Page 5

We limp up the slope on the opposite side of the ravine, avoiding the twitching elf who remains alive. Daeva glances at him, and for a moment I wonder if he’ll deliver a final blow. But the demon simply turns away, letting the survivor wallow in defeat.

The trees close around us once more, dense and disorienting. My legs threaten to buckle with each step, but fear compels me onward. The distant pounding of more hooves resonates somewhere behind us, and though the forest muffles the sound, it sends my heart racing anew. We’re a band of half-starved, injured slaves—how much more can we endure?

Eventually, we reach a stretch of forest where the undergrowth grows taller, the pine trunks thicker. Daeva guides us beneath a canopy of ancient branches that block out much of the weak daylight. The ground here is carpeted with centuries of fallen needles, giving it a spongy texture that silences our footfalls.

We pause by a stony outcropping draped with emerald moss, ringed by stunted bushes. Here, Daeva crouches to examine Jenna’s wound more carefully. I kneel beside him, ignoring the chill that seeps into my bones.

“She needs proper care,” Daeva remarks, sliding a hand near the injury without touching it. “The bolt likely tore muscle. She’ll be feverish if it’s not cleaned.”

I nod, glancing at Jenna’s pale face. She’s biting back tears, trying to remain brave. “We can’t exactly walk into a dark elf healer’s clinic,” I say softly.

He doesn’t respond to my bitterness, only sets his jaw. “I can do something to stave off infection. But it will hurt.”

Jenna looks at him. Her pupils shrink with fear, but she presses her lips into a tight line and nods. “Do it.”

Daeva closes his eyes for a moment, black tattoos shivering across his collarbones. Then he presses two fingertips to the bloody hole in her tunic. A hiss of steam and an acrid smell of burned flesh hits my nose, making me gag. Jenna screams, arching her back. Silas and Ryn struggle to hold her down.

After a few seconds, Daeva pulls away. The wound still looks raw, but the immediate bleeding has clotted, and there’s an odd sheen of frost or crystallized energy around the edges, sealing it. Jenna gasps, tears streaking her cheeks.

“What did you do?” Cole demands, half in awe, half in horror.

Daeva exhales. “Sealed the wound with cold. It’s not a cure, but it should keep her alive until we find real medicine.”

Jenna’s eyes flutter. She sucks in shallow breaths. “Th-thank you…”

He inclines his head, silent.

All around, tension coils. The others exchange wary looks, as though uncertain whether to be grateful for his power or terrified of it. Perhaps both.

I shift closer, keeping my voice low. “We need to keep moving, but she can’t walk far in this state.”

He studies me for a moment before answering. “I’ll carry her if necessary.”

“Can you?” Silas asks, not quite hiding the suspicion in his tone.

Daeva’s gaze cuts to Silas, and I tense. But after a heartbeat, he simply nods. “I can.”

“Let’s not linger,” I say softly. I glance at the canopy overhead. The forest is already dim, but I sense the sun’s progression overhead, dipping toward afternoon. If the elves search these woods systematically, it’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered again.

Daeva scoops Jenna into his arms with surprising gentleness. Her lips press together, pain etched in her features, but she allows it. The rest of us stand, each grimacing at our own aches and bruises.

We set off once more. The forest’s silence feels oppressive now. Every twig snap makes me jump, every rustle in the bushes sends my heartbeat skyrocketing. The adrenaline has left me shaky and lightheaded. Silas walks close, occasionally touching my elbow to reassure me—or maybe himself.

Ryn trudges behind, wincing with each breath from where that elf kicked him. Cole stays near Daeva, glancing at Jenna’s closed eyes. She’s half-conscious, but alive.

Time stretches. We pass trickling streams half choked with leaves. We maneuver around a fallen tree trunk that forms a precarious bridge over a stagnant pond. My stomach growls, reminding me we’ve had nothing but scraps in days.

At last, as dusk approaches, we come across a small clearing where a massive pine has fallen against two others, forming a sort of triangular shelter. Moss drapes the trunk, and the space underneath is dry.

“This should do for tonight,” Daeva says. He crouches and sets Jenna down carefully, bracing her head against a rise of roots.

Ryn and Cole begin gathering branches to form a makeshift barrier. Silas finds some relatively dry moss that might serve as bedding or tinder. I’m too tired to do anything but sink onto the spongy ground, arms wrapped around my knees.

I watch Daeva as he moves along the perimeter of the clearing, running his fingertips across the bark of various trees. He pauses, then presses a palm to the ground, eyes half-lidded in concentration.

