Page 135 of Where Darkness Falls

The air is crisp this morning as I fill Danté’s saddlebags with the items needed to make the journey to the Abyss. The wild creature whinnies and paws at the ground. Though I typically call Danté forth once a week to allow him the chance to gallop through the fields outside the palace walls, he still acts like a colt that’s been cooped up for far too long—ready for the journey ahead.

“Hold on, boy,” I say, patting his side soothingly. “We have to wait for Maeva to arrive.”

If she arrives.

She’s already half an hour late—as are the rest of the Cadre.

To restrain myself from fetching her, I recheck the contents within the rucksacks: two thick cloaks, two warm blankets, two canteens, matches, a lantern, dried meats and fruits that won’t perish in the frostof the northern Malvorian woods or Galrosan mountains. I make sure that Scrisis, my death blade, is tied securely within its sheath as it reclines in its holsters that run parallel to Danté’s long body.

When she still doesn’t appear, I examine my outfit. I wear black leather boots and pants accompanied by a thick, black tunic with light armor across my torso that can easily be removed if need be. The rest of the group will be dressed in similar garb, which will hopefully give us the opportunity to remain stealthy and not to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.

The light gray sky is hidden behind the thickest parts of the Drakhul swirling around the top of the palace as it expands over the rest of Malvoria and Zulgalros. Being this close, it always feels like the Drakhul is watching over us, waiting to find something else to corrupt or darken. What a price my father paid to create such evil… and now he’s sending us into the belly of where such vileness survives.

I sigh, running a hand through my short hair. After another moment, my foot taps of its own accord, impatiently trying to wait.

However, the longer I stand here, the more anxious I become.

What is taking them so bloody long?

I only manage to wait another thirty seconds before my patience finally wears out.

“Stay here, Danté.” I say.

As I walk up the steps of the palace, the rest of the Cadre and Maeva finally descend the dark stairs. Maeva’s ocean eyes drill into mine with a coldness I’ve become familiar with as of late. She looks formidable, dressed in an outfit similar to what we’re wearing—the only difference is her armor is tailored to fit her feminine form perfectly. Half of her hair is braided away from her face while the rest hangs free, blowing in the breeze. Though the chain of the Dragon’s Flame is fastened around her neck, the actual pendant is tucked beneath her leather tunic.

I cross my arms over my chest. “About bloody time,” I growl. “Thought I was going to have to send a search party for you four.”

Unphased by my sour attitude, she glides past me to pet Danté. “Hello, beautiful boy,” she coos. “Have you missed me?”

Yes,I want to reply, but decide to keep my mouth shut. My traitorous horse whinnies instead, nuzzling her with his nose. She giggles as she twirls his mane in her fingers.

“Are you ready, mate?” Laisren asks, clapping me on the shoulder.

“I’ve been ready,” I quip. “It’s your lollygagging that has kept us from disembarking.”

“Oh, come off it,” Riordan laughs, whistling for his horse to appear. He shoots a pointed look in Maeva’s direction. “It’s notourfault that we’re late.”

“It’s notmyfault that these riding leathers were tailored to fit a nine-year-old child,” Maeva retorts. “Poor Tilly had quite a time helping me into them.”

“They’ll stretch out over time, Little Star,” Virgil replies, nudging her shoulder.

“Mount up,” I command, not desiring to see Virgil’s exchanges with Maeva. It’s already bad enough that I know he’s stayed in her room the past week following her incident.

It should’ve been me, but I’m not the one she crawled to when she needed someone.

Let it go.I chide myself before my mind plagues me with thoughts of what could happen between them in the dark.

Maeva offers a playful smirk, lifting her arms out to her sides.

What is she doing?

When I don’t move, she sighs. “Well,” she says, “aren’t you going to help me up onto Danté’s back?”

“I figured you’d ride with Virgil,” I say coldly.

Her brows furrow. “No, I prefer to ride with you,” she replies.

What is with this woman today?