Page 44

CHAPTER 44

LYKOR

“ F ucking stars. Compose yourself,” Lykor snapped, cuffing the prince upside the head.

Vesryn spun to face him, boots skidding in the loose sand, rage flashing in his eyes. “Serenna has been tethered for hours ,” he hissed, hands trembling as turquoise light fountained from his fingertips, the illusion blending them into the shifting dunes. “If the king’s forces are already here—”

“That’s why I need you to keep your wits about you,” Lykor snarled. He jabbed a gauntleted finger into the prince’s chest. “Charge out in the open like a gallivanting idiot and you’ll end up the same way.”

The sun, though sinking, still hammered down from a cloudless sky. Blistering heat pulsed from every direction, each breath searing fire through Lykor’s lungs. Sweat trickled down his brow, clinging like a second layer of irritation.

Squinting against the relentless assault of wind-borne sand, Lykor peered down from their perch atop the dunes. Below, a pool shimmered in an oasis, the water taunting his growing thirst.

A promise of relief that felt more like a lure.

Serenna had vanished from the prince’s perception before they’d prepared to leave the jungle. Vesryn had been so frantic—so star-bent on plunging ahead—that he’d nearly left Aesar and Jassyn behind.

Lykor had decided to intervene, but there’d been no time to gather reinforcements. No chance to rally a band of wraith or Essence-wielders who might’ve turned this feverish pursuit into something more organized. Instead, a handful of portals had dragged them along a shriveling ribbon of water, leading them here.

Whether to salvation or slaughter, he had yet to decide.

Despite the prince’s illusion, Lykor’s senses thrummed, every muscle taut beneath his armor. His instincts screamed that they were still somehow exposed. Vulnerable. He could feel it—eyes on them. Waiting. Lurking somewhere out of sight.

Beside him on the overlook, Jassyn studied the glimmering spring, spine stiff with quiet tension.

Lykor’s attention lingered on his curls whipping in the wind, a splinter of discomfort still lodged between his ribs from their conversation the night before.

Focus, Aesar chided, yanking their gaze back to the desert as he paced in their mindspace. My brother’s head is going to burst if we delay any longer.

“I don’t see any tracks leading from the dunes,” Jassyn said, shading his eyes.

Vesryn let out a sharp breath, his patience already worn to the bone. “Can we move now?” His fingers twitched, the fair skin of his hands reddening.

“I don’t like this,” Lykor muttered. The back of his neck prickled. Below, the palm trees swayed lazily, their shelter from the sun a cruel temptation in this inferno. “Something isn’t right.”

“Of course it’s not right!” Vesryn snatched Lykor’s arm. “We need to start searching. Warp us down there.”

The second Vesryn’s hand clamped around him, Lykor tensed. Lip curling, his gaze slid to where the prince’s fingers dug into his skin.

“Remove your hand,” Lykor growled, fangs extending. “Or I’ll tear it off.”

Chest heaving, Vesryn leaned in, eyes wild with a desperation that bled into recklessness. “Get me closer to that oasis. Now.”

Lykor clenched his gauntlet, metal screeching. Aesar hovered on the cusp of nattering, but Lykor shoved the unwelcome intrusion aside.

His muscles flexed. Decision made, he’d send the prince sprawling.

Jassyn’s hand settled on his shoulder—not forceful, but heavy with reason.

Lykor stilled, the irritation in his veins simmering instead of exploding. He wrenched himself free from the prince’s grip, stepping away from them both.

Jassyn’s voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of urgency beneath the surface. “We need to see if there are any signs of them below.”

Retracting his fangs, Lykor exhaled slowly. “Whoever is here,” he growled through gritted teeth, “they surely outnumber us. We should have brought reinforcements.”

Vesryn’s frustration erupted. “Fuck this!” Essence twisted from his fingers as he ripped open a portal. He stalked through, vanishing into the void.

Lykor swore, swiveling to track the pressure of magic next to the water below. He snagged Jassyn’s arm, wrenching the world around them as he warped after the prince.

The moment Lykor’s boots slammed onto the bank, he summoned an arsenal of shadows—a reflexive offense. Scanning the dappled darkness in the undergrowth, his heart pummeled his ribs, each thud resonating in his skull with warning.

