A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

24. Onora

Chapter 24

Onora

O nora tried to keep her face blank, to hide the fear that roiled under her skin. Dryston only raised a brow, letting that arrogant smirk she’d always found so aggravating come to the corners of his mouth. She truly didn’t know what she meant by that. She only knew that she’d always had one goal since her family died. And if she didn’t have that, then what did she have?

“What if I kill you first?”

She scoffed. “If you can manage that, then you win.”

“Not really,” he mumbled, looking back over the water, his brow furrowing.

She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but it died on her tongue, swallowed by her fear like the many other questions she had.

Like why their tattoos were identical. She knew he had tattoos—he was the Lord of Shadows. And she knew her tattoos were different from the normal mocking ones the other Hunters got.

What she couldn’t reason out is why hers were exactly like his.

Had the magic, when Enid unleashed it in Evolis, put her under his thrall?

It would explain her hesitation in killing him. It would explain why, for all her threats, she wanted to believe that he was good. Despite all the evidence she had to the contrary.

Or at least, the evidence she had once had.

She glanced stealthily at him as he gazed out over the water, lost in thought. He was handsome. She was able to think that without her stomach dipping in horror, without her mind fighting it.

Because she knew he wasn’t behind the attacks. And she knew that he had been protecting her—caring for her this whole time.

She didn’t quite know what to do with that.

No one had ever treated her that way.

He had every reason not to. A tight band wrapped around her chest, constricting as she tried to parse out how she should feel about him. About all of it. The chief commanding that she was killed on the spot left her untethered, flying loose. Nothing felt right, and she wanted to take her anger out on someone. But she couldn’t use him as a proxy anymore. No, her ire needed a new target.

Darkness covered their tracks, but so did Onora as they wandered on, Dryston leading this time. His wings twitched when he fanned them out, stretching, only to shudder back against him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded, waving a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing.”

They came to a bend, taking them away from the river. She followed him dutifully, not questioning him as he often stopped, looking around and examining the surroundings for clues of their exact whereabouts.

It was noon the next time he stopped, leaning against a tree, his breathing labored. She came in front of him to see his face pale and skin clammy. Her hand flew to his forehead. It was hot as a brand.

Fuck.

“Tilt down,” she said steadily, examining his wings.

He obliged, and she kept her face blank, free of worry that could upset him.

They were infected. And bad.

Which shouldn’t be happening because of his demonic healing powers.

Unless the arrows had been poisoned.

She could curse herself for not checking more carefully. They hadn’t used the velin on the arrows before, most likely due to the sudden nature of needing to pursue them. The poison had to be made only an hour before using.

“I know,” he gasped out, his accepting gaze meeting hers.

“You know and you didn’t say anything?” she hissed, shadows puffing like smoke from her hands and shoulders. She didn’t even bother trying to pull them back in.

He gave a mirthless laugh. “What can we do about it?”

“We need to find silver fern.”

Though she’d seen none. She’d been looking for it in case they did need it. They would need a lot, considering the state he was in now. She’d have to make a tea and poultice and possibly bleed the wounds.

“I’ve been looking,” he said, shaking his head. “We have to keep walking.”

He stood to keep going and stumbled. She caught him, pressing him back against the tree.

“You need to rest.” Panic wrapped around her throat, humming through her limbs.

“Why? So I can die, lying in the forest, with you chained to me?”

He stood again, grimacing, and kept walking. “Silenus lives near here. I can find him.”

She acquiesced, following behind him, keeping a careful eye on the state of him. It wasn’t looking good. His steps were sloppy and slow, his eyes blinking in and out. Hallucinations and panic would overtake him before the poison killed him.

She searched her mind and memory for any way out of this. She looked at every bit of greenery they passed, hoping the next one would be a large crop of silver fern. But it was no use. Winter was setting in and had already killed off so many plants.

A horn sounded through the woods, low and ominous, making every bit of her come alert. Shortly following it was the sound of dogs barking.

Dryston shook his head, blinking as his chest rose and fell rapidly in terror. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong and sure despite his weakened state, and he lifted her, jumping into a dizzying sprint. She couldn’t comprehend how he was able to go at this speed with the poison in his system, but he seemed to have gotten a second wind. His face paled more, his veins turning black before her eyes, the poison spreading faster and faster as his blood pumped harder from the exertion.

“Stop!” she said, her fear carried on the wind as he continued on.

