Page 17

17

A Risk I’m Willing to Take

W e stop only once, and we do reach the temple by nightfall. Barely.

Shadows crawl around us as Storm angles down toward the stone structure. The Bompurak Jungle spreads out ahead, dark and menacing in the dusk. It was already less than inviting in the distance as we approached, but it only grows more ominous as darkness falls. I’m grateful yet again that we’ve only come up to its doorstep and we don’t have to go any farther.

The trees all around the temple have been cleared away, and as we descend into that clearing, we push past a resistance, a zing in the air that makes my ears pop.

“What was that?” I say, speaking loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“Some sort of ward,” Daenn responds directly into my ear, and I have to work not to shiver against his breath on my skin.

His answer sets me on edge. Wards, while something I’ve heard of, are a foreign concept. Is that why I feel like I’m being watched? Or is that the jungle?

Both possibilities are disconcerting.

As Storm touches down before the temple, the doors swing open and two robed men exit.

One is tall, taller than Daenn, and thin. He’s likely in his mid-thirties. The other is old and so hunched he’s shorter than me. Both have long beards and knotted bead ropes wrapped around their waists, looped in on themselves to make belts.

Daenn dismounts and helps me down before stepping in front of Storm, spreading his arms wide. “We come on an errand of peace, monks of Lirev. Will you bid us welcome and hear our plea?”

“We bid you welcome.” The old monk’s voice is frail and scratchy in the air. “Come inside. Your mount as well. It’s best not to linger out of doors after nightfall.”

We make our way up the stone steps. The monks have to open the doors all the way for Storm to fit through, but he does fit, and once we’re all inside, the monks shut the doors with a heavy thud. My ears pop again as a sizzle of magic seals us in. A second layer of wards, perhaps, in case the first fail? It’s not a comforting thought.

The entrance hall is an austere grey room with half a dozen hallways branching off it. Glowing lettering on the walls lights the space, but it’s not an alphabet I’ve ever seen before.

“I can tend your gryphon if you’ll have him follow me.” The younger monk gestures to a side hall far wider than the rest.

Daenn nods and flicks a hand gesture to Storm. “There’s dried meat in the left saddlebags to feed him.”

Storm clicks his beak together, less than thrilled about the dried meat. He much prefers to hunt for his meals, but we have the meat on hand for when that’s not an option, like tonight .

“We have plenty of fresh flesh we can share with him,” the monk says, bowing a little, and Storm brightens.

“Thank you,” Daenn calls at the monk’s retreating back, because the monk is now being herded by Storm toward their exit.

I press my lips together to hold in a laugh. The older monk has been studying us this entire time, but he finally speaks as his compatriot’s and Storm’s sounds fade down the hallway. “Would you like a meal first, or would you prefer to share your plea immediately? I gather it’s a matter of some urgency for you to risk flying near the jungle at night.”

“We would welcome a meal,” Daenn says, “but you’re right that I wish to speak to you first.”

The old monk spreads his hands in a gesture that says ‘speak away,’ so Daenn continues.

“We’ve come for the Bracers of Mundil.”

The old man’s entire face pulls into a frown, exaggerated by his deep-set wrinkles. “That is a serious request indeed, one I must decline. I will not allow you to use the bracers against your enemies. I will play no part in the wars of men.”

Daenn is already shaking his head. “I don’t want them for my enemies. I want them for me.”

This surprises the monk. His bushy eyebrows shoot up. “For you?”

“My magic is death, and not a death I can control.” Daenn’s hand flexes and fists at his side. His swirl of regret and guilt sits heavy in my chest. “I married her”—he gestures to me—“in hopes that her magic would neutralize my own. But when we linked in the bonding ceremony, they mixed. And while it is now not an instant death, it is instead stronger, claiming more victims than before. ”

I purse my lips at his abbreviated story, but glossing over the complicated bits—Tolomon, how it was not just the bond but me that mixed the magic—is probably for the best.

Daenn’s voice lowers. “I cannot rule if I am killing my people, but I have no one trustworthy to hand my crown to. The bracers are my only hope.”

The monk takes this in for several moments after Daenn finishes. “This is a plea I want to heed,” he finally says, “and I’m willing to do so insofar as I am able. Now that I am not outright turning you away, I must admit we don’t have both of the bracers. We only have one.”

His words ring in the air around us like a hammer against an anvil. Would one even be enough? Had we come all this way—possibly lost a gryphon, given Viggo an opening to make a bid for the throne, wasted time we could have spent looking for a way to help our comatose clansfolk—for nothing?

“Do you know where the other one is?” Daenn finally asks. His voice is measured, betraying none of the desperation I can sense from him.

