Page 97 of Aryn

Conflicts of morality can wait until later.

I tear strips of fabric from his cloak. It’s better than nothing, and can at least put pressure on the worst of my wounds. My frozen fingers are clumsy as I wrap myself in makeshift bandages, but it all feels pointless. The gash on my ribs keeps reopening, and my shoulder burns like it’s been branded. Red droplets mark my path in open invitation to follow, and the deep bruises make every movement a fresh torture.

The path toward Maelithryne feels endless. Every hill becomes a mountain, every inch a mile. Each step sends a shock of agony rolling through me. My senses stay razor sharp even as my body gives out, because I know how vulnerable I am right now.

One wrong sound, one misstep, and it’s over. Even the weakest of predators could take me out. I’m walking prey, already primed for the kill.

The sun is setting when my legs buckle. My face plants into the snow, and the cold jolts me back to consciousness. I growl low in my throat, forcing myself to kneel with the help of a nearby tree. Black spots swarm the edges of my vision, and I heave for a moment, sure this churning bile in my gut will force its way out. Minutes pass before I can make it off my knees—minutes I can’t spare.

I keep pushing.

Hours blur together. When my body starts to shake, I hide among the trees and eat mouthfuls of snow to stay hydrated. Footsteps form in the shadows. Some are heavy and bold, others faint and cautious, but they all want the same thing. They circle me like vultures, waiting for me to drop and become carrion for their own ravenous appetite.

I stumble again, and a wild zarrok grows bolder than the rest. It ambushes me from the side as I fumble for the bow on my back. I barely get a shot off in time. It yelps and skids to the ground, thudding into the snow at my feet with an arrow through its eye. Others make noise in the shadows, but the warning is enough to keep them at bay.

I don’t know how long I’ve been moving when I hear hoofbeats on a nearby path. Fear grips my chest, stronger than before, because while I can find the strength to fight off a rogue creature, if the Viskari find me, I’m done. I drop behind a rock and stay hidden until they pass, then force myself onward again.

My body is failing me.

I collapse a second time, harder than the first. This one knocks the wind out of me, and for a long moment I can’t get up. My eyes flutter closed, and when they open again, night has fallen. Tremors wrack my entire body as I lie there in the snow, chest heaving while I stare up at the dark sky through the bare branches. The cold is sinking deeper now, stealing whatever heat I have left. For the first time, a clear terror settles over me.

I might not make it.

All this distance and pain, and I could die out here alone with nothing to show for it. I’ve come so close, but it might not be enough. My bones could lie in this forest forever. The thought hits like a blade between the ribs.

Thoughts of Cato flood in—every quiet conversation we shared, every charged look that promised more. Every time I held back when I should have reached for him. The weight of all those missed chances is crushing. If I die out here, he’ll never know how deeply I wanted him.

How much I still do.

Losing Pranna hollowed me out in ways no one should ever have to endure. If I never return, Cato will carry that same wound. He’ll never forgive my memory for leaving him behind. I’ll become yet another ghost he has to carry, and the idea summons what little strength I have left.

Somehow, I get up again.

By the time I finally stagger out of the treeline near Maelithryne, it’s morning again. I don’t remember getting here. The walls loom ahead, calling to me and giving me the last bit of strength I need to reach the base of those long stone stairs. My legs give out at the bottom, and I slam into the ground.

Guards shout from above, and footsteps rush closer. Someone kneels beside me, speaking rapid Elyrian, but I can barely understand them through the fog in my head.

I grab the nearest guard’s arm, pulling him close. “Are they here? The humans? Did they make it?”

“Yes, Master Aryn,” the guard answers, “they are here. We’ve been searching for you.”

“Take me,” I rasp, gripping the guard’s arm tighter. “Please… I need to see them.”

The guard nods and calls for help. Two more rush over and lift me to my feet. My legs buckle again, but they grab me under the arms, nearly dragging me up the stairs. Once we’re at the top, I lock my knees and breathe through the pain.

“I walk in on my own feet,” I insist as I pull away from their support.

The guards exchange worried glances, but they ease back. I sway for a moment, dizzy with the struggle of taking a single breath, but force one foot forward. Then another. Every step is pure agony. My vision swims and my breath comes in short, ragged bursts, but I keep moving.

I will not be carried into Maelithryne like a broken thing.

Blood soaks through my clothes and leaves dark trails on the ancient walkway. By the time I reach the gates, the world is tilting beneath me. The guards hover close, ready to catch me if I fall.

A crowd has gathered inside, and they stare in stunned silence at the bloodied, half-dead Dreven limping through their gates. Whispers ripple through them as I scan their faces, searching for what belongs to me.

The crowd parts, and Cato pushes through like a man possessed, shoving people aside without care. His eyes lock on mine, wide with terror and relief and something so much deeper.

He runs, and I stagger forward to meet him.