He stared at her, pulse drumming hard behind his ribs.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned toward the tent flap.
“We ride at dawn,” she said, slipping back into command. “I’ll take the southern rise. Keep your Kelvasari sharp.”
A pause. One bootstep from the exit, she looked back.
“Tell her, Shadeslayer. About whatever you felt in that moment when she touched your earring.”
And then she was gone.
12
Baying of the Hounds
As the sun slipped below the vast horizon, night rose to sing its lament. With the uncertainty of cyclical patterns during Duskfall and the Bleed, Resh could not know if the sun would rise again.
He stood by the Polis lantern at his desk, his jaw tight as he fastened, buckled, and hooked together the sections of Morvane, the Resh’Agar’s aethersteel armor. Each piece was unique, irreplaceable, enchanted with runes and glyphs that worked in a seamless system with the Runesgram carved into his spine, chest, and ribs. If even one were missing, the rest would fail.
Not that he needed it. Even armed with only the runes etched into body, he could activate most of the spells he required for combat. But without his armor as an anchor, the cost was his living blood.
Chest plate, leg plates, pauldrons, gauntlets. He checked every onyx-colored piece. Finally, he donned the Morvane mask, a piece of curved metal that covered the lower half of his face. The Crafters had forged it to resemble a beast’s maw with fangs, a theme which matched the ominous spikes on his shoulders and arms.
Intimidating.
Frightening.
Not much use against Varkhounds.
A whisper of a sound behind him. He turned to see mystic silver eyes following his every move. Auryn’s pupils weren’t black, nor did they respondto the flickers of the light. They glowed, pearl-like, suspended in eyes as pale and ancient as forgotten myth. Always, it seemed, she saw rightintohim.
“You’re awake,” Resh smiled. “How do you feel?”
She blinked at him for a moment. “Kailorien, I am wearing shoes.”
Resh paused, confused, until Auryn’s feet shifted under the blankets and emerged from the furs. He’d covered them in wool to keep her warm.
“Those are socks, Auryn,” he explained.
“I don’t like them.” She tried to sit up but quickly sagged back against the pillows.
“Whoa, easy now.” He strode over to her and knelt by the bed. “Let me help you. Thessia brought you back late last night. You were exhausted.”
He took each small foot in his hand and tugged off the socks. The world would break this creature if her feet trod its paths too soon. And yet, she never looked afraid. Not even now, with his monstrous armor covering him like a second skin.
She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she looked thoroughly pleased. She wiggled her toes as though finally freed from some kind of binding.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded before going still, her eyes lookingintohim again. “You look different. Not like Kailorien.”
“It’s my armor. I suppose it’s a bit unsettling seeing it for the first time.”
“No.” Auryn shook her head. “It fits you. But just the armor. Not the purpose.”
Resh froze, goosebumps breaking out on his arms at her words. The tent flapped open, letting in the scent of mud and blood and rising mana. Zarrek stepped through, mist beading on his pauldrons.
