quickly for a Vyrin. Though without Amaia’s influence over the curse, he wouldn’t have been able to hold the line against the wild packs for as long as he had.
I leaped from the riding seat, landing on the hard ground in a crouch before rising.
Myzalla was the first I saw, her face streaked in ash, sitting on the earth as she tried to recover for a brief moment, leaning back against her Elthika, who was sleeping—passed out—on the field.
“Where is she?” I asked.
She cast her arm out, too tired to speak it seemed, toward a group of Karag who were huddled around something.Someone.
My chest squeezed, and I ran. When I reached them, I pushed through the gathering crowd, which only parted for me when they saw who was barreling through.
A strange panic was tangling and twisting my heart.
Amaia lay on the ground, her head resting in Syris’s lap. Tarkosh and Brune were standing nearby, in the inner circle around her, but the rest backed away when I neared.
Her skin was ashen, leached of color, and streaks of dried blood were coming from the inner corners of her eyes, a familiar sight to me. She was barely breathing, a slight rise and fall of her chest—the only thing that didn’t make me fall to my knees on the earth. Because at first glimpse, she looked dead.
Her hands were covered in dried blood, likely having needed the physical contact with the villagers and the Elthika as her magic had begun to wane more and more.
“Let me have her,” I rasped, my voice so deep it felt like a string of growls. Syris gently eased Amaia’s head off her lap as I sat down on the earth, gently maneuvering her limp body to me.
When we’d done this the first time, she’d been awake. But nevertheless, I called up my magic for the hundredth time that night and tried to press it into her. It was met with a wall, but I kept the warmth there, like a touch, hoping it might rouse her.
“Mariss,” I whispered. “Wake for me. Let me help you.”
