Page 48

Bones.

At first, they blend into the debris—shards of white among broken rock. Then the shapes sharpen. Skulls. Ribcages caved inward. Bones too large to be human—and others twisted and wrong, like nightmares frozen in time.

Something killed them. Leaving their corpses to rot.

My stomach knots and my fingers curl into fists at my sides as a cold sweat covers me. I force myself to keep breathing and not look too closely at the empty sockets staring at me.

“This place is cursed,” Ryatuv mutters. His voice is rough, uncertain. His wings shift restlessly against his back, his frills flaring. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Z’leni steps over a fractured femur without even flinching, his torch held steady.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“That is not an answer either.”

Z’leni exhales, turning back to face him.

“You want the truth?” He gestures to the bones around us. “This isn’t a graveyard, Ryatuv. It’s a warning.”

“From what?” I ask, swallowing hard.

Z’leni’s gaze flickers to me. In the dim torchlight, his expression is unreadable. He’s breathing heavily, tension playing over his face like a vid screen. His eyes narrow, his nostrils flare, and his tusks quiver.

“Not what. Who,” he says in a huff.

“You are saying someone did this?” Ryatuv asks, stiffening.

Z’leni’s grip tightens around the torch. He takes a step forward. Ryatuv is taller than him by a full head and a bit wider overall but Z’leni doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. He glares up at the Zmaj and growls.

“Someone, or something, yes,” he says.

Ryatuv’s tail rises over his head as his wings unfold from his back. His hands curl into fists and he too leans in and over Z’leni.

“Which is it?” Ryatuv asks. “Or are you sharing bedtime stories with us?”

“Look, lizard,” he all but spits the degrading term, “you want to go a different way, feel free. I would have left you with the Shaman but she,” he points one thick green finger at me, “wanted you saved. I suggest you not only back down, but that you gada well be thankful you’re not dead already.”

“Brave words for a half-bred, green-skinned abomination,” Ryatuv snarls, jabbing two fingers into Z’leni’s chest.

I’m frozen watching them escalate. Any moment this is going to devolve into one of them killing the other. On the generation ship where I grew up this might have been a tussle. Maybe a fight, worst case scenario one or the other would end up with a broken bone. But this is Tajss and broken bones are far from the worst possible outcome.

With a low snarl, Z’leni bats Ryatuv’s hand aside. The torch clatters to the ground, sputtering, as both of them coil to strike. He balls his hands into fists, cocking his arm and at the same time Ryatuv is doing the same.

“Wait,” I croak, stumbling between them. “Wait, we can’t?—”

I’m cut off by a sound. Faint at first. A scraping. Nails dragging over stone. The hairs on my arms rise. Somewhere behind us, something is coming. I go rigid. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. We are not alone.

The sound is distant. Echoing. But it’s definitely getting closer.

Ryatuv grabs my arm and pulls me back, positioning himself between me and the approaching sound. His wings are fully extended now, his tail lashing once before going still. Z’leni moves quickly, retrieving the torch and shoving it into my hands.

“Hold this,” he orders, and this time I don’t question.

I grip it with shaking fingers as he draws a curved blade from his belt. The metal glints in the firelight. Dark, well-worn, and sharp.

“What is it?” I whisper.

Z’leni doesn’t answer. Neither does Ryatuv. The scraping grows louder. Closer. Then a blur of motion.