Noctis nodded, a grave expression immediately replacing his amusement. “Her name is Deira. She is one of the most dangerous among my former servants, capable of wielding both Chaos magic and the Earth magic of the Dryads.”
“She’s a Dryad?” I gasped, dread piercing through me as I remembered the strange encounter I’d had in Dalath not a tenday ago. “Fuck. I think I’ve met her.”
“Really?” Noctis gave me a surprised look. “During the war, she always preferred to act from the shadows, but—”
“No,” I interrupted, rushing past him in my agitation. “Recently. In the village.”
“What?”
I halted abruptly, my thoughts racing. “At the last farmer’s market. She bought a bow at Briseis’s stall. I spoke with her, and there was something…” A shudder went through me, and I rubbed my arms to ward off the sudden chill. “Something that felt strange.” An angry growl escaped me at the thought of the Chiasma pretending to be nothing more than a harmless customer. “I guess she was spying on me.”
“You’re lucky spying was all she did.” Noctis’s face was haunted. “Deira is absolutely ruthless. Power is the only thing she cares about. She destroyed her own heart tree to gain access to more magic. ‘Freeing herself,’ as she called it.”
“So that’s why her horns are broken. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible.”
“Well, it made her even crazier than before. The amicable mask she presents to the world hides nothing but darkness underneath.”
I scoffed. “All your former followers are so incredibly charming.”
Noctis ignored my comment. “You must have said or done something to make her wary. She’s always been a shrewd tactician.”
I recalled the nearly fearful expression in the Dryad’s eyes before she had left abruptly. There was only one possible explanation. “She thinks we still have some of our powers.”
“The fact that we disposed of Tharion and Vultaron must have made the Chiasma think so, yes,” Noctis said. “That’s likely why she didn’t attack the farm outright. It’s our territory. All those surges of Chaos magic: the attack of the wolves, the spoiled grain, the storm—they were attempts to flush us out without showing her hand.” He grabbed me by my shoulders, an insistent light in his gaze. “We should leave. Regroup somewhere else until we can gather enough information to decide how to proceed.”
I shook my head, my conclusion far different from his. “You said it yourself. She is clever. By now she will know exactly how much Dalath and its people mean to me. She won’t chase after us like a fool. She will simply attack those we leave behind without protection, knowing it will lure us back here if we don’t want them to die.”
The resigned look on Noctis’s face told me he knew quite well I was right. “Baradaz, listen to me,” he tried once more, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Deira is not like Tharion or Vultaron, controlledby their own magic. She’s one of the most powerful users of Chaos in Aron-Lyr right now.”
“And she wants you dead to gain even more power,” I said. A tight fist was clenching around my heart. Again, I felt trapped, with no right decision available to me. I did not want to force Noctis to risk his life, yet abandoning the home I had made for myself was no option either.
The threat to himself seemed to be far from Noctis’s main concern, though. He threw his hands into the air, as if at the end of his patience. “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he exclaimed. “It’s you. I could not bear it if she got her hands on you. Stars, do you have any idea what she would do to you?”
Facing his stark desperation was harder than I would have anticipated. “It is my decision, not yours,” I repeated, determined to hold on to my resolve.
I saw the exact moment he realized he would not be able to sway me, his eyes turning an unyielding obsidian. “Do you think dying to save these people will absolve you from failing the entire world?” he asked, his voice cold.
An involuntary gasp escaped me as I stumbled away from him as if he had hit me. I was such a fool, wasn’t I? Thinking he would not hurt me again, lowering all my defenses when I had known it was only a matter of time.
“Baradaz, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…” Noctis reached out to me at once at my reaction, remorse in his tone. I was not prepared to listen, though, avoiding his touch as I moved around him to return to the front of the house.
“Just because you don’t care for anyone in this world but yourself does not mean I feel the same,” I snapped back at him.
This time my barb hit its mark. The pain flashing over Noctis’sface brought me no satisfaction. “Well,” he rasped out. “There is at least one other being I care for, isn’t there? As inconvenient as it is sometimes.”
Perhaps we were destined to always fall back into this, to tear into each other until we both bled.
“The chickens need their water.” I kept my face averted as I left, unwilling to let him see my anguish. Safely hidden inside the henhouse, I finally allowed myself to let go, a strangled sob escaping me as hot tears of anger and frustration streamed down my cheeks. Damn him! Damn him for getting behind all my defenses. Damn him for knowing me better than anyone else and telling truths I did not want to hear.
A bitter laugh escaped me when I finally calmed down again. No man who had ever walked the Allfather’s creation had both tempted and vexed me as much as the former God of Darkness. Had I honestly expected that to have changed?
Bane had followed me, hoping for another round of chasing the chickens. I shooed him away and filled the troughs with fresh water.
I could use my Air stone to contact Tanez and ask for help. But what if she told the other members of the Council? Calling on the Ten was out of the question. Considering what the Aurea of Earth had told me about the unrest in the realm, Aramaz would hardly rally the armies because of a few attacked farms. And I could not explain why I knew Chaos was stirring again. I was truly out of options, and…
There was no white chicken in the henhouse.
For a few hectic moments, I thought I had just overlooked Tilda among the other chickens. No luck. Violent anger coursed through me as I found only fresh claw marks at the back of the henhouse. This time, our nightly visitor hadn’t even left a few feathers to mark his crime. I stormed outside, Bane at my heels.