Disregarding the prudence of an illusion, Vesryn’s boots kicked up sand as he stormed along the shoreline, trampling caution underfoot.

Muttering to himself, Lykor pursued him. It was too late to backtrack now.

Jassyn followed, eyes flicking around their surroundings as his fingers skimmed over the reedy vegetation. There was a sharpness to his movements, a wariness that deepened the line between his brows.

Motion snagged the corner of Lykor’s vision—a shadow darting just out of sight. His head snapped to the side, but the brush was still, the air thick with deceit. He rolled his shoulders as if he could shake off the unease scratching at his bones.

Ahead, the prince crouched at the pool’s edge. The crystal surface lay undisturbed, mirroring the cloudless sky—a serene lie lapping idly at the sunbaked shore. Vesryn rose, face pale beneath the raw flush of sunburn.

Lykor’s gaze locked onto the tangled mess of armor at his feet and the tunic clenched in his fist—Serenna’s tunic.

Lykor sneered. “So it seems the girl and the lieutenant found plenty of time to”—his eyes sliced toward Vesryn’s—“shed their clothes.”

The prince’s jaw clenched, his voice a low hiss. “Or maybe whoever took them stripped them down.” He jabbed a finger toward churned sand. “These tracks don’t belong to them.” Without waiting for a response, Vesryn strode off, inspecting the other impressions in the ground.

Lykor folded his arms, gaze narrowing on the scuffed earth, where the shallow imprints betrayed something lighter than the weight of boots.

Jassyn frowned “They just…appear. Out of nowhere.”

Aesar’s voice slipped into Lykor’s thoughts, quiet but strained. Do you think whoever took them portaled in and out?

A sharp crack shattered the silence.

Lykor spun, every muscle coiled, hunting for something—anything—amidst the thick greenery. The palms swayed in the breeze, their whispering leaves the only sound. Yet his gut twisted with primal warning.

Something was watching.

Movement flashed above.

Instinct eclipsed thought. Lykor’s arm shot out, a pulse of force whipping from his palm. His magic struck, colliding with a blur in the sky. A screech split the air as he yanked the object downward, his gauntlet clamping shut around it.

Feathers burst in a blue flurry as the creature thrashed against the cage of his grip. He peered at the strange four-legged bird, its heart thudding a frantic rhythm, tiny chest puffing in and out. Its hooked beak snapped at the metal claw, talons scraping wildly in a frenzied attempt to break free.

Shifting his hold so the feral thing didn’t beat itself bloody, Lykor carefully transferred the creature to his unarmored hand. Pain flared hot when it latched onto his finger, savagely peeling away a strip of skin.

Snarling as his blood welled, Lykor shoved the bird toward Jassyn. “Control this fucking thing.”

“If you let go, it’ll probably stop biting you,” Jassyn said dryly, gingerly prying the beak loose from Lykor’s mangled knuckle.

Lykor spun a stream of shadows around the vicious bill, clamping it shut. “No,” he growled, impatience scraping at the edge of his voice. “I meant…”

His words stalled the moment Jassyn’s fingers landed next to his wound, warmth whispering against his skin. A thread of mending light unfurled, hovering above the puncture in his flesh.

Lykor’s gaze snapped up, meeting uncertain amber eyes. A silent question hung between them, waiting for permission.

He knew—he knew —that Jassyn had the skill to mend without touching him.

But yet, he did. Like he had the previous evening.

And Lykor had no idea what to do with that fact. Didn’t know what to do with the heat creeping along his skin. The way his blood didn’t just lurch, but rushed, winding tight beneath Jassyn’s fingers. His instincts should have screamed for him to pull away, like they had last night—to sever whatever this was before it burrowed deeper, before it sank its teeth in.

But some part of him—something foreign, something he hadn’t known existed—reared its head, starved for more. To let the warmth linger. To let himself drown in it.

Lykor blinked, wrenching his mind back into place. He jerked his chin in a curt nod. Caught off guard by the contact, he wasn’t sure why he’d agreed. It was hardly a scratch.

Jassyn worked swiftly, knitting the injury back together before letting his hand drop.

Irritation ricocheted against Lykor’s chest—partially at the bird, but mostly at himself. He cleared his throat, picking up where he’d left off. “I meant…can you see through its eyes? Make it fly? Give us a view of the sky?” His attention flicked toward Vesryn as he approached. “Unless you’d rather stumble around aimlessly like the prince.”

