7. Dryston
Chapter 7
Dryston
M orning barely peeked over the edge of the horizon as Dryston woke the next morning. He’d told Lord Killgan he’d be in Yeolent in two days to meet with him. He knew better than to delay and be late to any meeting with the hard to pin down orc lord.
As he exited his room, Onora exited hers and both stopped in surprise, staring for a too long moment.
Far too long. Her eyes took in his raiment, snagging on his chest, her eyes dipping up to the tips of his wings, the slow perusal making him want to preen.
Oh no.
That was too dangerous.
His shoulder still ached from the stab wound she’d given him the day before, and he could still hear her words ringing in his ears—she wouldn’t hesitate to kill his family if they were found in the human lands. Usually a wound like that would heal in a day, but it must have been dipped in a poison that affected his magic because it was taking forever to fully heal.
He slung his pack over his shoulder and brushed past her, telling himself to avoid her gaze and failing. Like a beacon in a storm, his attention always drifted to her.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Do I detect a hint of sadness in your voice?”
She scoffed, those blue eyes narrowing in that way that made him feel crazy. With anger or lust, he couldn’t decide. “Hardly. I can’t wait for the day that I don’t have to see your face every day.”
He grinned. “I don’t believe that at all.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it angrily. Her nostrils flared, but he couldn’t think about how angry she was. All he could think about was how the shape of her lips were maybe the most kissable ones he’d ever seen. “Where are you going? More work in the woods?”
He debated telling her for a moment. No doubt she would run away and tell the other Hunters, but maybe, just maybe, it would show the humans that others were coming around to trusting them. “I have a meeting with Lord Killgan. I’m hoping to secure an alliance.”
Her brows shot up, her scowl melting away in surprise and curiosity, but she said nothing. He could see the wheels turning and bitterness coated his tongue.
“What? Did you think I was hanging around here just to wreak more havoc in Nemus?”
Her expression softened even more. The world felt tilted, upside down, the vulnerable expression on her face something he wasn’t used to.
She shook her head. “I didn’t know why. What do you want to gain from alliances in Nemus?”
Her tone had an edge of defensiveness—worry. He knew the Cruel Lord had done a great deal of damage to the continent, and especially to the humans. He carried the duality of hating what the Hunters had done to his family in the same breath as understanding why Hunters had come into existence. They were the only thing that had kept any humans safe from the Cruel Lord’s tyranny.
“We don’t have a lot of allies,” he said, hating to admit it. “We need more for trade. I’m still trying to rebuild the Shadow Realm. But it’s slow work and slower without trade partners.”
She stared at him, calculating, curious, and he didn’t want to move, didn’t even want to breathe. It felt like he was making some semblance of progress with a feral cat, and the slightest wrong action would send her scratching and biting.
But he had places to be. He stepped down a few more steps. “At the very least, you’ll get a reprieve from seeing my face for a few days.”
She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled as he made his way down the stairs.
It took the better part of the day traveling to Yeolent, with stopping and resting along the way. The walls of the fortress loomed ahead, flags of green waving in the breeze. Warriors in leather armor, holding axes and shields greeted them at the gate. They were escorted to the main hall where orcs dined loudly.
One orc, older, with a long salt-and-pepper beard and long braids to match, sat at the front. He wore the leather armor common to orcs, with metal pauldrons and a helmet with intricately woven designs sitting on the table in front of them. Lord Killgan.
Kalen and Maria knelt in honor before him, bowing their heads and crossing a fist over their heart, while Dryston bowed as Killgan stood and came forward, shaking Dryston’s hand.
“Come, take your seat next to me, Lord of Shadows,” Killgan said, gesturing to the seat on his left.
Dryston obliged and the music in the hall began, a rustic and jaunty tune with an eight-stringed instrument that chimed through the hall as servants brought in platters overflowing with an assortment of berries, breads, and beer.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Dryston said, taking the beer handed to him and clanking his mug against Killgan’s.
“It’s an honor to host you,” Killgan said. “I’ll admit, I was wary at first. But anyone I questioned about you and your family assured me that you take after your father. I remember Kian. He was a good and fair male.”
Dryston took another drink to swallow down the lump in his throat from those words. “My father always spoke highly of you, Lord Killgan.”
The orc chuckled. “Your father could drink any orc under the table—which is quite the feat.”
Dryston tucked that bit of information away like a treasure. He’d had so few years with his father, and he’d never seen him in a situation like that. Loose and having fun with peers. A keen pain stabbed at his ribs, and he took another drink to wash it away.
“That would explain why he never delayed coming to visit you,” Dryston said with a chuckle.
A smoked ham was brought out with roasted potatoes, a variety of cheeses, and vegetables. They talked for hours about Dryston’s parents, then shifting the conversation into the happenings in the orc realm and what kind of beneficial trades could be made between the Shadow Realm and the Orc Realm of Nemus.
“Strange happenings are underfoot,” Killgan said as the minstrel began singing a slow and low ballad.
“Have you been having issues with magic flare-ups here?” Dryston asked. He’d heard of homes being destroyed and people dying because they didn’t know how to handle their newfound abilities.
Killgan shook his head. “No. Any orc having an issue has been able to manage it. A strong community is one of our pillars, so information spreads quickly and people are well taken care of. I was referring to the odd sightings in the woodlands and burnt-out rings in fields. Have you heard anything about this?”
Dryston frowned. “No, I haven’t. What kind of sightings?”
Killgan’s face grew dark, shadows dancing in his eyes, matching the ones that candles cast on his face. “I haven’t seen any of it, personally. I’ve only heard reports. But there are creatures—ones from old fables, creatures said to be birthed from dark magic, skulking in the cover of the trees and darkness.”
Dryston shuddered from Killgan’s tone alone. He’d seen plenty of horrors on his trip to find Evolis that he couldn’t write this entirely off as merely folktales coming to life from too much drink or imagination. “I’ll ask around and see what I can find.”
Killgan clamped him on the shoulder. “Stay safe, Lord Dryston. There are many who would like to hold any demon accountable for the actions of a few. You’re safe in the orc lands by my decree. But still, be careful.”
Dryston nodded, thankful for the warning. If strange things were afoot, maybe the Hunters’ presence in Orc Haven had more to do with that than with him. And he had every intention of getting that information from Onora, one way or another.