“Are you…doing something magical?” I ask, voice rasping.

He glances at me. “I’m setting a ward, of sorts. It may mask our presence from casual scouts.”

Relief flutters in my chest. “Thank you,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

He stands, brushing pine needles from his hands. “Don’t thank me yet. It’s a weak ward, given my state. But it’s better than nothing.”

I swallow. “Your state?”

He gives me a long, inscrutable look. “I’m not at my full strength. I was in the mirror for a long time.”

I want to press him for details, but the lines of exhaustion etched in his face stop me. A heavy sadness weighs in his eyes. It reminds me of someone who’s been carrying grief for far too long.

Instead, I say quietly, “You should rest too. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Then he nods once and walks back toward Jenna, crouching to check her wound. I exhale shakily, leaning my head back against the pine trunk. My gaze drifts over the clearing. Silas and Cole finish stacking branches to block a clear line of sight from outside. The temperature is dropping, and clouds gather above, hinting at a storm.

Ryn returns from the boundary of the clearing, carrying a handful of mushrooms and a few scrawny roots. He eyes them warily. “Not sure if these are edible, but it’s all I could find.”

A spark of memory surfaces: stories my mother once told me about safe and poisonous forest foods. But it’s been so long, and the details are fuzzy. “I can’t say,” I admit. “We should test them carefully.”

Desperation claws at us. We’re starving, wounded, hunted, and our only ally is a being of unimaginable power who was imprisoned in a mirror. Yet there’s a certain dark relief in simply not being behind the walls of House Vaerathis. The open sky overhead—though threatening rain—feels like a blessing compared to those stone corridors.

The last rays of daylight fade, leaving us in a twilight gloom. No one dares start a fire in case it draws attention. We huddle in the partial shelter of the fallen pine. Silas tries to lighten the mood by mentioning how “at least we don’t have to scrub floors in the morning,” but it falls flat. Jenna moans in pain, clutching her shoulder. The rest of us exchange uneasy glances.

At length, Daeva rises. “I’ll do a quick sweep around. Stay here. Don’t wander.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slips into the darkness. His form melds with the shadows so completely that I blink, wondering if I imagined him. A hush falls among us.

When he’s gone, I sense the group breathe differently—some mix of relief and nervousness. Ryn edges closer, lowering his voice. “That demon… can we trust him?”

Cole bows his head. “We have no choice,” he mutters.

Silas speaks up, “He got us out, didn’t he? If it wasn’t for him, we’d be locked in chains or dead.”

Ryn’s jaw clenches. “Or maybe we’ll end up worse off with him. Demons aren’t exactly known for mercy.”

They all turn to me, as though I have answers. After all, I was the one who apparently summoned him from the catacombs. My stomach twists. “He saved us when he could’ve left us behind. He’s had plenty of chances to kill us if that’s what he wanted.”

Cole rubs his arms, as if warding off a chill. “Could be part of some bigger plan,” he says darkly.

I swallow. “Maybe. But for now, we’re safer with him than without.”

That’s all I can offer. A tense quiet hangs in the air. Eventually, exhaustion wins out, and we try to rest. I press myself against Silas for warmth, my eyes drifting shut despite the swirling fear in my mind.

Sometime later, I wake to the sound of distant thunder. My neck is stiff, and my side aches from lying on the uneven ground. Rain patters through the pine canopy, dripping onto my threadbare clothes. Jenna dozes fitfully, cheeks pale and clammy. Ryn snores softly, while Cole sits upright, blinking in the gloom.

A flicker of white catches my eye at the clearing’s edge: Daeva has returned. He stands at the perimeter, hair damp from the drizzle, arms folded. I shuffle toward him, feeling the soggy pine needles squish under my knees.

He senses my approach and tilts his head, acknowledging me without speaking. Lightning flashes far off, illuminating the black clouds overhead. In that brief glow, I see sorrow etched into his features.

“Did you find anything?” I ask quietly.

He exhales, gaze distant. “Only more signs that the elves are combing the forest. Their scouts are systematic, though they haven’t reached this sector yet.”

My stomach twists. “How long until they do?”

“A day, maybe two, if they persist.”

Nodding, I turn to look at the makeshift shelter where my friends huddle. “We can’t stay here. But Jenna can barely move. Where do we go?”

He doesn’t answer right away, as if weighing options. “There’s a possibility,” he finally says, voice low. “We could head south, into the deeper wilds. The land is harsh, but the elves rarely patrol so far from their holdings.”

I bite my lip. “Is it safe?”

“Safe is relative,” he replies, almost gently. “But it gives us a chance.”

