She was absolutely going to kill them both.
Slowly.
And show them precisely how good she was with knives now.
The tunnel widened ahead, opening into a larger cavern with a ceiling so high it disappeared into darkness. Stalactites hung down like the teeth of some enormous beast, water dripping from their tips in a constant, echoing rhythm.
“Tell me,” Raziel said, his voice carrying easily in the open space, “what did young Nadi dream of becoming? Before the revenge, I mean. Before everything.”
Kalo actually slowed hischanchato consider the question. “A healer, I think. Or maybe a storyteller. She used to collect the old tales. Knew them all by heart. Would drive the other children insane with how she would gather them up and tell them stories over and over again. Yimi and Kassa in particular would always tell her toshut up.”
Nadi’s throat tightened. She had forgotten that. Forgotten the hours spent at Grandmother Iltani’s feet, learning the ancient stories of the fae. The creation myths. The hero tales. The warnings about vampires and the surface world.
She remembered all the other children’s names suddenly in a flash. Names she’d entirely forgotten until right then and there. Yimi. Kassa. Urnog. Taj. Asta. They were all humans—they were likely long, long dead now. From old age or…otherwise, she was certain.
“A storyteller.” Raziel’s voice was thoughtful. “I can see that, actually. She has a way with words when she chooses to use them. Usually to cuss me out.”
“She had a good voice for it.” Kalo’s tone softened slightly. “Used to tell stories to the younger children around the fires. They all loved her. And oh, you should hear her sing!”
“Really? Hm. Maybe I should get her drunk some night.”
“Stop!” Nadi’s voice came out rough. “Both of you. Just…stop.”
Kalo finally turned to look at her, and something flickered in his silver eyes. Guilt, maybe. Or pity. Neither one sat well with her.
“I’m sorry, little fish.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t realize the past was such a sensitive subject.”
“The past is dead.” She urged herchanchaforward, pushing past both of them. “Just like everyone in it. So fuckingstop.Your game isn’t funny.”
She didn’t look back to see their reactions. Didn’t want to see whatever knowing looks they exchanged. She just focused on the path ahead, on the rhythm of thechancha’s six legs against the stone, on anything other than the memories clawing at the inside of her chest.
Behind her, she heard Raziel say something to Kalo in a low voice. Heard Kalo’s responding chuckle, though there was less cruelty in it than before.
They were bonding.
Over her.
Wonderful.
They made camp again as the vines dimmed, in a small hollow carved into the cavern wall. This time, Nadi took first watch, desperate for some time away from both Kalo and Raziel.
She sat at the edge of the hollow, her back against the cool stone, watching the purple light fade to something deeper and darker. The sounds of the Wild surrounded her—clicks and chirps and the occasional distant rumble of something large moving through the tunnels.
Home, some part of her whispered.
Not anymore, another part replied.
She heard footsteps behind her and didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The tread was too heavy to be Kalo, too deliberate to be anything but intentional.
“You should be resting,” she said as Raziel settled down beside her.
“I don’t need as much rest as you do.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Benefits of being dead, I suppose.”
“You’re not dead.”
“Am I not?” His voice was light, but there was something beneath it that made her turn to look at him. In the dim glow, his features were shadowed, unreadable. “Raziel Nostrom certainly is. You heard what I said in the Grove. What remains is only the Serpent.”
“That’s dramatic even for you.”