Jassyn’s mouth parted as his gaze darted between Vesryn, the trembling bird, and Lykor. “Are you sure?”

Lykor shoved the creature closer, the shadows wrapped around its beak muffling its frantic squawks. “As long as it’s not me,” he muttered, “I don’t care what your coercion touches.”

“Do it,” Vesryn ordered. He brushed the feathers on the bird’s head, the oddly delicate gesture contrasting his rough voice. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Jassyn exhaled slowly. “What if I damage its mind?”

“It’s a bird ,” Vesryn snapped. “Whatever you see might help us find Serenna.” His jaw tightened before he mumbled, “And Fenn.”

Lykor shifted his weight uneasily as the last of Jassyn’s resistance buckled under obligation. A flicker of guilt stirred, but he ignored it.

Jassyn sighed, a shimmer of Essence sparking at his fingertips before sinking into the creature’s skull.

Talons scraping against Lykor’s hand, the bird twitched, beady eyes rolling wildly. Then, its entire body seized, pupils collapsing into black pinpricks.

As the unsettling magic took root, a ripple of uncertainty crept down Lykor’s spine.

Jassyn swallowed. “Okay,” he breathed, dragging the back of his hand across his brow. “Let it go, and I’ll—I’ll see where it flies. Maybe try to steer it.”

Retracting his shadows from its beak, Lykor cautiously uncurled his fingers. The bird scrambled upright, claws raking into the bed of his palm. With a piercing screech and a disgruntled shake, it ruffled its feathers and launched skyward.

Jassyn collapsed to his knees.

Eyes squeezed shut, a sharp breath tore from his lips as his hands flew to his head, fingers twisting into the hair at his scalp.

Lykor went still, but Vesryn barely spared Jassyn a glance before he began pacing. “What do you see?” the prince demanded, hands flexing at his sides—eager to act but shackled by the need to wait.

Jassyn didn’t respond, trembling so hard that Lykor could nearly feel the tremors of his limbs vibrating through the ground.

Vesryn’s agitation seemed to grow with each passing second, his boots grinding a trail into the sand as he stalked back and forth, waiting for answers.

Gaze flicking to the sky, Lykor tracked the bird—a dwindling speck, lost in the boundless blue. His chest compressed as he studied Jassyn, recalling an offhand comment about how he disliked heights, how he’d always been reluctant to approach the sweeping overlooks as they traveled. But this seemed more than that.

Lykor hesitated.

Caught at a crossroads with the prince too wrapped in his own frustrations to care, he didn’t know what to do. But he couldn’t stand by and watch Jassyn fall apart.

Movements stiff and uncertain, he crouched beside Jassyn. He almost reached out, but what then? He didn’t have words for this sort of thing.

Aesar rolled his eyes. You could try asking if he’s okay.

Lykor scowled inwardly. HE’S OBVIOUSLY NOT OKAY.

Still, the words dragged themselves from his throat. “Is…everything okay?” The question felt as useless as swinging a sword at smoke. “You don’t have to do this.”

Eyes sealed, Jassyn blew out a shuddering breath, fresh beads of sweat sliding down his temple. His mouth opened twice, but no words came. On the third attempt, he finally spoke.

“It’s flying west,” he croaked as a tremor ran through him. “It found a flock that it recognizes. Other kin. Maybe family.” A high-pitched laugh bubbled out, bordering on hysteria. “Do birds even have families?” He swayed forward, palms sinking into the sand, fingers curling against the ground.

“Stars,” Jassyn swore through clenched teeth, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. “This flying…” A sharp gasp fractured his words as he fought for breath. “Is unpleasant.”

Discomfort wound tight around Lykor’s ribs. Not because Jassyn was struggling, but from his own inability to ease it—and the fact that he’d been the one to ask him to do this.

“We’ll try something different,” he offered, out of depth to navigate someone’s panic.

Vesryn cut in. “We don’t have time for different . Or for dramatics over a little height.” His pacing hadn’t stopped, boots kicking up sand as he prowled back and forth, eyes locked on Jassyn. “We need to know what’s out there now .”

Outrage igniting, Lykor surged to his feet. “Back the fuck off,” he snarled, positioning himself between them. “He’s doing what he can.”

