The Obscura thrashed beneath the thick wall of the rubelline at his words. I wasn’t going to cut off his damned hand. As much as I hated the man, seeing him like this…
I made to stand when Ronan stormed in through the sliding ice door and slammed his fist into Astraeus’s face. The pirate lord’s head cracked against the trunk, and he slumped over.
“What are you doing?” I snapped, “Look at him! He probably already has a concussion!”
Ronan rolled his shoulders, “He’ll be fine. He obviously doesn’t need to be conscious to get the rubelline off if Xenelpha suggested taking his entire hand.”
I blinked. He was right, I realized, feeling utterly stupid for waking him with the celosia powder when I could have tried his hands on my own.
“Try,” he said, nodding to Vienah as she timidly stepped in, her hand flying to her nose at the stench.
“Oh gods,” she murmured as her eyes scanned the pirate. She knelt behind him, her hands going to his. “When he loosened the hold on Carina and Nerissa, I saw him slide his forefinger and thumb like this.”
She slid my coat up over the cuff, still glowing bright red, and placed Astraeus’s hands around it, sliding his finger and thumb along its edge. As she did, the phantom grip within me loosened. A flash of shimmering black and gold exploded behind my eyes as she completed the twist. The cuff clanked off, the brilliant glowing red winking out.
I gasped, sucking in the frigid air, as the Obscura and Transcindiel surged through my veins, savoring their freedom. The darkness danced against my palms to the song that floated from the transformational power. They wereback.
Vienah’s smile was bright as she scanned my eyes. I helped with hers, and she sighed as the cuff fell off. I tucked one away in the pocket of my coat and clamped the other on Astraeus’s wrist.
“He’s a mage?” Vienah asked, eyes wide.
“Full of secrets, apparently,” Ronan murmured, eyeing the unconscious pirate. “What do we do with him?”
I sighed, scanning his injuries. “Clean him up. Keep him with the others.”
“I’ll help,” Vienah said, her voice edged with pity.
A warm pushof relief reached me as I walked toward Xenelpha’s dwelling. I scanned the break in trees above the village, searching for any sign of Aquila, knowing he was smart enough not to be seen. My heart warmed as his emotions reached me, and I smiled, allowing myself a small bit of hope that the others were fine.
Xenelpha stepped from her chamber. I balked, startled by her change in appearance. Gone were the white paint and bone armor. Dark, copper skin shone in the midday sun, and a lovely smile spread across her face. Wrinkles crinkled in the corners of her dark eyes, years of wisdom lounging in their depths.
“Freedom feels good, does it not?”
I nodded. “Indeed.” A soft growl rumbled behind her, and I jumped as the large, reptilian head snaked around Xenelpha and peered at me with intelligent eyes. The wolf-like body inchedaround her, its scaled tail snapping back and forth. I paled at the sight of the dune runner.
“Myamatohk,” the matron murmured. “She doesn’t trust you after your encounter at the lake.”
The beast growled, and I took a step back, hands up, though the Obscura leaped down my veins. The dune runner, theamatohk, glanced between my palms and softened its gaze, tilting its head, almost dog-like.
“We’ve collected the bodies of those you killed,” Xenelpha said, her voice softening. The creature’s fangs glinted in the sunlight, and I had a hard time feeling guilty. “Their deaths will be honored. And we will wear their bones as armor.”
“And the others at the camp?” I asked.
The sides of Xenelpha’s lips tilted, “There was an encounter, of course. An elf and three humans are being held at a neighboring village. We’ll bring them here if you wish.”
I nodded, my stomach twisting with nerves. “Please. What state are they in?”
“A human is still healing from our amatohk, and the small mystic has been unconscious. It seems she tried to use more power than she was capable of with the rubelline on her wrist.”
I averted my eyes and gave her a nod, hiding my relief. Vulcan and Nerissa had to have escaped.
“This way to the bone,” Xenelpha murmured after a moment.
She led me to an elaborately carved tunnel where she placed a torch in a shallow pool of liquid that sat in a raised line in the center of the hall. Fire flew down in a thin stream, illuminating the shadows of the walls that shifted from ice to stone.
Xenelpha slid a small key to the center of an eight-pointed star carved in the rock at the end of the tunnel. She murmured beneath her breath, and as she pressed her hand into the rock, she rotated it, the circular carving following in its direction. The rock smoothly slid open to Faron’s burial chamber.
The familiar scent of dry, dusty air filled my nostrils as we stepped into the ancient room. Xenelpha bowed as we entered, and I followed suit, my mind drifting to the last set of remains I examined, the brutal damage to the elf in Lotrennia pricking against my mind.
