Page 61

And Only Him

T he mooncrescents streak past faster than I can register. The final trials are closing in like a flash of lightning. I train relentlessly, making up for every moment lost while unconscious. And for the first time, I feel a real sense of hope—a genuine chance to finish first.

It won’t be long now. Soon, the time will come. Then I can finally set out on my journey to save Naeva and kill Akares. Yet I feel anything but anticipation.

Who knows if she’s even alive?

Lunar cycles have passed. Lunar cycles without her medicine. And why would Akares have kept her alive? He’s most likely killed all his prisoners. But I must try. I owe her that. And if she’s dead… at least I’ll know. At least I’ll have one more reason to hunt down ’Ksnaka.

And Netharu’el?

How am I supposed to leave him?

I lower my gaze and pick up two wet stones. They’re black, glossy, cold. Heavy in my palms. They ring with a sharp, clear note when I strike them together.

The jungle stretches to the right, rising tall and magnificent toward the sky.

To the left, Nimuala unfolds in an endless sea of grass.

Dawn spills across the land, draping everything in warm, golden hues.

The palms, the sweeping meadow, Gorgoroth, and the stones.

All of it bathed in the glow of bronze and firelight.

The air stirs with the first birdsong from macaws, guans, curassows, and toucans.

The scent of morning lingers, sun on crisp, dry grass.

For now, the world stands still.

We won’t be training for another half daytime. Most of Nimuala is still shrouded in shadow, but I sit on one of the painted stones where the sunlight reaches. The rays creep over my right arm, stroking it with warmth, shifting back and forth as the palm fronds sway in the breeze.

For several days during the mooncrescent, I’m in Netharu’el’s arms, our kisses deep, feverish, and all-consuming.

But only in my dreams, and I dream often.

Every time I wake, disappointment grips me, sharp and bitter.

Especially since the dreams feel real, and I remember every detail with such clarity, as if they were true memories, lived moments, not just illusions spun from longing.

I pull the folded paper from my pocket, the one I found in Netharu’el’s drawer but never managed to decipher. Unfolding it in my lap, I hold it up to the light. Demonic runes spill across the page, black and twisting, jagged yet elegant. Now I should be able to?—

“Zel!”

Acranta approaches, a long scabbard at her hip, her black hair tied back in a ponytail. The dried flower necklace hangs around her neck.

“You’re here early,” she says. “Why is that? Writing something?” She somersaults, then cartwheels, grinning widely, her breaths quick. Her eyes are so bright the white around her irises is visible.

“Not now, Acranta.”

“But why?—”

“I’m busy.” I smile to show I don’t mean anything by it, forcing the corners of my mouth up. It must look pathetic.

“Is that Arzakean?” She rushes forward, snatching the paper from my hands and lifting it toward the rising sun so she can see the writing.

“Stop, it’s Netharu’el’s!” I yank it back, the smile wiped away.

“Oh?” She smirks. “Spying, are we, Zel?”

“Cut it out.”

“So you’re spying on your master? I like it. It’s very tragic, very dramatic. A perfect mix.”

“It’s nothing important. He doesn’t care.”

“If you say so. But what does it say?”

“How am I supposed to know when you won’t stop interrupting?” I glare and shove the parchment behind my back, digging my toes into the grass.

She crosses her arms. “Oh, excuse me.”

“Why are you still here?”

“I figured I could help you read it. You haven’t learned the runes yet, have you?”

“I know some. Go cartwheel somewhere else.”

“But are you sure that?—”

“Please.”

“Fine, fine.” She clears her throat. “Hi, I’m Zel, and I’m always busy with important matters.

Don’t disturb me, as I’m running a highly secret and possibly illegal spying operation, and you’re not allowed to know what I’m reading.

” She rolls her eyes and walks off, dropping onto a rock five elf-lengths away.

Glaring. Pulling out her sword to polish it.

She’ll stay annoyed for no more than two songs. Then she’ll sneak back. Guaranteed.

I must hurry.

What does it say?

I hold the parchment up to the light, scanning the script.

I’m struck by the fact that I understand it.

Somehow, I learned more from Umbra, the dragon I killed, than I ever thought possible.

Some symbols resemble spiders, eyes, and jagged horns; others radiate pure death.

Once, they were nonsense markings, mere fantasies.

Now they form a language. Now they hold meaning.

The beginning is useless, filled with trivial details about doves. Their feeding habits and their lifespan. Their feathers and plumage. But halfway through, the tone shifts. And that’s when it gets interesting.

