13. Dryston
Chapter 13
Dryston
T hey traveled for hours, Onora in front and Dryston following behind. Dizziness buzzed in his head like a bee, but he shook it off and kept walking. He’d had barely enough food and water the last few days, and with the poison and lack of sleep, he wasn’t sure how he was still walking.
He supposed it was fear. Though he couldn't properly feel it. No, it felt instead like this deep, dark cavern that echoed beneath the raging sounds of his anger, which was the only thing he could truly feel at the moment.
Anger at himself for getting caught again. Anger for even hoping the humans might give him a fair trial and hoping they’d want to one day have an alliance. Anger that Onora had not only had a hand in it all, but also that she so readily wanted to be the one to kill him.
And finally, anger that he very well could, and probably would, die soon. He hadn’t given up, evidenced by the fact that he still walked ahead of her, trying desperately to find where exactly they were in the woods and how far they would be from Orc Haven, but he knew the odds weren’t looking good.
He could still feel Onora’s neck in his hands, how small and fragile she was. He could still taste her fear that had soured the air.
For all he knew and had experienced, he hadn’t expected that much fear from her. He also hadn’t expected her to attack him so viciously. His shoulder and stomach still ached from the stab wounds, even if they were healing fast.
He drew in a steadying breath to calm himself enough to think. He’d done very little canvassing of the woods in his time in Orc Haven. But he could tell from the sun what direction was west and he, at the very least, knew that was the best direction to go. If they were lucky, they’d cross the river and not be too far from Silenus, who would help.
The day wore on and they slowly made progress, stopping at creeks to drink, grabbing fruits and nuts along the way. She gave him a handful of red berries he didn’t recognize, and he looked at them skeptically.
“What are these?” he asked.
“Raider berries,” she said.
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They’re native to this area and not particularly fun to eat because of the tartness, so that’s not surprising.”
He handed them back to her. “You eat them first.”
She gave him a dull look. “Are you serious?”
He nodded, staring at her, waiting.
She popped them in her mouth, exaggerating her chewing, swallowing, then pulling back her gums and shooting out her tongue to show him that they were gone. He hesitated a moment, wondering if it was a ploy, but her teeth and tongue were stained red and there truly was no sign of her being poisoned.
He ate them, harvesting more along with her as they both greedily ate. His stomach still rumbled, starving, but this would have to do for now.
The forest was overgrown, a thicket of thorns and bushes making his steps stumble. His foot caught on a root and he launched forward, yanking on the chain by accident, tugging Onora back, slamming her into a tree. She shot him a glare, and he shrugged.
She drew in a deep breath and followed him, lithe over the rough terrain in a way that showed how much time she’d spent in the wilderness. He paid attention to the chain, keeping it slack and not letting it swing too much, but otherwise, he was lost in his thoughts and focusing on the trail ahead of him.
What in the darkest pit was he going to do about her?
He didn’t want to kill her. He told himself it was for many very impersonal reasons. First being for alliances. He didn’t think any hope remained with the humans now, but he didn’t want to harm his chances with the orcs or anyone else. Second being that while he was often angry, he wasn’t violent. He had killed when necessary, and he’d do it again, but it was an odious thing.
He ignored the voice in his head that kept reminding him of that moment, months ago, when he lay almost dead before the witch, Hevena. When Onora showed up and helped him, saving his life. She’d said they were even, but she’d torn a piece of her cloak and bandaged his largest wound, knowing that he had swift healing and wouldn’t need it.
It had been a precaution to ensure he lived, in case there was anything she hadn’t accounted for in his healing.
It was a sign of care that he’d been unable to shake from his memory.
He knew it was her honor that she had cared for her natural enemy, for a being she’d trained her whole life to fight and destroy. A being she had been taught to hate.
Yet he remembered, as his mind fluttered in and out of consciousness, how she’d knelt and wrapped the cloth around his wound, telling him not to die.
He shook his head, trying to shake the memory off as he hiked through the forest. Perhaps he couldn’t quite shake that hope. Perhaps he didn’t want to.
The morning slipped away into the afternoon and his stomach rumbled angrily at him, deep pants he couldn’t stave off with berries alone. He wished he knew where they were, but he’d landed in a hurry. He knew they’d have Hunters on his tail, and he couldn’t fly fast enough while holding Onora to get out of range of their arrows.
How long until they canvassed the forest? How long until they found them? He reached deep within himself, tugging and pulling at the magic that had always felt so easy and constant before. Not now. Not with these shackles on and the velin still in his system. It felt like poking someone dead asleep, unable to wake it, only rouse it.
Yet he’d been able to when he’d flown away. Shadows had engulfed them, his panic enough to snap it awake. Somehow, he was able to tap into his abilities still, but minimally.
The chain between them shifted slightly, just so slightly. He turned to see what was happening when he was met with the edge of a dagger coming straight for his face. He narrowly dodged it, the knife’s edge grazing his cheek, blood bubbling up and sliding down his face as Onora stumbled forward, past him, and then caught her balance.
She stared at him, angry, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed, ready to fight.
Again.
“Gods-fucking-damnit,” he spit out as she lunged at him again.
He blocked the hit, the cut grazing his arm this time, the pain radiating up his shoulder. He twisted, grabbing her wrist, and slamming her against a tree. She grunted, bringing her knee up and hitting him square in the groin. Pain lanced through him, weakening his grip and making his vision blur just enough that she slipped out, thrusting the dagger at him again. He hooked his leg and swept it under her, making her fall back with a cry, and then he was on top of her. He grabbed the dagger, sticking it in his trousers with the other one, and held her down by her wrists.
She glared up at him. “Fine then, kill me.”
He raised a brow. “I have no interest in that. But if you don’t behave, I will find a way to tie you up.”
Snarling, she said, “As if you wouldn’t enjoy that.”
“Oh, you’d love it more than me, darling. You’d be begging for more.”
She scoffed, turning her head away. He stood and gestured for her to go in front.
“You’ll lead the way from now on,” he said.
She’d just tried to kill him.
Again.
For the third time.
If he could just make it out of this forest alive, he’d count himself blessed by the gods.