The rain picks up, and I feel droplets winding down my collar. My clothes cling to my skin, gooseflesh covering my arms. “You said you were cursed… by House Vaerathis. What are you exactly?” My voice trembles at my own boldness. “Will they track you specifically?”

A tension coils in his jaw, and I think he won’t answer. Then he speaks, measured. “Yes. They have methods, bonds of blood and magic that were forged long ago. But time has weakened them. And I believe my emergence from the mirror has broken some of those chains.”

“So if the bonds are weakened… does that mean they’ll do anything to reforge them?”

He looks away, rain tracing rivulets down his pale cheeks. “Likely.”

An uneasy dread settles in me. “Then we have more reason to keep going.”

A faint nod. He’s about to turn away when I blurt, “You mentioned centuries. How… old are you?”

He closes his eyes. The thunder rumbles again. “Old enough that I barely remember what it felt like to be human.”

My breath catches. There it is, the truth I sensed all along—he wasn’t always a demon. “House Vaerathis did this to you?”

Something like anguish flickers across his features. “Yes.”

I want to ask more, to demand the whole story, but the pain in his voice stops me. Instead, I step closer, peering up into his face. The rain-soaked gloom doesn’t hide the mixture of rage and sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, though the words feel woefully inadequate.

His lips quirk in a sad smile. “You’ve done nothing to cause it.”

“No, but—I set you free. And now you’re stuck saving me and my friends. It wasn’t your fight.”

He lifts a hand, as if wanting to brush a strand of wet hair from my face, but stops himself. “You didn’t force me. I made a choice.”

My chest tightens, and I nod. Silence stretches between us, broken only by the steady drum of rain on leaves. Then a flicker of movement draws our attention back toward the shelter—Jenna moans. Cole’s trying to prop her up, but she’s shivering violently, her face pale as death.

I rush over, kneeling at her side. Ryn shifts to let me see. Her skin is hot to the touch, beads of sweat dotting her brow despite the cold. “We have to move her,” I say, voice thick with worry. “She’s getting worse.”

Daeva stands above us, brow furrowed. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“She might not last until then,” Cole mutters, tears brimming in his eyes. “She needs real healing.”

I recall that Ter, one of the dark elf sister cities, is said to have more lenient policies toward humans—somewhere in Kaynvu, presumably reachable if we travel far enough. But can we risk going to any dark elf city at all? That could be walking right into chains again.

Daeva kneels, placing his hand gently on Jenna’s forehead. She stirs, whimpering. “We travel south,” he says firmly. “Now, if you wish. I can carry her. The rest of you must manage on your own.”

Silas exchanges a glance with me, then sets his jaw. “We have no other choice. If we stay here, we’ll be cornered by the morning.”

A nervous energy crackles through the group as we begin to gather ourselves. It’s dark, we’re soaked, and Jenna’s wound threatens to fester, but the alternative is certain doom.

Daeva lifts Jenna once more, her head lolling weakly against his chest. Ryn and Cole shuffle beside him, arms braced around each other for support. Silas places a hand on my arm. His grip is steady, if trembling with fatigue.

We set off, deeper into the forest. Rain slides in rivulets over branches, droplets spattering our faces. The ground is a slick carpet of pine needles and hidden roots that threaten to trip us with every step. Now and then, I glance at Daeva. He moves with uncanny grace, even carrying an injured person, as though the storm and darkness are mere inconveniences.

Trees loom overhead, silent witnesses to our desperate flight. I can’t help but feel as though each trunk, each bent branch, is a spectator in a grand, terrible game: the hunted humans and the demon guide, pitted against the merciless forces of House Vaerathis.

The storm intensifies, lightning flashing in distant forks across the sky. I wrap an arm around my torso, suppressing shivers. My thoughts spin with possibilities—perhaps we’ll slip away to safety, or perhaps the elves will descend upon us at dawn. Perhaps we’ll find help in some hidden pocket of Protheka. Perhaps we’ll perish in these woods.

Through it all, one fact burns bright in my mind: we’re out of the fortress. There’s no going back now. Freed or cursed, living or dead, we’ve stepped into a new world, guided by a demon who once was human. And with each thunderclap, I sense we’re edging closer to secrets I’m not ready to face—secrets about Daeva, about the dark elves’ unholy rituals, and about what I might become if I keep clinging to his power for my salvation.

Still, I set my jaw and force one foot in front of the other, letting the rain wash away any lingering hesitation. Tomorrow might bring more terror, but tonight, we survive. We survive, and that has to be enough.