Page 43

The night is black like a looming storm. I sway with each step. His strong arms are protective. His scent lingers around me, rich and familiar, a blend of leather and something rich and green, like avocado.

He sets me down at the edge of a rushing brook. Banyan trees loom around us, their gnarled roots gripping the earth, their vine-like branches draping downward like heavy curtains. The rainforest sleeps. The animals slumber.

Netharu’el steps into the river, water lapping against his legs as he lowers me into the current. A shock of cold slams into me. I gasp, choking on air, and I’m jerked back to life. Shaking, shivering.

The water is ice against my skin, slicing through me and sending shudders down my spine.

High above, moonlight filters through the canopy, cascading in silver streams that turn the brook to liquid light —a river of fallen stars.

I’m wide awake. Every nerve alive, every sound, scent, and touch magnified.

Netharu’el saved me. I don’t know how. But he and the stranger pulled me from the monster’s jaws. And now he’s washing me.

A crumpled dipterocarp leaf glides over my back, slowly wiping away the dirt and ash.

It feels good. Soothing. Not uncomfortable. Perhaps because he doesn’t touch me with his skin.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He pauses, the leaf pressed against my shoulder. He’s behind me, just out of sight.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I just fought a dragon. That’s exactly how I feel.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I could’ve died last time too, couldn’t I? When you tricked me into that little sprint through the jungle?”

“You can’t compare daytime to nighttime. At night, the deadliest creatures crawl from their dens. Because of one thing.”

“And why is that?”

“Hunger.”

I turn and realize I’m sitting in his lap.

His clothes cling to him, wet and heavy. I’m naked.

Normally, I would’ve reached for the nearest leaf or scrap of fabric and covered myself. But I don’t because he doesn’t look, doesn’t care.

His eyes stay on mine, a crease forming between his brows.

His skin is darker than ever, the night deepening its shade. The whites of his eyes seem to glow in the pale light, his irises dark and full of life.

Two thick, white streaks cut across his cheekbones, bold against the rest of his face, sharper and more distinct in the dim light. I suppose they’re permanent. A marking. A tattoo. Like the ones sun elves wear at the nape of their necks.

“So how did your little love affair go, Neth? ”

“It didn’t.” His voice is flat. “Instead, I had to track down my rebellious, disobedient, and missing little apprentice.”

“Why didn’t you let me go? Like you said you would?” I clench my jaw, staring blindly into the tangle of banyan branches. A wary monkey swings through the canopy in the shadows, vanishing into the dark. “You didn’t want me back anyway.”

His hands settle on my shoulders. They’re warm and steady. His body is close, and his dark skin is slick with water, gleaming in the light.

He touches me. Skin against skin.

But it doesn’t feel wrong. Panic doesn’t come.

Maybe too much has happened. Perhaps something in me has shifted.

Maybe I was cured when he pressed me against the wall for an entire song.

“I don’t know why I spoke so carelessly,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “For that, I truly apologize, my dear.”

The wind stirs the slender branches, whistling between them. High above, the monkey climbs higher, vanishing back into the darkness.

“What I don’t understand,” Netharu’el continues, “is why you left.”

I shrug, his hands shifting with the motion. “I needed to think. I wanted… to get away.”

“Gorgoroth isn’t like Valeanrae. Gorgoroth is?—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Promise me you won’t go out there at night again.”

The monkey’s tail sways between the branches.

“I didn’t go at night this time either, did I?” I say, watching his jaw tighten. “I went during the day. And I… happened to fall asleep.”

“You happened to fall asleep?”

His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face toward his.

His eyes are deep and warm, looking as if they care. As if they see me.

But I know better. I know it’s a lie.

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky I found you.”

He exhales, releasing me, then drags his palms slowly over his horns.

White markings coil along his arms, intricate, unreadable.

“Couldn’t you have drawn on your nature magic?” His voice is measured, searching. “Here in Baraatien, your bond with the sun should be stronger than ever.”

“It isn’t.”

He lets go of his horns, his hands gliding down my upper arms. “Why not?”

His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “Because I don’t have any.”

“Don’t have any what?”

“Nature magic.” The words slip from me, barely more than a whisper. “I’ve never had it. And… I never will.”

His grip tightens. “That’s impossible.”

“The shaman said it herself.”

“Your gift, then?”

“I have none.”

Silence stretches between us.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he murmurs. “Not once.”

His fingers slide through my hair, twisting out the water. It spills down my breasts. He doesn’t look away. His eyes are bottomless, steady. Dark, yet strangely grounding.

I force out a breath. “Right. About your bow… she burned up.”

He smirks, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other. And I realize I want to see him smile again. More.

“I figured as much. Naturally, I have more. Good thing I didn’t give you one of the expensive ones.”

“How did you manage to get the monster to stay still? And who was that man?”

“Vaast Sait’aan. Another master. He helped me search for you. It’s never wise to enter the forest alone at night. Not even for me. What do you mean the dragon was still?”

“So it was a dragon?” I press. “He did something to it. Stared at it, and it calmed.”

“Of course, it was a dragon.”

“Then why did it stop?” I persist.

He exhales, dismissive. “You were dazed. You must’ve imagined it.”

“No, I?—”

“The dragon was wild. It threw you off, and I caught you midair.”

“That’s not true.”

He stands, offering his hand. “Come.”

I hesitate. Then, reluctantly, I take it.

We leave the brook, our feet sinking into the serpent-green moss.

The world is dim and heavy with shadow.

A shiver runs through me.

Netharu’el pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me, his hands gliding over my back, slow and steady as if to warm me.

My nose brushes his throat. He smells of water and earth.

Damp, familiar. Good.

“De go,” he murmurs.

The water droplets sizzle and vanish from our skin, soaking inward.

My hair lightens, soft as spun cotton against my shoulders.

“What was that? What did you do?”

“Arzakean.” His tone is casual, as if it needs no explanation. “Like most star elves, I can wield it naturally.”

“Black magic.”

“The blackest.”

I study him, taking in the depth of his dark skin, the fullness of his lips, the sharpness of his eyes, the elegant line of his nose, and the smooth curve from his jaw to his throat. Something inside me pulls tight.

“Teach me,” I say.

His head tilts. “Teach you what?”

“Arzakean.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, pushing me back just enough to take me in properly. “You want to learn everything, don’t you, my dear? Even the impossible.”

“I’m the only sun elf in Sarador without the ability to wield nature magic. Without a weapon, I’m defenseless!”

He slips a steady arm around my shoulders, guiding me in the right direction as we walk back.

“I’m afraid not, Iszaelda. I can’t teach you. Arzakean is for star elves. Sun elves?—”

“Wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

I lower my voice, mimicking his tone, rough, low, edged like stone.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Exactly. It’s too powerful, and you’re too weak. No offense—it’s simply the way of things.”

I tilt my head, meeting his gaze, a smirk curling on my lips.

“We’ll see about that, Netharu’el.”