Vesryn drew to a halt, folding his arms to face Lykor head-on. “Jassyn thinks he’s at his limit,” he snapped, “but he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.” A pause. The prince’s jaw flexed, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze flicked to Jassyn’s crumpled form—assessing, but not cold or indifferent. “He always holds back. Always doubts himself.” The edge in his tone morphed into conviction. “He doesn’t need to be coddled. He can push through this.”

But Jassyn gave no sign of hearing the prince. His entire body seized, a whimper slipping past his lips.

That pained sound nearly dragged Lykor forward, to haul Jassyn to his feet, to wrench him free from the bird’s mind. His fingers flexed, caught between impulse and restraint, fangs digging into his gums as he forced himself to stay still, watching Jassyn endure.

“It’s heading somewhere,” Jassyn finally breathed out. “Following a stream. Currents in the wind. A pull from the sky.” He inhaled a gasp of air. “I think… I think I’m going to be sick.”

Lykor clamped a hand on his shoulder, an attempt to provide some sort of anchor. “Let it go.”

Jassyn fought for breath, each one coming sharper and faster. His body jerked once, eyelids fluttering. “I see something”—another violent shudder—“growing on the horizon.” Lykor’s grip tightened. “Red walls. A city.”

A streak tore through the air too fast to track. It struck Vesryn’s neck with a sickening thud. He flinched, mouth twisting, his fingers snapping to the wound, yanking a feathered shaft free.

A heartbeat of stillness followed—then the world detonated.

A dam of Essence ruptured around the prince, magic lashing outward in a violent torrent. In one swift motion, Vesryn ripped at his short swords, the twin blades singing as they left their scabbards. A ward flared to life, slamming into place around the three of them in a crackling wave of violet light.

Lykor barely had time to process the assault before it unfolded. Dark figures peeled from the shadows in every direction.

He wrenched on Essence at the same time as Aesar reached through his arms, their instincts aligning without a word. His glaives hissed free, the metal catching the glare of the sun.

Vesryn’s shield pulsed as distorted figures surrounded them, dropping from the sky.

The sky.

Lykor’s breath hitched.

His eyes snapped upward, heartbeat stalling.

Wings.

Scores of them. Blotting out the sun.

The air shuddered with their descent as the figures swooped low, the obsidian scales on their arms glittering. Landing, the creatures joined the ranks closing in around them. A living vise of fangs and claws.

Wraith. Wraith with wings.

Or something far worse.

Tiny intricate scales swirled across their faces, the near-decorative patterns shifting. What skin that wasn’t covered by armor or scales rippled with the indigo iridescence of his own people, but their hair was silver, brighter than the stars. And their eyes—vertical slits—burned a molten red.

A brutal arc of gold slashed through the air, ravaging a section of Vesryn’s shield. A staff. At the tip of it, a wicked, gold-plated hook curved like a raptor’s talon—a crescent moon poised to reap both magic and flesh.

Lykor lashed out, punching a tidal wave of rending forward through the gap. Shadows streaked toward the winged attacker, meant to obliterate.

But before his magic struck, the air screamed.

A high-pitched shriek split his skull, the piercing sound terrifyingly familiar. His magic was ripped from his control, slipping through his grip like oil. Heart ramming his ribs, Lykor’s gaze snapped to the prince, who staggered forward.

“Fuck!” Vesryn swore. “They have a Starshard!”

Lykor followed his stare to another staff, this one crowned with a crystal gem.

A metallic ping ricocheted off his gauntlet. One of those objects that had struck the prince—a feathered dart—dropped to the sand at his feet.

Lykor blinked as a sharp sting lanced through him, another one finding its mark. For a disorienting moment, he stared at the quivering fletching biting deep in the exposed flesh of his arm.

Then ice bloomed in his veins. Fire and frost warred inside him, venom—or poison—snaking through his blood. It moved too fast, burning along his limbs, slithering around his ribs, clamping over his lungs.

A snarl wrestled its way up Lykor’s throat. He had to act. He had to protect them. But his hold on Essence wavered, his thoughts unraveling.

Aesar’s grip on the glaives tightened as the winged figures closed in, their approach a blur of motion. Yet Lykor’s eyes dashed to Jassyn, still braced against sand, the prince stumbling to stay upright beside him. Only seconds had passed, but everything was spiraling into chaos.

