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For a moment, Rymedur’s eyes darted between each of Areanel’s cadre, unsure of how to react. But then a smile cracked, spreading across Rymedur’s features when Brutus deadpanned, ‘I do.’

The laugh that came from Areanel was breathy and startled, like she hadn’t expected him to say anything. Her entire face brightened with it, and Rymedur couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

How they were able to be so jovial after facing something like that, he’d never know. His heart was still hammering.

Areion trotted over to them. A series of thin lines marred his forelimbs, and Rymedur was suddenly filled with regret and gratitude. ‘Thank you,’ he patted the black stallion’s flank.

‘Come on.’ A hand reached for him. Areanel sat atop Areion, beckoning him. ‘Trust me, Vas isn’t someone to bluff. He will lose his shit if he has to stay here any longer, and you don’t want to see that,’ she warned.

A mess of midnight blue strands fell into Rymedur’s eyes, and he shook his head as a chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. ‘Of course, he would,’ he laughed, taking her hand and lifting himself into the saddle.

Chapter 40

Areanel

Golden, buttery light bled into a mixture of red and orange hues as the sun set over the horizon. They had finally made it out of the forest, and now the city of Cal Cathlar—Alabasus—was in view. Something like a string tugged in the centre of Areanel’s chest, gliding across her consciousness. A cold breeze, refreshing and reassuring, bloomed in her mind.

Winter.

Her bonded wolf sent consoling encouragement through their bond, and Areanel felt as though a physical thread was being pulled, like a harpist strumming delicate strings, producing musical notes that settled and uplifted her in the same breath. Areanel knew what Winter was saying without words. We are here. We are with you.

She heaved a sigh. Even though they weren’t physically with her, Areanel still felt her wolves like a phantom limb, but there was no one she trusted with her children more than her own bonded. She could rest easy knowing they were with them, protecting them.

‘About fucking time,’ Vasilio exclaimed when they stopped by a creek that ran across their path. Quickly dismounting, he darted behind a tree, calling over his shoulder, ‘I need a piss.’

She had to agree with him. Not the piss part—but she was glad they had made it out of that awful place. Areanel had always hated the Gods’ Land and could count on one hand the times she had willingly ventured into it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She usually took the main path—untouched by the decay—in and out of Andrea.

The forest was a rotting, corroded place filled with withered, dreadful things. A shiver ran through her spine, and Areanel almost felt like the spiders Vasilio mentioned before were crawling all over her skin—but that was not all. For two years now, every time she travelled through the Gods’ Land, Areanel felt herself wither. Like the trees, she grew sickly and pale. Areanel did not know the cause, only that every time she passed through the forest, it felt as though her power was being pulled away from her.

But this time it had been so much worse.

Areanel could hear Vasilio fiddling with his trouser ties before he let out a loud, dramatically long sigh.

The warmth emanating from Rymedur, who sat behind her, grew more intense as he shuffled in the saddle. His arm wrapped around her waist as he adjusted himself, careful not to jostle her, but his corded muscles brushed against her, and Areanel was suddenly hyperaware of every place his body pressed against hers.

‘Is he always like—'

‘Like an idiot?’ Percival interrupted Rymedur’s question, even though he had directed it to her. Areanel rolled her eyes at her brother but chuckled as he said, ‘Yes.’

Rymedur moved again. This time, his fingers flexed around the pommel.

‘What is it?’ Areanel asked, her head tilting back.

‘Nothing,’ he said.

‘You’re as bad as Aurora.’

Like father, like daughter, indeed. Areanel huffed a laugh, and when Rymedur looked at her like she had grown another head, she raised a brow and gestured to his fingers as they traced the subtle embroidery of her corset. ‘You’re fidgeting, love.’

‘The colour has returned to your face, and your temperature seems to be fine.’ Areanel’s gaze flittered away, glancing around as he continued to list her symptoms. ‘You’re not coughing as much; you’re not as drowsy, either—’

‘Rymedur,’ Areanel interrupted him, ‘I told you, I feel fine.’

‘Yes, but how?’

There was a beat of silence. How could she explain it when she didn’t entirely understand it herself? After careful deliberation, she said, ‘Father says the Gods’ Land is poisonous to magic users. The more power you have, the worse it can get. Apparently, when the gods left, they cursed the land. Now anyone who crosses it will fall ill. It’s like a disease that eats away at power, siphoning it from users.’

Something like doubt, or maybe scepticism, crossed Rymedur’s emerald gaze—there and gone in an instant.