“It’s almost as if the monsters are drawn to her,” Talton says, “don’t you agree, Ro?”
“That’s nonsense,” Roane dismisses the matter. “We shouldn’t have gone into the river so late. It was already getting dark.”
The light from the cave walls and ceiling casts a bluish cast on everything.
“Well, you should find cover. Nights aren’t a joke here.” Talton casts a beady eye on my shivering form, clad in soaked underclothes. The bundle of my destroyed yellow dress is in my arms, Olm’s book wrapped up in it. “And this bird may have found some clothes for you.”
Relief washes through me. “Oh, thank you, Talton!”
“Let’s hope they fit you. No seamstress here to make them fit.”
“I’ll make do.” I shoot the river an uneasy glance. “Let’s go before some other monster decides to snack on us.”
“Were you injured?”
“No, I’m okay.” I avoid looking at Roane who saved my hide—and held me and saw me naked, dear Gods… “Are we going back to the library?”
“There is a refuge closer by. I’ll lead you there.” Talton flies off. “Are you coming?”
We run along the shore. My stamina is a joke, I realize, compared to the library’s guardian. My limbs are heavy. It feels as if the finger of fate is pressing down on me.
Brogan once told me that fate is a path with many forks. Fate isn’t set in stone for those who fight. Which is such a weight to bear, knowing you can form your own path but not knowing if you’re making the right choices.
Am I making the right choices?
“Where is Druna?” I ask as we hurry up an incline, bordered by blossoming bushes I don’t recognize. The river gurgles below.
“She said she’d go hunting,” Talton says, flying ahead. “I’ll go find her, tell her you are all right.”
“Tal, just… go to the library,” Roane says. “Guard it for me.”
“But Druna?—”
“She’ll be fine.”
Talton whistles and flies in a circle overhead. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” Roane says. “And sort the clothes we found for Aline, for our return tomorrow.”
“Sure. Keep ordering me around, you know I love it,” Talton mutters and flies away.
I smother a laugh.
“Let’s rest for a moment here.” Roane slows down. “You’re out of breath.”
I stop, glad for the break. Glancing down, in that faint blue light, I can see the river, a dark snake moving through the plain, its frothing rapids here and there glinting like silver.
My memory sparks and I gasp. “Achlys. The river.”
“What was that?” Roane sounds distracted.
“I know which story it’s from. The War of Wilus! It’s the river that runs with magic, its nymphs playing with pearl orbs and dancing, and if they feel wronged, they like to drag innocent people to their deaths. But it is also said that their main power is slowing down time. When you are with them, a hundred years may pass and to you it will only be the blink of an eye.”
“Great,” Roane mutters.
“This river has an older name, and that is Xanthus,” I whisper. The word echoes in the air as if we’re inside a great hall, bouncing against the trees and riverbanks.
And the river…changes. Lights spring up in its depths and flow downstream. Glowing orbs, pulsing like hearts, bobbing in the turbid waters as they float toward the city, chasing away the dark.
