Page 15

15

DAIN

T he mountains stretch before us like an endless graveyard, jagged stone peaks sharp against the deepening sky. We move through them in silence, the wind whistling through the crags, carrying the scent of damp rock and old storms. I prefer the silence.

Liora doesn’t.

I feel her gaze flicker toward me, stealing glances, searching.

For what? An answer? An explanation? A shred of something she can hold onto?

She won’t find it.

The magic lingers on my skin, an unwelcome thing, a reminder of what she did. Of what she is.

Purna.

I should resent her for it.

I do.

Yet, when I glance at her, at the way she stumbles slightly on the uneven ground, exhaustion dragging at her limbs, her breath uneven but stubbornly silent, resentment is not the only thing that lingers.

My hands twitch at my sides, itching to grab her. To steady her.

Instead, I speak.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I saved your life.”

I stop. She does, too.

The wind howls between us, carrying everything unspoken.

I take a step forward, closing the space between us until she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze. “You call that saving me?” My voice is low, rough. “You think I wanted that?”

Her eyes flash. “Would you rather be dead?”

I don’t answer.

Her lips part slightly, as if she already knows the answer, and it infuriates her.

She shoves past me, her shoulder brushing against my chest, warm despite the cold. “Then next time,” she mutters, “I’ll let you bleed out.”

A growl rumbles in my throat. I turn, grabbing her before she can get too far.

She gasps, whirling toward me, anger simmering beneath the surface, frustration burning brighter than fear.

Good.

“Do not use magic again.” The words cut through the night, sharp as a blade.

She yanks herself free. “I didn’t exactly have a choice!”

I step closer. “You always have a choice.”

She laughs, bitter, disbelieving. “That’s easy for you to say.”

She turns again, marching ahead, moving with more force than her body can handle.

She is weak. She won’t last much longer without rest.

I could tell her that.

I don’t.

Instead, I follow.

Something is tracking us.

I feel it.

Not the gargoyles. They would be louder, hunting with fury and vengeance, eager for my head and her corpse.

This is different.

Patient. Waiting.

It’s been following us since the cavern, since the moment we first stepped into the tunnels. I knew it then, but I said nothing. And I say nothing now.

Liora doesn’t notice.

She is too busy fearing the wrong thing.

She keeps glancing behind her, scanning the ridges above, her mind still trapped in the past, still hearing Rhogar’s snarl, still expecting his blade to be the one that kills her.

She thinks it’s them.

It isn’t.

But I don’t tell her.

The sky grows darker, the cold heavier.

Liora’s breathing changes. Not enough for her to notice, but I do.

She is slowing.

Her steps falter, just slightly, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides.

She is trying to hide it.

I don’t call her out on it.

Instead, I scan the terrain, my eyes narrowing at a distant rock formation, a hollow carved into the mountain’s ribs.

A cave.

I don’t need it.

She does. She won’t ask for it.

So I stop walking.

She does, too, blinking up at me in confusion, as if she didn’t expect me to pause at all.

“What?”

I tilt my head toward the cave. “We rest.”

She hesitates, her pride a tangible thing, sparking in her eyes, in the way her lips press together.

For a moment, I think she’ll argue.

She exhales and nods, her shoulders easing ever so slightly.

I pretend not to notice.

Inside, the cave is cold, but dry. The walls are uneven, jagged in places, but the space is deep enough that we are hidden from the sky.

Liora sinks to the ground almost instantly, stretching her legs, rolling her shoulders, exhaustion finally slipping past her defenses.

I remain standing, arms crossed, watching her.

She notices.

“What?” she mutters, rubbing her temples.

I don’t answer.

She shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have taken her.

I should have let her die with the others.

Why did I tear through my own kind to keep her breathing?

I exhale slowly. “You need rest.”

She glares at me. “You don’t?”

I don’t answer.

Her gaze lingers on me longer than it should, as if she is seeing something she shouldn’t, something she isn’t supposed to.

She looks away.

The fire between us, invisible, untouchable, burns hotter than before.

We rest. But neither of us sleep.