Page 58 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

Without a word, Enya turned southeast, leaving the hard pack. Oryn glared at him over his shoulder, clearly opposed to hastening the journey to Misthol, but at least they were off the road.

Ruven and the Ashstrom twins had been silent since the encounter with the witch, undoubtedly repentant for their part in it and despite the swell in their party, it was a quiet camp they made when they finally stopped in a little bowl between the low hills.

Oryn had again offered his healing and Enya reminded him of her threat.

He might find that amusing if she didn’t need the healing, especially when she turned to him and asked for a dream ward.

With Hylee Starseer lurking in Valdosonos, they should all be using dream wards.

With so many wielders nearby, they hadn’t risked a ward around their camp, so the demi-elves alternated watches, and Oryn spent most of his pacing.

When he did finally take to his blanket roll, Colm knew he hadn’t slept, and the shadows under Enya’s eyes indicated she hadn’t either.

Despite a cloudless sky, the air around them felt thick with an impending storm, one Colm was doing his best to stay out of.

“Did you not sleep?” Oryn asked.

She directed her answer toward Colm. “The ward didn’t work.”

He looked up in surprise. “You were still dreaming?”

Enya raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I saw what Hylee showed me again.”

“That’s…unusual.” And unnerving. The ward should block her from accessing Valdosonos at all. Colm sat, mulling it over, as Oryn held out a cup of tea. She ignored it until he set it in the empty space between them. When he had retreated back to his seat, she reached forward to take the drink.

“If you would allow…”

“No.”

“...me to heal you-”

“I’m not interested in your tainted gifts.”

“They are not tainted. What Hylee siphons is her own. ”

Colm cleared his throat in warning. Mention of the witch was likely to make him a lightning rod.

“My apologies, my lady,” Ruven cut in sharply, bowing his head. “For my part in Kolvar’s camp. Had I realized-”

“It’s fine,” Enya said sharply.

“It’s ridiculous,” Oryn snapped.

Colm noted the way white flared at his fingertips. They’d all been clutching their gifts since Midbury, holding them at the ready in case of an attack. He shook his head and glared as those sparks turned to a wielding of air, water, and spirit. Don’t push it, Oryn.

“Ridiculous,” she repeated coldly. “Ridiculous is you on your high horse-”

Oryn reached across the space and brushed a finger along her hand only long enough to let the wielding fall into place. Enya stared at where his skin had touched hers, a shudder passing through her and rage contorting her features. A steaming cup of tea was tossed back in Oryn’s face.

“I. Will. Not. Be. Manhandled.” She punctuated each word with a blow, battering his shoulder with the tin cup. If she kept it up, it would have new dents when it went back into her saddlebags. She swung for his jaw, and Oryn caught her wrist in his hand.

“Enya,” he growled. “Listen to me. This is Hylee’s intent. The more pain she causes, the stronger she gets. She will drive you mad if you let her.”

“It is bloody men that will drive me mad,“ she said through gritted teeth, trying to yank her wrist away.

“Wake the whole bloody camp, why don’t you?” Aiden yawned from his blanket roll. He propped himself up on an elbow and watched with keen interest and no small amount of amusement.

Colm studied his own tea, wishing he had somewhere else to be. Beside him, Ruven was doing the same.

“Are you going to be reasonable and stop this, or should I wrap you up in air and drag you to Drozia?” Oryn’s quiet words were laced with steely resolve.

Not wise, son. Not wise.

“If you even try it, Oryn Brydove-”

“What is the matter with you?” He hissed, snatching the other hand that reached for her belt knife.

“You!” She shouted. “You ruined everything! You proud, selfish, devious little kingmaker. ”

Colm raised his face at the last. Kingmaker? Oh, light.

“Was that your plan all along? Topple the queens of Estryia to get back at them for Ryland’s Rebellion?”

“Hold on, what is it you’re saying?”

She jerked the arms he held fast in his grip, wincing from whatever Oryn’s healing hadn’t been able to fix. “You are no better than Pallas bloody Davolier. Bargaining for what you want with the witches.”

