Page 33

We’re Here at Last—Wherever Here Is!

W hen I wake in the first light of morning, he’s gone.

But I can see where he laid in the sand close to me.

He’s taking this ‘keeping me safe’ thing very seriously.

The day follows the same pattern. I ride with Khaosti, mainly in silence. No mention of yesterday’s kiss. But it’s as though we’ve made some kind of truce, for now at least, and it’s mostly an amicable silence.

Zayne keeps his distance. I don’t think he approves of my mode of transport, but he hasn’t said anything outright. Or maybe he’s battling with demons of his own right now. Thanouq and Therion keep their own company. Winter watches me sometimes. I don’t think she’s made up her mind about me yet—whether I’m friend or foe. If I’d led her life, I’d probably be equally as wary.

Anyway, I’m feeling better—almost normal—though I really want this journey to end.

Finally, at some point in the afternoon, in the distance, almost lost in the haze, a range of mountains looms out of the plains.

“Is that where we’re heading?” I ask Khaosti.

“I presume so.”

He’s such a chatty guy. But at least he answered. The mountains look a long way off. I’m guessing it’s late afternoon now. How much more daylight do we have? But the mountains grow quickly as we ride, until they fill the horizon, reaching up to the sky. I hope we don’t have to go over them.

Eventually, the grass gives way to bare, rocky ground. We’re climbing; the track winds around the mountain, a steep drop on one side and a sheer wall of rock on the other. I don’t look down, and I’m glad of Khaosti’s arm holding me in place. He won’t let me fall. I hope. Or maybe he’ll push me off.

Then the track narrows.

“We’ll walk from here,” Khaosti says. Ahead of us, Thanouq, Therion, and Winter—she’s riding pillion with Therion today—are dismounting. Behind us, Zayne is already on his feet. Khaosti dismounts, and I don’t wait for him to help me down. I slide off and stand beside him. Thanouq takes the lead, followed by Therion and Winter. I follow and sense Khaosti moving behind me.

The air grows chill and thin, as though there’s not enough oxygen to sustain our breaths, and I’m breathing hard by the time we reach the top. We pause, looking out over a vista of deep valleys and rugged mountains. In the distance, I think I can see the sea. Then we’re off again. I suspect Thanouq can feel the closeness of night. I wouldn’t want to be traversing these tracks in the dark. We lead the horses down the other side. Halfway down, we come to a fork in the track, and Thanouq pauses before taking the steeper path that veers to the left. We cross a narrow wooden bridge spanning a deep gorge, and I hold my breath the whole way across.

Down and down we go, until finally we reach the bottom of the gorge. It’s almost sundown. The mountains on either side form a narrow passageway, and we wind through it. A swiftly moving river runs alongside us, and we eventually come to a stone bridge. Thanouq continues across the bridge. I’m halfway across when something prickles across my skin. “What was that?” I ask, hurrying to the other side.

“Wards,” Thanouq replies.

I remember Khaosti telling me that night at the safe house that wards were magic that would keep bad things out.

“So why didn’t they stop us?”

“I’m guessing because they’re expecting us.”

A few minutes later, we stop. I get off my horse and glance around. It looks like we’re here. Except I have no clue where here is, except that it’s a long way from home. A long way from anywhere—especially in a place where I’m pretty sure cars don’t exist. It’s a whole different world, and suddenly I’m gasping for air as the immensity of that threatens to drown me in an ocean of panic.

Everything will work out. Just breathe.

Zayne comes up beside me. He’s frowning, and I sense his unease rising.

“Maybe we should turn back,” he murmurs. “It’s not too late.”

Of course it’s too late. I suspect it was too late the moment I crashed into Khaosti all those nights ago. It was probably too late long before that.

“I still don’t trust him.” Zayne nods in Khaosti’s direction. “He’s got his own agenda, and I’m guessing your safety isn’t his number one priority.”

No, he wants to find out what happened to his brother, Khendril. But whatever I think of Khaosti—and to be honest, I’m not really sure what that is right now; he pisses me off and fascinates me in equal measure—I do believe he wants to fulfill his brother’s last request and hand me over to the Crone. I also think he’s curious. He wants to know who I am and why his brother went to all this bother to keep me alive. I’m curious about that myself. But regardless, I can’t help feeling that he will keep me as safe as he can, even though he’s probably not sure why.

The same goes for Thanouq, though he doesn’t have Khaosti’s conflicted feelings toward me. But for whatever reason, he’s committed to getting me safely here.

“We’ve come too far,” I say. “We have to see this through.” I have to, anyway, and unfortunately, Zayne is along for the ride. Literally.

But I think there’s more than just where we are that’s bothering him. “How are you feeling?” I ask. “No more…?” I trail off, as I’ve no idea what to call what he’s going through. Scary lizard eye episodes? He came so close to changing on that battlefield.

His face closes down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I’m hurt that he still won’t open up to me, but I get that he needs to process everything that’s happening. “Okay,” I say. “But when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.” I reach across and squeeze his arm. “And don’t worry, I’ll look after you. I won’t let the big bad monsters eat you.”

He snorts. “But what if I’m the big bad monster? Who’ll stop me from eating you?” Then he shrugs. “Come on, then. But just watch your back and don’t trust anyone. Not even me.”

He moves away, then hands me Stella’s reins. “Here, take your horse back. If you’ve finished snuggling up to wolf-man.”

I grin at the description, then kiss my horse’s soft, velvety nose.

Zayne is already following Thanouq, who’s heading off briskly, like he knows where he’s going—not that there are a lot of options. It’s forward or back, and I certainly don’t want to cross that mountain in darkness. So forward it is. Khaosti is behind him, not giving me a second look—maybe now that we’re inside these ward things, there’s no more danger. Wishful thinking?

I give Stella a rub on her satin neck, and we follow after them.

Dusk is falling, the light turning hazy and tinged with the encroaching night. The path widens, and a creeping green cover of grass spreads over the rocky landscape. Soon, we’re walking through a wide valley, lush with vegetation. Finally, I see the glimmer of lights up ahead, and what looks like a small village comes into view, maybe ten or so houses lining a single street.

As we walk between them, people appear and watch us silently from their open doors, their faces expressionless. At the last house, a sprawling, white-walled cottage with roses climbing over the porch, Thanouq stops, and the others follow suit. Me too.

I stare at the door. My chest tightens, and my breathing speeds up.

I finger the amber pendant, rubbing my fingertips over the smooth surface.

The door opens, and my breathing stops abruptly.

A woman appears, and some of the tension seeps out of me. She has to be the Crone. I mean, I don’t like to stereotype people, but she looks like a crone. White hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Her face is lined with age, but her blue eyes are shrewd. She’s wearing a long black dress—very crone-like.

She looks first at Thanouq and smiles. “Welcome back, your highness. What have you brought me?”

Thanouq waves a hand behind him to encompass us all. “Visitors.”

Khaosti steps forward, and her eyes instantly narrow. “Well, if it isn’t the Commander of the Wolfpack. Or should I call you Prince? I’m honored.”

Commander of the Wolfpack? Prince? So Khaosti is royalty after all, and some sort of soldier. Neither surprises me, really. He moves like a fighter and has the arrogance of royalty. But honestly, she sounds anything but honored. In fact, I get the distinct impression she doesn’t like Khaosti. But he claimed he didn’t know her, so how does she know him? Maybe his reputation—which is obviously a bit dodgy—precedes him.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” she asks.

“I have something I think belongs to you.”

Is he talking about me? I don’t belong to anyone, but he’s already stepping aside.

The woman peers beyond him, and her gaze settles on me. For a second, she looks blank, then her eyes widen.

She knows me!