Page 16

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Oralia

We traveled through the serpentine streets, coverings pulled over our faces. My power pricked, tapping at the back of my skull. The feeling reminded me of Horace’s warning that soon new powers might manifest. Even now, the intuition was stronger like a voice warning me to stay vigilant.

The silver thread curved toward the north on the opposite end of the village. I was disappointed to find I could not shadow-walk us to the exact location, merely an approximation of it. Drystan and Aelestor followed a pace or two behind as we slipped through the streets, crowds thickening while we journeyed deeper into the village.

My throat clenched with nausea and I fought the urge to press the fabric tighter to my nose. The stench of decay was everywhere, mixing with the smell of sickness and unwashed bodies, and beneath it all was the ever-present scent of despair. Instead, I bit the inside of my lips, parting them enough to allow a small bit of air to slip through my teeth, only to find the scent heavy on my tongue, and my stomach spasmed.

From what we could gather given the direction the thread had pulled, the village was on the edge of the Aetheran border. All my life, there had been stories of it and I’d seen the offerings they sent each tithe. There was always talk of the hospitality and generosity of its inhabitants—how the residents enjoyed many benefits from being so close to the kingdom. How was it then that they lived in such squalor? The humans we passed appeared gaunt with heavy circles beneath their eyes and bones protuberant in their faces as if trying to break free of their skin.

The deeper we traveled, the more attention we caught. At first, it was merely passing glances as we skirted around human men, shoulders rounded with their burdens on their backs or hands clutching curved swords, but as we crossed into a square heavy with foot traffic, silence fell. Activity froze at our arrival from the mouth of one of the alleys. The area appeared to be some sort of trading post with crude benches set up as display tables—nothing like the bright stalls swathed in fabric I’d seen in Mycelna with the scarred god in the human realm.

“ Great Mothers, ” Aelestor swore as each human turned toward us, scowls heavy on their faces.

Drystan stepped closer to my side. His arm pressed against my back, where he no doubt had his hand closed over his sword.

“You are not welcome here,” a man called. His face was smeared with dirt as if he’d been digging through a field, hands caked with it, earth blending into his pale skin.

Beside him another man stepped forward, dark brown skin dotted with blood from an animal he had been butchering. In his hand, he weighed a heavy knife, bloodshot blue eyes narrowed upon my party. “We have nothing to give. Not to you .”

My brows furrowed, and I reached for my cowl. Aelestor grabbed my wrist, but I shook him off, drawing back my hood so I could properly look at the men.

“And who is it you believe we are?” I asked, crossing my gloved hands in front of me.

My magic danced across my shoulders, though my shadows did not flare. The rhythm of my heart was steady but heavier with the weight of Ren on my chest.

The humans looked at one another, incredulous at my question. But the two who had appointed themselves as spokespeople took a step closer. Aelestor jerked, but it was my turn to place a hand on his arm.

“Do not play dumb,” the first man spat. “We have nothing for your king. You lot were here two days ago, drained us dry, and that was after your bloody tithe took most of what we had anyway.”

Two days .

I frowned, taking a closer look at the stalls within the square. They were meager offerings: half a basket of grain, a handful of tiny fish. The animal the second man was butchering was so small I was surprised he was using such a large knife.

“We are not Aetheran.”

A rumble slithered through the crowd, and my magic gave a warning pulse.

The second man shook his head, ran a hand over his face, and smeared the blood. “We have heard that before. You will receive no hospitality from us.”

“We do not look for hospitality,” Aelestor retorted. “Something was taken from us.”

I cursed under my breath, resisting the urge to press my fingers to my temples. The rumble through the crowd grew tumultuous, humans jostling through the square, and the small bubble of space around us grew smaller.

“Something taken from you?” the first man cried, thick brows raising in mock concern. “You believe we have stolen from the Golden King?”

Our negation was drowned in the outrage echoing off the short walls. And though the three of us shouted our explanation, it was lost as the humans surged forward, faces twisted with fury. Something small sailed through the sky, and on instinct, my shadows coiled up, sending it flying behind us before it could find its mark. But the humans did not appear stunned by witnessing such power. It only spurred them forward.

We had made a grave mistake.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and I did not need Drystan’s hand on my elbow urging me to turn and run from the crowd. A roar sounded at our back, the stomping of feet deafening in our ears as lightning cracked across the sky, rain falling heavy upon our shoulders.

