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When Ifrynna lowers her body, Isla squeals louder and scrambles onto the Guardian’s back. I thread my brows together, puzzled, because Ifrynna strides past me, then pauses. I approach, mere inches from Isla, close enough to touch her hand.
Ifrynna’s center head lowers toward me and offers a toothy grin to declare, “The walk will be good for you, Allysteir.”
“Oh, and my King?” Isla summons me. I lift my masked face to her. Curl my fingers toward her. She wags a finger, blows me a kiss, and finishes, “If you ever touch me again, I will rip out all your bones and feed them to the Cryth River spirits.”
Ifrynna charges. Isla shrieks, thrilled.
Well, that’s one idea I haven’t tried.
All night long,he stayed.
I purse my lips, recalling Kryach’s dark ghost shade lingering as I’d created a barrier of thorns to prevent the refter brides from pursuing me. Clothed in nothing but my naked flesh, I’d roamed the glen, touching every bone tree, memorizing the soft, gray moss tickling the soles of my feet. I’d bathed in the River Dhunh as Kryach informed me of the name.
He didn’t say much. As if content to observe, to witness my regrowth.
I can’t say it was rebirth yet. Whatever it was, I never slept. The power in my blood never weakened, never wearied.
Now at dawn, my body is beyond debilitated. Ifrynna rumbles low, a lulling purr, when I lower my head upon her snow-white scruff, nuzzling my cheek against the silken strands.
“Rest your head, sweet Bride of Death. Close your eyes, little wonder. Dream of Eyleanan,” urges Ifrynna in a tri-command for each of her mouths. My eyes grow heavier from her deep yet soothing voice. “Even with my spirit speed, it will take a little time to reach our destination on the Isle of Bones.”
I’ve never been to the Isle of Bones. But I love surprises. Confident she won’t let me fall, I coil my arms around her center neck and surrender to my lids masking my eyes.
As I drift into dreams, a familiar shade voice murmurs in my ear...
“My love, my love, my wonder-lust,
Let me walk within your dreams
Upon pomegranates, you will feast
Now, give your mind to me...”
With no strength to challenge Aryahn Kryach when he stayed with me all night after Allysteir abused and abandoned me, and with the promise of pomegranates, I surrender to the God of Death and acknowledge: this is Kryach?this is Aryaskingmy permission.
* * *
When the motion of Ifrynna’s body abates, I stir from my dreams, feeling the smile before I register it. Regret twists inside my belly because I am no longer bathing in golden starlight to tickle my flesh in effervescent dust. I am no longer being fed the ripe, jeweled seeds of pomegranates from the cupped palms of Death maidens. Or frolicking amidst endless paradisical gardens garbed in nothing but moonbeams while the God of Death pursues me with the promise to glorify my body all night long.
A heavy sigh pushes through my nose, and my shoulders lower in disappointment. Something prickles my skin at the collarbone. I peer down, noting the flickers of fire. No fuming flames but mere tickling flickers to lick my skin. Death’s teasing.
I touch my throat, then cradle my flushing cheeks, aware of the telltale dampness between my thighs. Lips tight, I shake my head to banish the memory of the beguiling dream, wondering if Kryach will invade my mind every night. Or if I want him to.
Why would he taunt me? What does he have to gain when Allysteir and I are more divided than ever? Is this simple foreshadowing, and he still intends to reap my soul? Preparing me as a lamb to a slaughter??
Well?I blow an acrimonious breath from my nostrils, hiss through my teeth?I am no lamb.
If Ifrynna notices my change, she doesn’t address me. My eyes adjust to our surroundings?to the three puffs of white spirit breath from Ifrynna’s tri-nostrils and the potpourri perfume from mine.
I swoon. This is why the Isle of Bones is such a popular destination. On this southern section, which rises higher than the remaining Isle, shafts of pure sunlight spear the expanse from prestigious holes within the mountain dome far above my head. No wonder she brought me here. Spread before me are acres of magnificent gardens and pathways surrounded by trees. Bone treesandorganic ones.
Elated, I gush. Adrenaline chases away my lethargy. I climb off Ifrynna’s back and approach the main garden path flanked by Weeping trees?named after the Goddess of Doom. Beyond those trees spew fountains, trickle stream. Or a brook perhaps. Warm sunbeams radiate upon me, and I spin and spin with arms outstretched until I nearly lose my balance. Not good since I’m still wearing a dress of thorns!
Soft smile forming, I transform my armor. Here, I am safe. Here, no Corpse King battles me or strips me bare before my greatest fears. He can’t turn away with no compassion or remorse. No longer can he leave me in his bone glen with his refter brides and their hungering wails…
And the God of Death.
The Nether-mark lashes my spine with heat, and I sigh. Despite his quelling my mark, I’ll keep him at arm’s length. No,full-bodylength. I bristle. Allysteir will sleep on the floor, on a chair?or one level below in the bathing chambers if I have anything to do with it. And I will havemuchto do with it.