“Did Hylee show you what she did with the power she gained from my bargain?”

The gold flecks in her eyes blazed like fire. Dragonfire . The drop she inherited from her mother, the drop that came through in her scent as smoke.

“She bonded Drulougan the Dread to Pallas Davolier and all but gave him the throne.”

“Impossible,” Ruven muttered.

“Improbable,” Colm corrected quietly.

“You paid in power, he in blood,” she spat.

Blood magic. Goosebumps rose on Colm’s skin. If the Covwood witches were strong enough to be bonding dragons… Oh, light.

Oryn swallowed audibly. “Enya, you have to know, that was never my intent.”

“Your intent?” She seethed. “Your intent? I don’t bloody care what your intent was. My family died for it. They are still dying for it.“ Her lip trembled.

“Let me help you. Please.”

She scoffed, but the way her voice cracked let a wisp of terror through the shield of outrage. “I will die for it, so don’t start caring now, Brydove.”

Colm scrubbed at his eyes. There were many ways to dredge up pain from past, present, and future, but to show her her own death was the cruelest telling of all.

Oryn, seemingly lost for words, went a shade paler.

When he made his calamitous bargain, Colm had suspected they would not understand the full ramifications for a long time.

Still, he feared they had only seen a sliver of the witch’s web.

Hylee hadn’t come to Midbury just to gloat.

She’d come to show Enya the weaving for a purpose.

A masterpiece a century in the making. There had to be something more.

He watched the prince pace the camp, running his hands through disheveled hair.

If Colm wasn’t so bloody terrified of her, he might have admired her work.

From one single bargain, one single night, Hylee Starseer had installed a cruel king on the Haarstrond Throne and unleashed more suffering than he would have thought possible.

It was brilliant. Terrible, but brilliant.

“What do the godsung gifts have to do with the dragon rider’s talents?” Enya asked him quietly.

“You know the songs Mosphaera and Sakaala gifted to men: the songs of shadows, shapes, storms, trees, and the Silverbow. And Nimala gifted the songs of dreams. They bestowed their gifts on only a chosen few. They have always been rare, rarer now as the old blood thins,” he started.

“The dragons are creatures of Solignis, and each bond between dragon and rider results in a unique Talent. Many scholars believe Solignis only amplifies or illuminates what was always there, and sometimes the Talent is an offshoot, a movement if you will, of the original godsung gift. Like the Warder, for example. To build wards was not one of the godsung gifts, but it is thought to be an offshoot of the dream song. Like foretelling.”

She gazed into the flame, her face unreadable. She finally looked up at Oryn. “You owe me a debt.”

He halted his pacing. “A debt, Silverbow?”

Enya turned the horse head carving over in her hand, brows rising. “A dragon-sized debt.”

“How do you want to be repaid?”

Colm blinked in surprise.

The barest twitch of her mouth suggested she was hiding a smile. “You could grovel, for a start. But what I actually need is an escort.”

“I already offered you an escort to Drozia, but you seem determined to ride the wrong direction.”

“I need to go to Misthol to fulfill my bargain. And then I will need an escort.”

“Why?” Oryn ground.

She frowned. “Do merchant’s guards ask so many questions?”

Lines of confusion appeared in Oryn’s brow.

“Nope!” Aiden answered heartily. “They just go where the merchant tells them.”

“You’ve been merchant’s guards before, haven’t you?”

Colm darted Aiden a warning look as he said, “From time to time.”

“I want to hire you.” She jabbed a thumb to her chest. “Merchant.” She pointed slowly at Oryn. “Merchant’s guard. ”

“You aren’t a bloody merchant,” Oryn growled.

“You asked how I wanted to be repaid. That’s it.”

Colm watched the flame, still pondering the threads of Hylee’s web.

“Fine.”

Aiden let out a whoop that prompted Bade to swat the back of his head. A look of bewilderment passed between Ruven and the Ashstrom twins.

“I have your word on it? You won’t interfere in my business in Misthol, and when we leave the city, you’ll provide my escort.”

“Fine.”

“I want to hear you say it, Prince.”

