“So you’re saying we have a chance?” I ask, hope flowing through my veins again.
“There’s always a chance,” Maethrel says simply.
Well, that doesn’t feel as encouraging.
“Do you even want the curse broken?” Raef asks. “You seem pretty cozy in your creepy little forest.”
“You mean my creepy little forest that almost took you out.” Maethrel’s eyes snap open, and there’s a viciousness in the depths of them that I hadn’t seen before as he shoots daggers at Raef, and suddenly, I’m terrified of him. He’s holding back his power, but I somehow saw a glimpse of it in his eyes, and I think it’s darker and more powerful than any of us realize. It feels… ancient.
Raef shrugs, not all that affected by the switch in demeanor. I don’t know if he’s unwise in underestimating it or he simply doesn’t care.
Maethrel relaxes again, glancing at Daegan. “I’ve lost things to it, just like everyone else.” There’s a sorrow in the words. He terrifies me, but I also feel a twinge of sympathy for him at the look in his eyes. How old must he be if he’s the grandchild of Ethmarel? A couple hundred years old, maybe. He doesn’t physically appear much older than any of us, but it’s hard to tell with witches. It’s the same with the elves, the dragon shifters, and the Dothronites, just to name a few. Some lifespans are a few hundred years, some a little less. Once elves reach maturity around eighteen to twenty years, they start aging extremely slowly and can live about four hundred years. I think the dragon shifters, from what I’ve read, have maybe half of that lifespan.
“Well, can we just cut you and take your blood now, then? It won’t hurt. Too much.” Raef says.
Maethrel gives him a sarcastic grin. “And what will you cut me with?”
“One born from ember…” I mumble aloud, my eyes not focusing on anything in this room. It’s completely still, besides the blurry flickering of the fire in my peripheral, the popping of it filling my ears.
I shift my gaze back into focus, meeting Maethrel’s eyes. He knows I know.
“Emberstone.”
A slow nod from him.
“Made of embers…” Raef says, absently nodding to my question.
“Emberstones are incredibly rare though. Aren’t they made in the Eternal Pit… above the veil where no one has been in a thousand years? I’ve never even seen one, I don’t believe…” I murmur, slowly losing hope again. But thenI realize… I’m sharing space with two dragon shifters. Ones with many secrets. If anyone knows where an emberstone can be found, it’s them. I whip my gaze toward them.
Raef and Daegan are sharing a weighted look. A whole conversation seems to be passing between them.
Maethrel unstoppers an empty glass vial and sets it on the table in front of him.
I suddenly feel like I’m the only odd one out in the room, and everyone knows something I don’t. I despise the feeling.
Maethrel glances at Daegan, then holds his wrist out with a dramatic fashion, his white sleeve dangling beneath his arm.
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.
Then suddenly, as Daegan reaches for his eyebrow and pulls out the pointy onyx stud there, it all makes sense, and I feel like a fool. The very first day I met him, as he straddled me with his knife to my throat, the strange, shiny black stone stood out to me as something peculiar. I close my eyes and shake my head.
When I hear him approach the table, I lift my lids, my eyes landing on him as he kneels beside the witch.
“This may hurt a little, it’s not the sharpest cutting tool.”
I look away.
“There,” Daegan says. I take that as my cue.
Returning my gaze to them, I find Maethrel letting his blood drip into the flask. That alone isn’t easy for me to watch, but I force myself anyway. I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot more bloody, violent things on this journey.
He wraps a shimmering white material over the cut on his hand, then rips the end.
“May I?” Daegan asks. Maethrel’s closed-mouth grin widens nearly to his ears as he nods.
Daegan doesn’t notice it. He’s unrolling some for himself, then rips the end and approaches me, kneeling beside me. “Hand,” he says to me.
“What?” I say in confusion.
