The elf’s eyes widened before hardening. “This is the only place I could hide from those like him.”
He wasn’t here for the Heart then.
Still on his guard, Lykor’s shoulders marginally relaxed from the reassurance. He retracted the threatening darkness alongwith his fangs. There wasn’t any reason to act like a feral beast. Judging from the elf’s shifting gaze, he was already nervous enough.
When Lykor stepped forward, the elf retreated another step. Something Lykor didn’t have a name for twisted through his chest like one of the accursed vines strangling the trees. A strange uncertainty needled at him for being the source of fear. He’d never thought twice about intimidating others before—it was all he knew, birthed from the necessity to instill order when the wraith had turned savage in the prisons.
Cautiously stepping forward to retrieve the dropped tome, Lykor resisted the impulse to leaf through the pages to see what the elf was reading. He extended the volume, offering it back. The elf hesitated, his attention hooking on Lykor’s gauntlet clamped around the book.
Detesting the constant reminder of what he’d endured, Lykor was seized with the temptation to hide the clawed monstrosity behind his back.
The elf’s gaze swept over him, appraising the rest of his armor, flicking over the raw Essence blazing around him. Lykor felt systematically deconstructed, analyzed, and then assembled again. His breath hitched as those fascinating amber eyes lingered on his, the surrounding illumination highlighting flecks of greens and golds. Ears burning with an unfamiliar warmth, the unusual attention made Lykor feel seen for once instead of seen through.
The elf dropped his shield to claim the presented tome. “What can I call you?” he asked.
Lykor blinked, the question slashing through his guard. No one had ever asked him that before. He couldn’t number the years he’d spent raging that he wasn’t Aesar.
“Lykor,” he said, shifting his feet. His spiked boots suddenly felt distractingly heavy.
Following the elf’s lead, Lykor reluctantly released his magicand fumbled for something else to say, drawing on what guidance he assumed Aesar would offer if he were awake. He doubted there were any normal questions to ask a stranger in a forgotten jungle.
Lykor settled on stealing the elf’s words. That had to be an acceptable response, but his pulse raced faster as he fretted that it might not be. “And…what can I call you?”
“Jassyn,” the elf said, his long fingers tightening around the book.
So the girl was right. Lykor unclenched his fists, not knowing when they’d snapped shut.
“I’m going to the glade.” The statement sounded like a pathetic attempt at engaging in a conversation—uncharted territory. “Were you…heading in that direction?” A stupid query to fill the silence.
“Are you searching for something?” Jassyn asked, rather than answering the question. A considering frown flashed over his face before he set the volume near the entrance of the tree.
Despite his bewilderment at the elf’s presence, Lykor retained enough sense to avoidprattling everything to this stranger. It was unknown where his loyalties truly lay—or how he’d gained knowledge of this jungle.
Lykor cracked his neck and admitted, “Yes—something for the wraith.”
Twisting on his heel, Lykor picked his way along a stone path that wound from the ancient dwellings to the clearing. The rocks encased glimmering gems, carrying a luminescent glow of their own as they shimmered against the forest floor like stars in the sky.
While feigning a scan of the jungle, Lykor stole a glance at Jassyn. He’d followed, long strides keeping pace at his side. Height exceeding his own by a hand, Jassyn was much taller than Lykor expected of an elf—let alone one with mortal blood.
Feeling oddly aware of his body’s every unwieldy movement,Lykor focused on the ground so he wouldn’t trip over his own fucking feet. The moss-carpeted floor spread out like a blanket beyond the stones, glittering with hues of lustrous cyans and verdant greens.
They silently snaked their way around an undergrowth of ferns and various gargantuan leaves before the foliage opened up, spitting them out at the edge of the glade. A gurgling stream carved a path through the clearing, mirroring the cold radiance of the stars.
“I’ve been thinking about you—” Lykor drew to a halt, jaw screwing tight as he severed those words. His statement sounded absolutely ridiculous, that of a blathering simpleton like Kal.
Swallowing what he hoped were the last remnants of any further idiotic remarks, Lykor corrected himself. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. That you could…help me?” He searched Jassyn’s eyes for something. For hope, even if it was foolish. “You could release me from the king’s power?”
Lykor’s pulse droned in his ears, louder than the collective chorus of the jungle’s insects. He turned away sharply, his desperate words lingering between them for far too long. A feeling that had to be mortification nearly drove him to slash open a portal and flee—anything to avoid this uncomfortable silence tightening the skin over his bones.
He must’ve misremembered what Jassyn had said that night, fabricating this delusion in his head. After all, Lykor was the one who’d attacked his home, the wraith most likely killing his comrades. Why would Jassyn want to help him? A barricaded breath loosened from Lykor’s lungs when the elf finally spoke.
“It’s a slow process,” Jassyn said. Lykor turned back hesitantly, watching him drag a hand through his curls, twisting one that was determined to land in front of his eyes. “It depends on how extensive the web of coercion is. I…” he trailed off, eyes ticking around the clearing before orbiting back to Lykor. “I have reason to believe the king had a hand in creating the wraith.”
Lykor flinched at the memory of Galaeryn mutilating his mind, experimenting with the compulsive magic. His reaction must’ve been all the confirmation Jassyn needed.
Jassyn folded his arms across his white leathers, shoulders slumping like he was trying to occupy less space. He glanced away when he spoke. “I’ll help you if you’re willing to tell me everything you know.”
Despite being the one who’d asked for aid, a wave of indecision rippled through Lykor like water disturbed. If he permitted Jassyn to delve into his awareness, he’d be defenseless—at Jassyn’s mercy.