Colm looked up sharply at the rasp of a sword leaving its scabbard. Oryn drew his blade and drove it into the earth. He dropped to one knee beside the girl, head bowed. The demi-elves went deathly still.

“By the gods and my hope of salvation, I pledge to you, Enya Silverbow, my sword with all my strength, my gifts with all their glory, and my service with all my heart until you release me from your debt. I am yours to command. Nimala strike me down if I disobey.”

Colm’s skin prickled as the God of Spirit stirred around them to seal the vow.

“Madness,” Aiden breathed. “Utter madness.”

“Will that work for you, Silverbow?” He asked.

Enya’s mouth hung open. She recovered slowly, finally pressing her lips together and clearing her throat. “I…suppose that’ll do.”

Oryn sheathed his sword and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the vow mark twining around his arm in an intricate lace of vines and moonflowers.

Oryn

The fresh mark stung, but not as sharply as her next refusal to share her plans or the way she seemed intent on ignoring him again now that she had what she wanted. Gods damn you, Hylee.

As they made to set out, Oryn pulled Ruven and the Ashstrom brothers aside. “If the seven of us ride into Misthol, we’re unlikely to ride out again. Go to Tuminzar. Or if you must risk your necks, Cedric Norvallen is only a day or two behind us. He rides for Covwood and is in need of aid. ”

Ruven darted a look at Ascal and Oncith. They gave barely perceptible nods. “We’ll find him, Your Grace.”

Oryn blew out a breath. He didn’t ask if it was foolishness, curiosity, or a need to atone that drove their answer, but if the witches were strong enough to be binding dragons, he feared what else was festering in Covwood.

He ought to go himself, rather than risk any one of his people, but he had to see his vow through first and try to salvage what he could.

“Send word of what you find to Leon. And try not to get yourselves killed.”

Oryn supposed he ought to also send his apologies to Cedric for the inn fire in Windcross Wells, but that would take more explaining than he had the patience for.

With a quick clasp of forearms, Ruven and the Ashstrom twins said their farewells and trotted back toward the road.

Enya watched them go, her brow furrowed, but she didn’t ask. She turned southeast.

“Stay on that track and you’ll miss the city by fifty miles,” Oryn called.

She drew up and sniffed. “At least my moral compass isn’t in need of recalibration.”

Oryn swallowed his retort and with something bordering on a pout, she let him lead.

She maintained her silence as they rode, squinting slightly as if trying to see something more clearly.

From time to time, she would shake her head or pinch the bridge of her nose.

He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind and a knot settled between his shoulder blades.

As they made their camp for the evening, she asked Aiden to spar. He started getting to his feet, but Oryn held up a hand. “What is it you’re doing in Misthol?” He demanded.

“None of your concern.”

“Enya,” he growled.

“Fulfilling my end of the bargain.”

“Enya.”

“There’s someone I need to see.”

His brows flew up in surprise. “That’s it? Have Colm find them in the bloody dream and we can be on our way to Drozia.”

“No, I need to go myself,” she said stubbornly. “That’s the bargain.”

Oryn scrubbed a hand down his face. “Is it Pallas bloody Davolier you intend to see?”

She scowled. “No. Come on, Aiden. ”

“Do not get up, and that is an order,” Oryn snapped. A slow grin spread across Aiden’s face as he sank back and crossed his ankles. “Merchant’s guards don’t teach their merchants to fight.”

“Aren’t you sworn to obey her?”

“I am. But you’re not.”

Aiden waggled his brows at Enya. She could order him to allow it, but she huffed and went to practice her balance forms alone. Oryn watched her as he threaded his signet ring on a new length of cord. When she settled beside Aiden at the fire, he held it out to her.

Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Merchants don’t take trinkets from merchant’s guards.”

A trinket. Oryn had to blow out a long breath. “Keep it until we’re done with this business.”

“No.”

Oryn’s gifts pulsed at his fingertips. “We’ll resume sparring tomorrow if you take the bloody ring.”

She snatched it from his hand and tugged the loop over her head, pulling her long braid through. Oryn watched as the gold disappeared down the collar of her shirt.