Page 47 of The Crown of Moonlight

Chyr

T

he baying of Ravenhounds jerks me awake—a low, broken curse of a sound I’ve heard too often.My sword is where I always leave it, and by the time the familiar weight of it is in my hand, I’ve oriented myself again in the gloomy herder’s hut.

Flora rolls to her feet beside me.“What is it?”

“Some of Vheara’s less pleasant pets have come to play.Stay here.”

By now, I should know better.Flora follows me out the door.She doesn’t bother arguing.

I squint against the rain that drives sideways against the slope.The Ravenhounds rush me—black shadow bodies and molten teeth.Ember-red eyes that burn with rage and hunger.I meet the first mid-leap, steel biting into its ribs.A second knocks me to the ground.I hit hard and roll through a puddle, slashing the creature’s throat, then I shift to avoid the corrosive spill of blood.

The mud is slick and treacherous as I climb to my feet.

My magic is still too depleted.I reach for the Veilstones, draw what I can, and scrape the last dregs from within myself to hurl a stream of fire at several of the hounds.They howl as they ignite.

A new snarl cuts crosswise through the storm, closer than it should be.Flora jumps in front of me, her braid flying like a whip.

Her dagger is masked as a sword again—the same illusion she used before.More brave than sane, she circles, searching for the beast as though she can’t find it either.My heart stutters as the snarl comes again from her left.She spins to the right.

The beast leaps at her, and I throw myself between them.Teeth rake fire down my leg, and I twist and drive my blade through the monster’s skull.It goes still, but my leg collapses beneath me.

Another Ravenhound drives me to the ground.Fetid breath and drips of spittle hit my face, and I’ve no strength left to raise my blade.But even as I brace for the attack, the monster yelps and falls away in a splatter of blood.

Rain sluices down my face, muddy loam cold against the fire that burns the back of my thigh.Moss slicks under my palm as I reach for purchase.

“Don’t move.”Flora’s voice shakes, and she pushes hard against the wound.My flesh heats, burns.The rest of me is too cold with my magic gone.

“Are they all dead?”I struggle to ask.

“All of them.”

The fire of her hands dulls the pain in my leg.My breath comes easier.And it’s only my thigh that feels the heat of the healing she’s pouring into me this time, not my entire body.

She’s learning.Growing stronger and more precise.

That’s my first lucid thought, even as she shifts me onto my back.Her hair has escaped the thick braid, the copper and moonlight strands darkened by the rain.Water runs through streaks of blood along her cheeks, but I don’t see any injury beneath them.

Her eyes are closed in concentration.Then her hands press against the soaked linen shirt and bandaging over my wound, and her magic rises again—a surge pushing into me and sucking away the agony that spiked while I swung my sword.Her skin begins to smoke.

I’ve grown to expect that, having seen it twice now.But the smoke comes quicker this time, thicker and darker.The pain in my chest becomes a low throb instead of an insistent scream.

“Flora, save your energy.”She’s worked too long already.

She releases me and sits back on her haunches.

I push up to my feet.Using my muscles like that is a force of habit, and it’s only after I’m standing that I realise I shouldn’t have the strength to do it.

Flora’s eyes meet mine.They’re alive, so alive, and a small smile hovers on her lips, as if she’s proud of herself.

I’m gripped by an insane impulse to kiss her, to hold her.It wouldn’t be fair, though.Or right.Which doesn’t make me want it any less.

She breaks the contact first.“What were those things?”

I turn away to wipe the blade of my sword on a clump of moss.“They’re called Ravenhounds, and there may be more of them.We need to go.”I catch her hand in mine and kiss her palm.“Thank you.You keep saving me.”

“You keep doing your best to die.Please stop.”