A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

15. Dryston

Chapter 15

Dryston

T hey came to a small stream, stopping to take big, gulping drinks. The water slid down Dryston’s throat, ice cold, pricking and slicing at his hollow stomach, unsettling it as it growled again. Trout swam in the stream like his head swam from hunger.

Onora stood and pulled the chain, but he held firm, making her stop.

“Give me a moment,” he said, eyes focused on the fish. He hadn’t done this since he was a child, messing around with Kaemon and Enid in the streams that fed out of The Darkened City, but he was too desperate not to try.

He heard rumbling from Onora’s stomach and knew that while she had most likely been eating better than him the last few days, she had to be getting weaker, too.

The trout moved against the current, content to make no progress and instead flap their fins and grab whatever bugs fell down the stream and into their mouths. It was harder to see them from the rippling water, but he could make out enough. The occasional flash of rainbow in the filtered sunlight let him know they were there. Poising his free hand up, he stepped into the icy cold water, waiting, waiting ... Then he plunged his arm down, clamping around the slimy fish and pulled up, quickly securing it with his other hand.

Standing, he turned to Onora. She regarded him with a look of surprise and—dare he say it—approval. But she quickly schooled her face with ennui. He held the fish out to her, and she pulled up the edge of her shirt, grabbing the fish with it so it wouldn’t slip away as it flopped desperately.

“One more,” he said, and focused again. It went quicker the second time around and he pulled a larger fish out, gripping it firmly, his mouth watering as his stomach growled again. It opened its mouth and closed it, gasping for water that wouldn’t come.

They sat by a tree and Dryston looked down at the fish, wondering how he would get to the meat without just biting into it like a wild animal. He was about to, when Onora nudged his leg with her foot and held out a small carving knife. He frowned at her and she shrugged. Why was he not shocked she had another blade on her? Thankfully, this one was small and not sharp enough or big enough to cause a fatal wound without him noticing first and stopping her.

He cut the fish open and removed the innards that they couldn’t eat uncooked. Then they both laid into it hungrily. The raw fishy taste had never been something he was either opposed to or drawn to, but in that moment it tasted like sheer bliss. He could almost weep from the clarity that returned to his mind with each bite. He cleaned it of any meat and edible parts, careful not to take the fine bones and swallow them. Then they washed their hands in the stream.

Onora gave him a sideways look and an almost imperceptible nod of thanks. He would take it, take anything from her at the moment. He wasn’t delusional enough to think it meant she wasn’t currently plotting his demise, but maybe it was a step in the right direction.

He gripped the knife in his hand, debating, knowing it was foolish to give it back to her. But she’d given it to him freely, letting him know she had it, and in this moment there was some small semblance of camaraderie.

She shook her head. “Keep it. For the next fish we catch.”

He tucked it away in his pocket, shocked at how easily she was complying. How easily she had been complying since their last fight. Maybe her mind was changing—unlikely. Most likely, she’d come to some realization that they needed to work together for the moment.

They continued on, Onora picking up raider berries and handing them back to him, her mostly lithe, though her feet sometimes stumbled, cracking limbs or brambles, and he instinctively held an arm to steady her, pulling back before she could see. Not only did he think she would hate his offer of help, but he hated that he still had that instinct with her.

It was something he had for most people. Born from not only being the oldest sibling and trained from a young age to be heir to the throne of The Darkened City, but also from taking over as leader and parent when he was only nineteen. He often wondered what he would be like if all that responsibility hadn’t been thrust on him so young, before he knew who he was or what he wanted. He’d been the only thread holding Enid together, his colony together, and his realm together.

The weight of it still bore down on him. Kalen desperately wanted him to find a mate to help ease the burden. The Lord of Shadows’s mate always bore an equivalent title—lady or lord of shadows—and while their roles would be a bit different, it was equal in the honor and the trammel.

Dryston also wanted to find his mate, for many reasons beyond that. Seeing Enid and Kaemon with theirs filled him with an aching void, a loneliness he couldn’t assuage with the lovers he took. Yet, he’d never found one. The moon rites, which were close upcoming, were a time for people to meet with other clans and colonies in hopes of a mate bond presenting itself.

Yet it never had for him, and he was growing weary of trying.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he would have to again. He was no fool. His odds of coming out of this unscathed were small. If he could only get word to Silenus, or another ally, letting them know that he didn’t want the demons to retaliate, he would consider it a good ending.

He couldn’t have his people flung into another war. He couldn’t have their shaky reputations further tarnished.

Onora halted, throwing her hand up, and then crept to the side. He followed silently behind her, sending out his hearing.

Humans were talking.

He hunkered in closer to her by the side of the tree, looking around. She looked up at him, annoyed, but said nothing about his proximity. He listened carefully. They were Hunters which was shit luck for them.

“Can’t find the tracks,” one of them said.

“We’ve been canvassing the whole area, and nothing,” another said.

“Can you hear them?” she whispered.

He looked down, her eyes rising to meet his and catching, stilling as the world seemed to fall away from him. Her proximity was like a drug, filling his lungs and making his head empty.

“Well?” she asked, frowning, and he came to again.

“Yes,” he whispered back, focusing.

“We saw him dip into the woods here,” one said.

“They can’t have moved that quickly to be out of the forest. Send a raven asking for extra Hunters to cover more ground.”

It was silent for a beat and Onora said, “What are they saying? Is it Hunters?”

The men began speaking again, but Dryston only heard the last part. “... he said to kill her, too.”

Onora screamed.

The sound made him stumble back, grasping his ear as she screamed at the top of her lungs, then started yelling for help. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. That she wasn’t hurt or in danger, but that she was crying out for the Hunters to help her get away from him.

He jumped on her, tackling her to the ground and clamping a hand over her mouth, the other wrapping around her torso. She struggled, kicking and trying to bite him, but he pressed her harder against him, locking his legs around hers. She bucked and wiggled but couldn’t get free; her screaming was muffled to almost nothing from his hand.

He sent out his hearing again.

“Was that her?”

“What’s he doing to her?”

Dryston knew he didn’t have time to formulate any real plan. So instead he stood, having to let her loose for a minute, enduring her bloodcurdling scream, then he swung the chain around, pinning her arm and wrapping it around her neck. She gurgled, her eyes going wide in shock as he tugged her against him, then threw her over his shoulder, keeping the chain tight enough that her scream was reduced to nothing but a faint, pained noise but loose enough to not cause harm.

Then he ran.