Decaying, wracking our army with coughs. The loudest came from my warriors, who were used to pure winter air all year long.
Foul was too careless of a description for the relentless stench burning up my nose. It dug its hooks into my brain and refused to release me.
“We’re approaching the Defector Lands,” Zandyr announced with that regal air of his as we led thousands of souls forward. “Eyes wide and weapons at the ready. The first camp is just beyond them.”
“I dare any reckless soul to sleep in this stench,” I muttered, for our ears only.
Even the stubborn steed I’d been saddled with neighed and bunched underneath me as the wind brought on more foulness toward us.
“Steady now.” Zandyr gripped the reins of Madrya, his magical mare, to bring her closer, in an attempt of calming down mine.
“I still think I would have been better off walking,” I grumbled, my body readjusting itself into the unfamiliar saddle.
This was only the third time I rode in my life. It would be the last; I’d never had to endure a more unnatural position in my life.
“You’re the only one the steed accepted as a rider. And we need to conserve your energy,” Zandyr said. “Just in case.”
In case we were attacked by the Borderline Bands and had to stave them off quickly to reach our final camp site in time. As disorganized as those outlaws were, with my speed, I could neutralize half of a band before any of our warriors so much as raised their weapons.
“They wouldn’t dare,” I said with absolute certainty.
Only the Serpents were foolish enough to face the fiercest army in all of Malhaven.
Still, the reek was unusual. Everything rotten and wrong took refuge in these lands and thrived, contained in the wickedness no other Clans allowed in their own ranks.
It was a lawless, heartless place we all avoided.
It would have been quicker to go through the cursed lands to reach the mighty bridge that would take us over the Obsidian River, but nobody–not even Adara, the former Blood Brotherhood general–would subject an army.
So we took the longer, safer route, to Zandyr’s annoyance.
He would have loved to march in the jungle and sear everything in sight after his fated mate had been kidnapped, but nobody–no prince, no gods, hopefully not even Xamor himself–would risk our warriors’ lives.
Our path had been carved on secret maps with precise locations and I made sure we stuck to it.
Yet an unease grew in me the further we advanced. There was no logical explanation for the adrenaline pumping in the soles ofmy feet–unburned and unaching, like I was some pompous lord. The sensation burned up my veins, putting me on edge.
The wooden wheels screeching fast behind us did not help loosen the tension, either.
Elysia and Calyx’s wagon jolted next to us on the rocky road. His strange and dangerous inventions rattled in the back along with the protective runes, all hidden underneath a thick brown leather.
We’d all tried to convince him to stay behind and recuperate.
He’d refused to leave his contraptions unattended.
Elysia insisted on staying next to him, her leather pouch of magical potions and treatments clutched tightly in her lap.
“Whatisthat?” Elysia said from behind her sleeve. “It smells more revolting than any of Calyx’s botanical experiments.”
“They are a wonder of human curiosity,” he grumbled, holding the carriage reins with the enthusiasm of someone watching grass grow. “And, once again, I am right here.”
“Then you know just how awful it is.” She gagged. “It’s never been this bad.”
“It is horrible,” he agreed. “You sure you didn’t spill any of your vials?”
“Bite your tongue.” Elysia tilted her chin up, caressing her pouch. “Even my deadliest poisons smell rosy, thank you very much.”
“Do you detect any poison in the air?” I asked them.