Jemhermegnelb Mhmegmi

Relgelwolg oh ep embes en a tzebaye oh ep

Relgelwolg oh ep zobay en a repjeh oh ep

Relgelwolg oh ep rendel en a zenjed oh ep

Ao geld lol saw oh ep pejdelg sejihmejh efilgew mehnej

Mjed relj hrel aealjeh gentreh…

Relj en zaab bensel enh…

Oh ep a denel

En anh oepge glinte jmehenej

— Mesmigli Dgejl

“Netharu’el Atras. Wherever you walk, I will follow. Wherever you flee, I will hunt you. Wherever you hide, I will find you. My red eye watches you, unblinking. And when the time comes. When the moment is right, you will die. I await your surrender.

Akares Dorne.”

I stare. My hands tremble, shaking. Too many thoughts at once.

Akares has held this parchment. That’s the first thought.

Akares. Mesmigli. Pursue. Hunt. Find. Kill.

My red eye…

“Zel!”

Red eye… But Akares has white.

“Zel!”

“What in the fires do you want?” I snap without looking up.

“Look how polished Zmih is! She’s shining.”

Like I said. Two songs.

“Not now.”

“But aren’t you going to?—”

“No.” I press the parchment behind me, holding it tight. Acranta hasn’t moved yet, but I know her. She’ll pounce any second now. And the first thing she’ll do is grab the paper.

Her eyes narrow. “But surely you?—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Ladies. So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

I spring to my feet and shove the crumpled parchment into my breeches. My last breath catches in my throat like a jagged stone. The voice that sends a shiver down my spine makes me turn.

“Netharu’el.”

“Calm down, my dear. You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.

” He laughs wide enough to bare his sharp teeth.

The sunlight catches in his hair, making it shine like spilled ink.

He’s dressed in a loose singlet and tight, mahogany-brown leather breeches.

His bare arms, traced with intricate moon-white markings, make him look like a god. Like Maevux, the god of death himself.

“Thanks.” I snort. “And you look like a ghost. You should do something about those shadows under your eyes.”

“Excuse me? What did you say?”

I step closer, pressing a hand against his chest, a smirk on my face. “Calm down, my dear , you look like you’re about to have a heart attack. Come on, let’s train.”

He shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you, Iszaelda?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”

“Do tell.” His grin turns sly, eyebrows lifting toward his horns.

“Oh, have fun, you two.” Acranta waves as we pass.

I wave back, slipping in a wink, hoping she forgives me for being a terrible friend. But today, she showed up at the wrong time. I was busy. I am busy.

I turn back to Netharu’el. At this moment, there’s only him.

We walk close, the grass crunching beneath us, our shoulders brushing. Each touch sparks along my skin. I lean into him more until we bump together with every step.

“You could congratulate me for beating you yesterday,” I tease.

“I tripped.”

“I know. I was the one who made you trip, wasn’t I?”

He laughs, and the sound rushes through me, warm and electric. “We’ve been over this. It was a root. You failed at whatever move you were trying to?—”

“I didn’t!” I swat at him, unable to keep from laughing. It’s loud and genuine. It feels good.

“Did you just hit me?”

“Can’t you just admit that I won?” I grab his arm, trying to stop him.

But he keeps walking. “My dear, if you had?—”

“Oh, no, no, no.” I step directly in his path, holding up a finger.

He doesn’t stop. He collides with me.

No!

We fall. Tumbling, rolling. Down into the deep ditch toward Gorgoroth.

I grab Netharu’el as we crash through tangled undergrowth, snarls of vines, thorny bushes, and twisting branches.

We keep rolling. Limbs, fabric, elbows, knees.

Gasping for air. Crumbling dirt. Thorns snagging in my hair, stones jabbing into my knees, soil slipping into my mouth, dry and bitter.

We roll, roll and roll. And then we stop.

Caught in a tangle of branches, thin as spider silk.

The light is dim, shadows pooling around us, with only faint sunlight filtering through the tangled jungle above.

Netharu’el lies sprawled over me, covered in damp, earthy soil.

Dust clings to him, streaking his skin in shades of burnt sienna and murky gray.

He blinks rapidly, then drags a hand across his face.

It makes no difference, except that the dirt is smeared even more.

I’m pinned beneath him like in the tree’s hollow, pressed against roots, thorns, crushed berries, and rough bark digging into my back. It’s uncomfortable, even painful, but I don’t want to move. I want to stay here.

“Why, my dear Iszaelda,” he murmurs, lips coated in dust, sending a small cloud over me, “did you decide to place yourself… there? Directly. In front. Of me?”

“Because I was fiery tired. What do you think? I needed your attention.”

“And you’ve certainly gotten it.” His mouth twitches. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “So what was it you had to say that was so extraordinarily essential?”