A burst of thought slammed into Lykor’s mind—Aesar’s frantic voice. We need to get out of here!

Aesar tossed his glaives into one hand, freeing Lykor just enough to seize Jassyn’s arm and haul him up.

“Prince!” Lykor barked, ripping open a portal as far into the Wastes as he could reach. “We have to go. Now!”

Another piercing whine screeched through the air. The last fragments of Vesryn’s ward shuddered, buckled, and then disintegrated in a violet flash as the Starshard struck.

Lykor’s pulse pounded in his ears, a drumbeat counting down to their doom.

The venom gnawed at him, turning his limbs into sludge. Still, he gritted his fangs, locking his grip around Jassyn. His mind reeled, too clouded to even consider warping through the portal.

The air thickened with the rustle of leathery wings.

There were too many. Everywhere. Claws clacking, fangs flashing, reptilian eyes burning.

The prince’s struggle became frenzied—wild, erratic swings slicing through empty air, a display teetering on absurdity. If not for the grim certainty that he too was succumbing to the venom.

With a snarl, Lykor shoved past the sluggish weight overtaking him. Shadows exploded from his palm, coalescing into a spear of rending, striking the nearest winged scourge.

The creature disintegrated mid-flight in a spray of scales, blood, and flesh.

But more followed. So many more.

Jassyn sagged in Lykor’s grip, his legs buckling beneath him. Blood seeped from his nose and his eyelids fluttered. His mind was elsewhere—still trapped in that fucking bird.

Lykor tried to haul him closer, but the venom was stronger, sinking its fangs into his stuttering heart. His grip went slack. Jassyn slipped from his fingers, crumpling to the ground.

The world lurched and Lykor staggered before he caught himself, swaying. Time splintered into jagged pieces. His lungs burned as every breath shallowed.

Another thud. Another sting at the back of his arm before the pain dissolved into nothing, swallowed by the creeping numbness overtaking his limbs.

Sand shifted beneath his boots, as if the earth itself was dragging him under. He had to fight—had to hold on—but his glaives were gone, dropped someplace he couldn’t remember.

Jassyn.

How did he get so far? A dozen paces away, he lay sprawled, staring blankly at the sky. Three darts had pierced his neck, blood from his nose trickling across his cheeks.

A jolt rent through Lykor’s ribs, his guilty heart hammering against its cage. This was his fault. If he hadn’t asked Jassyn to use that stars-cursed coercion, he wouldn’t be trapped in his own mind.

The portal. He had to get Jassyn through the portal.

Blinking hard, Lykor searched for the rift, but there was nothing. A hollow absence where escape should have been waiting.

He reached toward Aesar for help but couldn’t find him. Couldn’t sense anything through the creeping fog smothering his thoughts.

Essence. He needed Essence. He grasped for it, but his Well was a dying ember at the fringe of his mind. Flickering. Sputtering. Failing.

His knees struck the sand, the force barely registering. As his vision spotted, he caught a glimpse of Vesryn still swinging his weapons through empty space.

Surrounding him, the winged creatures loomed just beyond his reach. Watching. Waiting. Biding their time for his fall.

One of the beasts warped like a wraith, appearing beside Jassyn. Too close. Wings tucked in tight, it crouched in the sand, talons gleaming as it reached for him.

Jassyn lay there, helpless. And that thing—

A strangled snarl tore from Lykor’s throat. Rage. Desperation. He didn’t know which.

Legs useless, he tried to warp, but he only crashed forward. His face slammed into the ground, muscles petrifying into stone. Fury erupted in his veins, a wildfire raging against the venom turning his body into a prison.

Lykor clawed at the sand, carving trenches in his struggle. He had to reach Jassyn. Arms trembling, he summoned all of his strength to drag himself forward.

It wasn’t enough.

He gritted his teeth, pushing harder, feeling the edges of reality splinter.

A sharp sting pierced him again. And then another. Darts thudded into the back of his neck, his arms.

His vision tunneled, shrinking to a single point—Jassyn’s bloodied face.

He reached for him.

He had to—

A shadow unfolded in front of him.

The staff came from nowhere. It struck Lykor across the head, the impact so brutal his vision shattered, as though his skull had split wide open.

But there was no pain. He didn’t feel anything as darkness poured in and claimed him in full.