Kael whistles and Therion swiftly halts, as if it’s some secretlanguage between the two of them. “We need a healer, immediately.” I’d argue, but after looking at it, I definitely need a healer.
“We’re at least five days away from leaving the forest,” Therion counters. “The horses won’t make it—we’ve already been riding for two days without sleep,” he snaps, the lack of sleep evident.
I’ve been unconscious for two days?
Seren’s voice, a little more confident than when we first entered the forest, adds, “I saw some lunabark root at our last rest stop. I grabbed some,” she rummages through her saddle bags. “It should get El through at least a few nights. Is there a healer anywhere near the fringe of the Frael Forest?”
“I know a place,” Kael murmurs low.
“Oh fuckin’ Stars, Kael. Not Mavyrn?” Therion drags a hand down his face, incredulous.
“Yes,” Kael commands, no room for negotiation in his tone. “She’s our best hope at healing this wound and continuing on to the relics.”
“If she doesn’t fucking hex us first,” Therion bites back.
Kael ignores his reservations. “We’ll push the horses hard and make it there in three days. Four at the most,” he finishes, but swiftly observes the exhaustion marring the faces of our group. “We’ll rest tonight.”
“Thank the gods,” Ronyn sighs, pumping his fists in the air.
“Bless the Stars themselves,” Seren exhales. She looks bone-tired and drained, probably ravenous and most definitely in need of a bath. We all are. I’m certain we’d all settle for a stream. Ronyn and I have kept Seren shielded from many of the hardships of life in the Virellin slums—life on horseback is foreign for both Ronyn and me, but even more so for Seren. Ronyn and I have at least spent the majority of our lives physically training to endure hardship and fights with people bigger and stronger than us. But Seren has been sheltered from the violence, the lack.
“Fine,” Therion acquiesces. “The girl will need the lunabark root if we plan to ride hard, then,” he grunts, nudging his horse into a trot.
“Always a delight, that man,” Ronyn quips.
Kael pulls our mare up alongside Ronyn and Seren, and she passes him a gnarled root.
“Lunabark root numbs the pain,” Seren explains, rummaging through her satchel. “Mildly hallucinogenic. You’ll either pass out and dream, or stay awake and... dream. Or both.”
Fucking great.
“Oh, amazing, nothing to worry about then,” I deadpan.
Kael fights a smile but loses, the corners of his mouth pulling up at my expense. “You’ll be fine, Lightborne. I’ve got you.”
“Go on,” Seren urges.
I crunch down, and the taste of the lunabark root floods my mouth, sharp and jarring like biting into a bitter lemon. There’s a fleeting sweetness, faint and deceptive, that vanishes almost instantly, leaving behind a sour tang that clings to my tongue. A subtle, numbing warmth begins to spread from my throat to my chest, dulling the sharper edges of the pain in my leg already. A strange coolness follows, almost minty, but not refreshing—like damp moss mixed with iron.
“Rest,” Kael commands with just a hint of gentility, but before I can retort about rest not being possible due to the lack of comfort—as evidenced by the chafing between my thighs—my body gives out again, and the darkness takes me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KAEL
Therion’s angerrolls off him like heat from a forge as we ride into the clearing he’s deemed suitable for camp. He hasn’t looked at me once since we left the last rest stop, and his silence is as sharp as his axe. We haven’t spoken alone since the outpost. No chance to lay out a plan for the relic hunt. But Therion doesn’t need words for me to read him. His anger simmers just below the surface, coiled tight and ready to strike.
Elyssara hasn’t stirred since Seren gave her the lunabark root, and maybe that’s a mercy. The wound festers, its edges raw and inflamed, though the root keeps her blissfully unaware of the pain. I slide her down from the horse and into Ronyn’s waiting arms with a curt nod. “Let her rest somewhere. I’ll prepare her bedroll.”
Ronyn grins, the ever-present mischief in his expression dulled slightly by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll guard her like she’s my own flesh and blood.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real bite in it. “Just do it.”
With her settled, I make my way toward Therion, who sits slouched against the trunk of a massive tree. He’s tossing rocks at another trunk with deliberate, almost menacing precision. Each stone hits its mark with a dull, echoing thud.
I drop down beside him, the weight of the day pressing into my bones as I lean back and rest my head against the rough bark. For a moment, we sit in silence, the sounds of the forest filling the space between us—the faint rustle of leaves, the chirp of distant insects, the whisper of wind through the trees. But the quiet isn’t peace. It’s a pause, a held breath before the storm.
“Brother, what bothers you?” I finally ask, keeping my tone calm, though my patience is already thinning.
