Well. This assassination might be a little more fiddly than Sereme suggested.
“My source suggests Cadok has his militants working from rise to fall, watching the nests, marking the bonded pairs. He’s so desperate to fill his bloodstone coffers they’ve resorted to grounding the sires, shedding their blood into the soil. Few make it to the sky before they breathe their final breath.”
What little appetite I had sours.
“What of the dam?” The words come out croaked. Like some sunken part of me already knows the answer.
“She’s left with no mate to watch the nest while she hunts—usually at rising.” Kaan’s tone is low, but there’s such depth to it that I physically feel the weight of each word packing on my chest. “While the nest is bare, they raid it empty, leaving only a grieving dam. Some don’t weather the loss, taking themselves to the sky.”
I look away, though it doesn’t blot the echo of his words sinking into my heart like drips of Rayne’s morbid language. Nor does it ease the itch flaring at the tips of my fingers, making me want to rip at the flesh until there’s nothing there.
“It’s cowardly,” he continues, voice so rough I wonder if some of Rygun’s rage is seeping through their bond. “Disrespectful.”
“Is there arespectfulway to steal an egg?”
He drops his gaze right into me. “There’s an ancient saying on the plains, in the dialect of my clan. ‘Gurtg du at en duile … aha grug do neil.’”
“Which means?”
“Put simply—to eat, one first mustoffer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“An honorable folk will not remove an egg from a hatching groundwithout firstgivingin some way,” he clarifies, scanning the bog reflected in his firestorm eyes. “Otherwise, an unbalance will nest on their chest until their heart, body, or soul withers. Or they’re taken from the world prematurely.”
I turn his words over as I cross my arms, discreetly scratching the tips of my fingers while I look out on the bog, noticing the mist has swept farther west.
My gaze hones in on a lonely, far-off mound like a Moonplume drawn to the dark. A long way from any others, it’s cushioned by a froth of mist, framed by jagged bits of the broken wall, barely large enough for the single nest resting atop it—
My Other shifts so rapidly I almost lose balance, a coldness seeping through me while she rises, then stills.Justthere.
Justbeneath.
Pyrok points to another singular nest, closer. “Is that the one with the shard?” He leans forward, squinting at the vibrant clouds veiling most of the moon-laden sky. “It’s hard to tell without being able to mark her mate.”
“No.”
I feel the inquisitive probe of everyone’s combined attention as I stare at the distant nest with the intensity of a dying flame gasping for breath, suddenly certain thatnothingis more important than the treasure that pink-colored dam is roosting on.
I lift my hand, pointing. “It’s that one.”
Roan’s tinkering sounds do little to drown out Pyrok’s snores rumbling all the way down from the second floor. A welcome symphony as I look past where Líri is still draped over the lower branch that juts from the tree like an awkward limb.
Patient for the most part, I stare at the pink dam’s nest—my leather jacket buttoned, muddy cloak hanging over a nearby stool. Waiting for her to pry free and push into the sky.
I fill my lungs, trying to ease some of the tightness that keeps tugging my ribs, perfectly aware of how dangerous this mission is. But this is my own restless itch that’ll niggle until I slot that final shard into place.
Until Slátra’swhole.
Casting my stare past Roan, I look to where Raeve’s spread across the quilt in her nook, sleeping in one of my oversized brown shirts, hair dashed over the pillow like a spill of ink. Her lips are parted, a deep red in the low light. Like she bit into something bloody that stained them.
I watch her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, my heart clenching …
Not a single moonshard has come to me easily, some obtained through measures I’ll never be proud of—not that I have any regrets. Some came at a great currency cost, while others almost cost my life.
I didn’t care then. Believed dying would bring me closer to the love of my existence. I’d have gone to Elluin in the afterlife, proud of the way I passed striving to make Slátra whole. For her.
Now it’s different.
