Page 281 of Blade of the Nightking

The Brinnekin rested one webbed hand against the bow, her claws curling over the weathered wood. Then she tugged us gently away from the shore before diving under.

The boat rocked once as she passed beneath it, a shredded tail flicking above the surface, droplets scattering from its torn edges. Then we were moving, gliding swiftly onward over water as smooth as black ice.

CHAPTER 59

Hours drifted by without measure.

Curtains of reeds slid past, broken by islands of twisted cypress. Strange cries rose in the darkness, unseen creatures calling to one another.

Every so often I caught dark shapes slipping beneath us, the flash of a fin or the sweep of a tail. I gripped the sides until my knuckles whitened. How many Brinnekin were following us? I tried not to think about how effortlessly they could capsize the boat and drag us into a watery grave.

But nothing happened.

Why were they helping us?

At last the bog began to open. The dense growth gave way to a broad stretch of water before gradually narrowing again until we found ourselves drifting along a slow-moving river, its banks drawing close on either side. Massive trees arched overhead, their branches intertwining to form a living tunnel. Moss hung in long, slithering veils, trailing low enough to brush the rippling surface.

My face and mouth had mostly healed, but Rìan remained unchanged. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his breathing slow but no longer labored. The wound, however, remained stubbornly open. Blood no longer pumped from it in heavy pulses, but seeped steadily through the torn flesh, angry and raw around the edges.

I soaked my shirt in the river and gently cleaned the blood from his chest. Beneath it, his skin was red and blistered, far worse than what I’d endured. I couldn't begin to imagine the pain he was in.

Wrath stirred at the thought of Thalassis. I expected guilt for what I'd done to those soldiers, but none came—and this time I couldn't blame my magic. My only regret was that I hadn't killed him.

Pelaga would have fallen, but I—I didn’t care.

I leaned back and rested my arm along the side of the boat, propping my chin in my hand, my other hanging limp with my sodden, bloodstained shirt. The air was cool against my skin. Cleansing. Renewing. It did nothing to wash away the truth Thalassis had left behind.

Noctharis. The mutilated mouths of Rìan's servants.

Aedric had done that. Not the Full Circle—Aedric. By his own hand, he'd delivered punishment upon the Dusklands.

It all made frightening sense now. Why the streets of Noctharis—and, before that, Thistra—emptied long before his arrival. Why no one emerged until he was gone. Why they didn't dare light so much as a single candle, afraid even the smallest flame might draw his attention.

I couldn't believe he'd truly done those things.

Who, beneath all those masks, was Aedric really?

"What are you thinking about?"

I looked up.

Rìan was watching me from where he rested against the side of the boat, his face pale and drawn. His body looked spent, but there was nothing weak about his stare.

My throat constricted, the words barely more than a breath. "What else did he do?"

The corner of his eye twitched. He leaned back, his gaze lifting to the interwoven branches overhead, their canopy cocooning us in green. He said nothing.

"Truth," I whispered. "You swore it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, looking for all the world as though he regretted making that promise at all. He gave a single, reluctant nod.

"He told me you were the tyrant of Elantis." I sounded hollow, even to my own ears, stripped of everything I'd ever believed. "That you invaded people's minds and bent them to your will to keep your throne. To cling to power."

He exhaled deeply, but when he finally met my stare, his gaze was unflinching and unapologetic.

"Yes. Truth."

My chin wobbled, a bitter burn building at the back of my throat, like I'd swallowed a mouthful of his iron-tainted blood.