“I do not know if a storm will help us,” Drystan grit through his teeth, steadying himself with a hand on a wall as we skidded around a corner, only to find a group of humans advancing toward us, armed with wooden stakes and metal pots.

We turned and catapulted down a narrow passage to a blessedly vacant side street. The rain lightened, though the thunder roared and lightning continued to crackle. My shadows flared at my shoulders, and I allowed them to pool out behind us, a thwack sounding against my constructed shield as a crude wooden spear clacked to the ground at our heels.

“Take this right,” I panted, rushing forward to lead the group. The silver thread pulsed, and we ducked beneath low awnings, careening over a cart, one of its wheels cracked in half.

We slipped in the mud as we turned the corner, only to find a rude mob. Each human held a makeshift weapon, and though I did not fear for my life, not without kratus resin, I would not become a prisoner when so much was at stake. Their numbers made them powerful, even against two gods well into prime and a demigod who carried the scent of fading favor from Typhon.

And yet my heartbeat did not pound. My magic curled over my shoulders, shadows twining over my wrists. The slice of metal rang through the air as Drystan unsheathed his sword, the black blade glinting in the bright noon sun. Our shoulders hit the wood at our back as the humans pressed closer, hungry looks glinting in their eyes at their prey cornered.

“Try not to—” Drystan began.

“Kill them?” Aelestor interrupted. “What do you propose we do instead? Dance with them?”

The scent of desperation rolled off the crowd in waves. Though I understood their despair, I could not find the compassion I desperately needed to control my power. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I pressed my shadows forward, creating a barrier around us.

“It will not hold long,” I growled over their argument. “Find us a way out.”

Immediately, Aelestor spun, metal splintering through wood, drowned by the angry shouts on the other side of the barrier. Sweat trickled down my temple, and I grit my teeth. This power was strong—stronger now than it had been even a week ago—and though I had done much to learn control, finesse was a ways off. The shadows fought me with each breath I took, wanting to expand, to contract, to snap back and splinter like the wood at my back. And there was another beneath the pool of darkness like fire and ice and ash waiting to wake.

Closer than the unknown power was something else roiling beneath my skin. Something thirsty for blood that would be unrepentant if I destroyed all these humans with my next breath.

A hand wrapped around my waist, tugging me backward and through the narrow hole Aelestor had created. The fabric of my cloak tore on the splinters as I jerked through, tumbling into a darkened room, the stench of decay heavy in the air.

“Stairs,” Aelestor called, loud enough over the din of humans approaching.

I pushed my power forward, shoulders rising to my ears with the effort as Drystan guided me backward, my heel catching on the lip of the threshold.

“Drop them when I close the door,” he instructed, hand closing over the wooden handle.

But my shadows fell before the final word. A great wail echoed from the street, muffled only slightly through the wood as Drystan tugged the door closed and slammed the rusted metal latch into place.

“Oralia!” Aelestor cried, voice swallowed by the dark.

Slowly, Drystan and I shuffled down the stairs, blinking to force our eyes to adjust to the pitch black. The scent of wood was heavier here, and I barely made out Aelestor’s mass of copper curls from where he stood before a pile rising to the ceiling.

The silver thread throbbed in my chest. “What is it?”

With a tentative hand, I reached out to feel what lay in front of us. Rough bark crumbled beneath my fingertips, magic recoiling with a single touch. Kratus wood. Piles and piles of it, stashed within this human cellar, unbeknownst to the inhabitants within the city.

The room brightened until I could make out the black wood piled high against the roughhewn wall, little more than clods of earth. And toward the top, a flash of pale white within the wood, only a mere sliver.

“This must be from the forest nearby,” Aelestor said. “Perhaps this is where Typhon holds the excess until they have need of it.”

Fists pounded on the door above, cries and grunts of frustration slipping through the cracks.

“He is here,” I murmured, sliding my hands over the wood to look for a strong enough hold.

Drystan moved closer to the stairs, sword drawn. “Work quickly.”

“Help me up.” I tugged my gloves tighter over my hands and reached high to curl my fingers over the logs to find purchase.

Aelestor’s hands closed around my waist, steadying me as I created a foothold, pulling myself higher up the stack. It swayed, a few logs from the top tumbling around us as I climbed. My heart thundered in my chest, shadows spooling to cover us as more wood fell, splintering at Aelestor’s and Drystan’s feet. There—it was there—unseated by my climbing.

Fingertips hanging over the edge, pale skin with half-moon nails, covered in blood and grime.

Ren’s arm.