Page 67 of Wraithwound

“It is,” he said again, looking more irritated than confused now.

Cross’s voice drew her attention, and she turned, stepping into the shop. Taryk’s motivations for going to Lythara were still unclear, and she preferred not to be alone with the soulbound. Taryk followed, still holding the plant.

“It’s good to see you, Cross, I thought you were dead, and he’s been, well, quite displeased with the delay . . .” Row was saying.

Cross stood in front of a wooden counter. Behind it was an older woman with bright red hair. Short in stature with deep lines on her face, she had sharp eyes. She looked Lena over once before her gaze flicked to Taryk.

“I’ll be right with you, Taryk,” she said, not sparing him a second glance.

“. . .remember, red is dead, black is for on the attack, green is serene, white is for light and⁠—”

“—chartreuse for a boost. Yes, I remember, Rowena. You remind me every time,” Cross finished, taking his gauntlet back.

Rowena gave him a stern look although Lena didn’t miss the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she placed a new set of leathers on the counter and passed him a satchel that clinked as she held it out. More potions, she guessed. But that thought was quickly overshadowed by the glimpse she caught of the woman’s arm. Tiny shards of what could have been glass or crystal glinted in the light, just like the pattern on Cross’s back.

Lena’s shoulder continued to prickle, the sensation more prominent this time, but before she could consider the cause, Cross turned, his gaze jumping between her and Taryk. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, the muscles in his neck tensing.

“Too tough for crystals now, Taryk?” he asked, eyes falling to the plant in the soulbound’s hand. He didn’t wait for an answer before he stalked past and left them both standing there.

Turning back to Taryk, Lena pointed at the plant once again. “You do know that’s actually sempermortem. Use that, and they’ll have to amputate both of your arms. It looks very similar to sempervidium, but it’s not.”

Taryk’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at the small plant in his hands once more. Eyes narrowing, he looked toward the healer’s shop down the way and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything else, she set off down the road after Cross.

Lena found him in the stables, standing in front of Kharon’s stall. He was leaning forward, hands braced tightly on the stall gate, knuckles white.

“What—” Lena started.

“I need to know who it was, Lena,” he said, pushing off the gate, face unreadable.

“Who—what?” Lena asked, glancing around the stable.

“Which one?” he asked again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice sounding a lot calmer than she felt.

“I need to be able to tell their family they won’t be coming home,” Cross said, voice low.

“Who? Who won’t be going home?” she said, frustration leaking into her voice.

“The soulbound you killed,” he spat.

Lena froze; the air in her lungs seemed to evaporate.

Was it possible she had blacked out and killed someone else? A soulbound soldier no less? Her body began to tingle as a familiar numbness returned.

“I don’t—I didn’t—” she started, but Cross lunged at her, ripping her pack from her shoulder and dumping the contents on the ground.

A low hissing noise and chittering sounded from somewhere above her, but it barely registered. Lena watched in stunned silence as he got down on one knee and rummaged through her things until he pulled out the medallion. It hung from his clenched fist as he held it up before her.

“You don’t know? THIS! Who did you take this from? Do you even know their name? Was it Gothiel, Hendricks, Sera, or Zebos?” he shouted.

The rage Lena felt descended upon her swiftly, sharp-edged and all-consuming, so much so that she barely felt the shift. That was her brother’s medallion he held in his stupid fist and thrust at her. Seeing it dangling there as supposed evidence for a murder she hadn’t committed made her blood boil.

Lena snatched the medallion from his fist, nearly snapping the chain, and then she shoved him.

She shoved him so hard he fell into the stone wall behind him.

“That,” she said, in a voice that did not sound like her own, “belonged to my brother. He wore it on his person as a child when my mother found him, alone and terrified in the slums of Dovia. He wore it every single day until the day he died!” The last few words worked their way up to a scream. “I know exactly how many people I’ve killed. I see their faces every night. I did not kill a soulbound soldier, and right now, I really wish I hadn’t saved one either!”