Page 10 of The Reaping Rose

“You will too,” I assure her, my gaze falling to where one of her hands rests over the rune on her chest.

“I know I will.” Her words are hopeful, but her expression isn’t.

The last time we saw Wilder, he stepped through an Arch to Vaelier, taking the doorway from one realm to another. For all we know, that was the last working Arch, and if that’s the case, she’ll never be able to reconnect with her mate.

If only we had the luxuries of the court to distract us from these worries. I’d offer her a proper night of celebration before she embarks on her quest tomorrow. A hit of haelmarrow to take the edge off. Wine to wash her worries away.

Gods, I miss the delicacies of the palace. There’s nothing rich or delicious here. The beer is practically water. It tastes of malt mixed with saltwater. Not nearly as hearty as the drinks back home.

On Alyssium, there’s nothing to dull the aches or quiet the mind. There is nothing soothing in this place.

A sound comes from behind us, and we spin at the same time. Elorie is still fractionally slower than I am, and I imagine she always will be with her half-human side. But even so, she’s picking up her training faster than anyone I trained before her. The other day, she managed to land me on my back.

While I blamed the lack of magic and didn’t mention the pain throbbing in my hip, she smiled and claimed her victory.

“Something’s there,” I whisper, raising my sword, just as two figures burst through the darkness.

Dorn carries Isra. Blood drips down her arm as she lies limp in his grasp. The steady rise and fall of her chest is all that makes it clear she’s alive.

“What happened?” Elorie rushes toward them.

“Something—I—” His voice is panicked, his eyes frantically searching. “It’s coming.”

“Go.” Elorie steps aside. “Get her back to the village. Callum is waiting.”

Dorn rushes around her, continuing through the forest. We’re about to follow when a chill has us both freezing in place. Her gaze meets mine, and I know she feels what I do. The icy brush of something other waking around us.

She swallows hard when I nod. We can’t follow the humans, or we’ll draw whatever this is straight to the village.

Elorie and I split off, fanning out in opposite directions. She presses her back to a tree, daggers up and ready, while I continue a wide arc of the scene.

At first, the movements are small and slow, so I almost think they must be footsteps. Dorn and Isra, maybe? But then, I listen closer, and they drag against the ground, sweeping a path of crushed leaves and branches.

A sickening chill surges from the realm, creeping up my legs as the night deepens around us. Until all I see of Elorie is an outline where she stands and her three glowing freckles. The cold rises like the tide, climbing my legs until my bones ache and my stomach chills. It wraps me tight, my hair standing on the back of my neck.

“Elorie.” Her name is a whisper that is swallowed by the night.

As if whatever surrounds us now casts a blanket that mutes all sound. When I start to move again, I aim toward her.

“Elorie,” I say again.

Finally, I find her in the darkness, but her wide eyes aren’t fixed on me. She blinks, looking over my head, backing up a step. I turn slowly, sword held high as the dark creature towers over me. Not something of this realm but other.

Its body is crafted from shadows. Not scaled or feathered, but a weeping mess of tar and darkness. It almost looks like an oversized bird, except it’s distorted and as tall as a tree. Its eyes move nonstop. Its beak is made of teeth. Its wings are not wings at all, but a blanket of death behind it. And its limbs curl in and out of its body from all directions as it moves.

It’s a creature of the Well.

Fear should flare in my chest. I should panic—anyone would.

Instead, calmness moves through me. Where many might want to run, I grasp this peace I only find in battle. When all other thoughts are erased, and it is just life or death. Me or them.

And I smile.

Chapter 4

Elorie

Shadowy tar drips from the fangs of the creature before us, and dread boils up inside me. But when I look at Greer, I find her grinning at the beast. As if she’s amused by its presence and not at all worried that we’re facing a creature of the Well without access to our magic.