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Red magic itched under my fingertips, the colour yearning to break free from the dark linen of my practical travel dress. Perhaps we could just burn our way through the mess. The dark grey of the flagstones offered more than enough colour, and with Creon’s and my powers combined, I doubted a bunch of plants would put up much of a fight. And really … I lifted my right hand, savouring the familiar tingle of power running through my veins. If I was very honest, blowing up a few things might improve my mood significantly.
‘Oh, dear,’ Naxi said behind me. ‘I really suggest you reconsider everything you’re doing right now, Emelin.’
I jerked around, impossiblymorein the mood to destroy something. ‘Beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she said vaguely, gesturing at nothing in particular. Behind her, the others were approaching – Lyn sitting on Tared’s shoulders, Edored and Beyla with drawn swords, and Creon a good ten strides behind them. ‘The world is such aplace, isn’t it? Mind if I take care of these?’
It wasn’t a question; she floated past me before I could reply, humming shreds of a soft, soothing melody to herself.
Around her feet, the vines untangled themselves, slithering obediently off the path like snakes slipping back into the shadows.
‘Oh,’ I said blankly.
She threw me a dazzling grin. ‘Are you coming?’
There was little else I could do. I threw one last look over my shoulder, at the crater Korok’s death had left behind, the towering walls of Lyckfort, and the temple roofs rising even higher beyond. Then I hoisted my bag higher on my shoulders and began to walk without looking back, following Naxi’s little figure along the narrow path she cleared for us.
Her quiet humming was the only sound breaking the grim, determined silence of what had once been the city’s farmland. Even the autumn sun couldn’t lift the sense of gloom that hung over the twisted wilderness like a persistent morning fog, oozing from every burst flagstone and every gnarled branch blocking the road. There were no birdsongs or chirping crickets in this place, no signs of life but the breeze whispering through the shrubbery and the occasional stench of rot wafting past. Within minutes, we passed the first abandoned carts and wagons, the burned shapes of horses and oxen still bound to their yokes.
At least there were few human bodies – few that I could see from the path, at least. But even more so than in Lyckfort itself, the unnatural quiet of the plague-cursed landscape reminded me at every step that we were intruders here, treading paths that had not been touched by living feet for hundreds of years.
When Creon caught up with me, a tall, dark shape on the edge of my sight, the jumble of my fear and triumph and nervousness gave way to undiluted relief for a second or two.
Then I remembered the rest of the group was still walking close behind us, noticing every glancing we exchanged. I forced myself to keep looking straight ahead, at the skeletons of farm sheds peeking above the overgrown fields.
We walked and walked and walked. Creon didn’t stray from my side as the landscape grew more uneven around us, the hills higher, the abandoned carts scarcer. His hands were never far from his knives, his wings always on the verge of flaring – ready for flight, ready to grab me and get us the hell out of this dead world where nothing but an invisible shield of magic lay between us and painful and inevitable death. The safest, most comfortable reassurance, except …
Except for the coldness that lingered in Tared’s eyes during our first short break, deepening whenever his gaze slid past Creon.
Except for Edored’s piercing looks over his shoulder as we resumed our walking and I ended up behind him and Beyla, where he couldn’t keep an eye on Creon without frequent and unsubtle turns of his head.
It was easy to ignore at first; the brambles and eerie remainders of human settlements were a welcome distraction from the daggers in the alf’s glares. But by the time the sun had sunken to a hand’s breadth above the jagged horizon, he was whispering urgently to Beyla, and in the lifeless silence of the continent, hissed shreds of his tirade were all too audible.
‘… running after her … can’t just … what if she …’
What if Iwhat? What if I suddenly threw myself into the Silent Death’s arms after spending three months holed away in a library with him?
Except Edored might not know about that.
I didn’t dare glance at Creon, whose uncannily sharp ears had to be picking up every word I was hearing and then some. Edored might not know – and the same went for Beyla, for Agenor, perhaps even for Tared. Now that I thought about it, no one except Lyn probably knew just how much time I’d spent in Creon’s company – during my so-called solitary reading hours in library halls and my so-called time alone in my bedroom.
As far as most of the household was concerned, magic practice and mealtimes were the major share of my time with him. And now I was suddenly traversing half a continent by his unwavering side?
I didn’t make out Beyla’s quieter replies, but judging by Edored’s thundering scoff, they weren’t terribly effective.
For the bloody gods’ sakes. I could already imagine him dashing into his friends’ card rooms upon our return to the Underground, all unthinking shock and excitement.Imagine!he'd yell at Njalar as they emptied a bottle of honey mead together.Ten days in Zera’s woods, and she didn’t take her damn eyes off the fucker for a second!
And then Njalar’s cousin Hrodmar would hear, and then Hrodmar’s definitely-not-lover Anrida would know the next morning, and then she’d tell her friends Hyndla and Siguna at their weekly lunch, and Siguna would tell the head of her house, who happened to be sour-faced Valdora of Svirla. And if Valdora knew, she would doubtlessly bring it up as some offhand remark in the next Council meeting, after whicheveryonewould be convinced I was just a silly little fae whore after all.
No doubt, the nymphs and phoenixes and vampires in the world above would find out soon enough – a perfect confirmation of all the Mother had been muttering in their ears, a perfect reason to give up on their rebellion before it had even started.
Edored was still whispering loudly before me.
Cold sweat stuck my backpack to my shoulders, turning my shirt clammy as we climbed what seemed like the hundredth hillslope. I needed to talk with Creon. I needed to figure out what we were going to say and do to avert these dangerous suspicions.But it wouldn’t look any better if I were to break my silence of the last hoursnow, when it would be all too obvious I was reacting to the accusations rising around us …
Waiting a few more hours wouldn’t do any irreparable damage, would it?
I kept my gaze stubbornly on the stark blue sky behind the top of the hill, avoiding Creon’s winged silhouette in the corner of my eye.