The monk shrugs a shoulder. “I do. When they were first entrusted to my order, we chose to separate them, to make them more difficult for one with ill intentions to lay their hands on. But I sense your intentions are pure.” As he says that, his eyes flash with an unearthly light, and I swallow back a yelp.

Did he use magic to read the truth in our words?

“But I cannot fetch the second one for you,” he continues. “You will have to get it yourself. We sent it to our sister temple, deep in the heart of the jungle. It’s a two-week journey to the south.”

“Two weeks?” I say, my horror prompting me to speak for the first time. Two weeks to the temple. Two weeks back. Even if that is two weeks on foot, it will still be days by gryphon, especially an encumbered gryphon. It’s too long. Every day we’re gone is another day for Viggo to entrench himself in Daenn’s place.

Grim resignation settles over Daenn. He nods. “I will make the journey. I only ask, will you house Emana—”

“No,” I cut him off, rounding on him. “You’re not going without me. I’m not going to sit here on my hands for who knows how long, wondering and waiting and dreading. I’m going with you.”

“That isn’t necessary, Emi—”

“It absolutely is.”

“You would be safer here—”

I lean in and bare my teeth. “I can either ride with you, or I can set out on foot after you. Your choice.”

Either he senses my stubbornness over our link or he reads it in my face, because he nods reluctantly.

“You can stay the night,” the monk says. “Come to the kitchens and have some supper, and I’ll fetch your bracer while you do.”

He leads us there and finally gives us a name: Elium. He’s the abbot of this sanctuary. He leaves us in the kitchen with instructions for the monks there to prepare a warm supper, and they oblige swiftly. The simple fare they give us is delicious, far better than anything Daenn or I have managed, and we both have multiple servings—I have seconds, and Daenn thirds.

Abbot Elium returns as we’re finishing, and he carries an unassuming cloth bundle. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

The quarters he leads us to are small, smaller than anywhere I’ve ever stayed. They’re a monk’s cell, stocked with only the essentials. A bed, a small desk, and a chest for storage. Elium bids us good night and shuts the door with a quiet snick as the latch catches.

I stare at the bed in consternation. Will we even both fit on that? But I’m distracted from my thoughts as Daenn unwraps the bracer and sets the cloth on the desk.

“What are you doing?”

“Maybe one will be enough.” It’s all he says, and I know what he means. Enough to cut off his magic, to siphon it away. Maybe we won’t have to make the journey to the other temple. Still, my tender little hope at the idea is tempered by fear. The bracers are meant to be worn as a set, after all. What if putting on only one breaks him in some way?

But Daenn is already removing his own bracer, setting it aside on the table. Mundil’s bracer is as different from Daenn’s own as it could be. Daenn’s is well worn, but also well cared for, in supple black leather that protects him but is lightweight for gryphon flight.

Mundil’s bracer is battered, dull copper. Grommet holes with ragged brown leather ties line one side to tighten for fit. The most interesting thing about it is the curling script rimming its edges, but I can’t read it. I wonder if it’s the same runes that the monks use in their magic.

Daenn slips the bracer on, and immediately there’s a pulling sensation in my chest. Daenn staggers. I rush to his side, catching his arm.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “It was just unexpected.” He tugs away from me and walks to the bed. His steps are straight, but he drops onto the bed with a little more heaviness than usual for him.

That pulling sensation continues. I’m being carved out with a spoon. Painful, yet distant. I search for my magical reserves, and I don’t think I’m imagining that they’re thinner. Less accessible.

“It’s working.” Daenn’s voice comes out a little ragged.

“Is it?” I counter. If I feel this way, how is he feeling?

He only gives me a nod, and it’s in character enough with who he is now that I can’t tell if it’s because he’s in too much pain to speak or if he’s just being taciturn.

“Is it killing you?” I can’t help but ask. I need to know if it is before it’s too late so I can rip the bracer off him, since he’ll probably be too weak to do it himself.

The question earns me a raspy chuckle. “No, Emi. It’s not killing me. I’m fine. The force of it shocked me a little at first, but it’s already ebbed.” His mouth pulls down into a frown. “I don’t think it’s going to be enough. We’ll have to go get the other one. And I’ll leave this one on—perhaps it will continue to siphon my magic away over time and the deed will be done by the time we get back to the mountain.”

I can tell he’s right. The pulling sensation has lessened, though it hasn’t faded entirely. I hate it. His worry threads through his fear over our bond. I want to call him on it, but what good would it do? The magic is dangerous. We knew there was a risk in searching for these bracers. It’s a risk Daenn is willing to take.

It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

…Isn’t it?