He didn’t stop. He either didn’t comprehend what she was saying, or he didn’t care. She pressed her hand to his cheek, trying to get his attention. His bleary eyes darted to her only a second before he focused forward again, giving the slightest shake of his head.

“Dryston,” she pleaded. “Dryston, stop. Stop!”

“I ...” His breathing was labored and painful, each inhale seeming to barely fill his lungs. “... can’t ...”

“Dryston, you have to,” she said. “You’re making the poison spread in your blood faster.”

He shook his head and kept forward, stumbling but catching himself. The wounds in his wings were bubbling, jagged holes that made her stomach churn.

“You won’t be able ...” He stopped, slumping against a tree and blinking his eyes rapidly. “You can’t carry my body alone ... I have to get you to someone who can help you.”

She furrowed her brow, taking her hand and pressing it against his forehead. He was even hotter than before. Shit. This was spreading too fast.

“Just stop. Let me try to find silver fern and maybe it will slow down.”

He shook his head again. “No. I’m dying, Onora. You won’t be able to carry my body. You’ll be captured and killed. I have to get you to Silenus.”

Her chest constricted painfully. He wasn’t running away to get them both to safety. He thought he would die.

And he wanted to ensure she wouldn’t.

Fuck .

She whipped her head around, looking for silver fern, but she couldn’t see any. Dryston kept going, slowing bit by bit as the hounds’ barking came closer. She looked at their feet as they fled, trying to see any sign of silver fern, or anything that could abate the poison.

He thought he was dying.

She swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought.

He was dying.

Shit.

A few days ago, she’d been the one volunteering to take his life.

Now the thought made her want to vomit.

Then she saw it. The glint of soft, silvery foliage in the forest.

“Dryston, there!” she said, pointing toward it.

His head whipped around and he came to a stuttering halt. She wriggled out of his arms, tugging him along to the creek bed where it was. So close, right in reach. Just a few more steps.

She felt the tug first, the yank that popped her shoulder out in a flash of pain so keen she had to bite down on her other arm to keep from screaming. She fell back then, on top of his body, heaving and immobile. He’d passed out.

She shifted, coming to his side, checking his face and pulse. He was alive, but if she had to bet, the delirium was setting in. Her arm ached and dangled at her side. She grabbed a nearby stick, shoving it in her mouth and clamping down on it. She positioned her body against him, lining up her arm and then, on the count of three, she shoved her shoulder back into the socket. Another flash of white-hot pain washed over her body, starting at her shoulder and spreading from head to toe.

She spit the stick out, panting hard, her jaw aching. She looked down at him. Well fuck, this wasn’t good. He was enormous.

The barking grew louder behind them and an eerie calm came over her. If she was going to die, she would at least go out with a fight.

She looped her arms under his shoulder, wincing and gritting her teeth, then pulled, able to drag him painstakingly slowly. Bit by bit she accomplished it, bringing him to the edge of the creek, taking all the silver fern with her and shoving it in her pocket. They came to the water, and she sat in it, pulling his head onto her lap as his wings were washed in the softly flowing water. The iciness pricked at her, but she took a bit of her shirt and ripped it, dipping it in the water and placing it over his forehead. He stirred, his eyes moving behind the lids, and she hoped it eased some of the pain.

Was this all she could offer him? Some relief in death? A bit of company?

“Are you okay?”

The memory came to her again, and her eyes shuttered closed. His body over hers, shielding her, protecting her. Putting himself directly in harm’s way to do so. A light burst in her chest, fiery hot like a forest fire, brighter than the sun, burning, burning and eating away inside of her.

“Let me come play, Onora.”

She was tired, too tired to tell the voice to hush. She was furious, too furious to even listen to it. And she was scared—far too scared to just sit here and wait for them to die.

She moved, getting on her knees and inspecting his wounds again. Her vision was framed by blurry flecks, her world tilting and turning slightly even as she stayed still. She was in bad shape herself. But his wounds—gods, the wounds were terrible. Festering and sizzling, oozing blood and puss, his veins blackening and spreading.

“Fuck you for trying to die on me!” she hissed with a venom and anger that could shatter worlds.

That voice within her chuckled, a heady and alluring thing that she didn’t have the strength to ignore. It wrapped around the shadows in her, the magic in her, threading it with sparks of lightning, flashes that resounded off her arms.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open, and a stupid, boyish smile came over his face.

“Always frowning,” he said.

“I need you to say that incantation again. Use my power and heal yourself,” she said, livid.

His fingers found her braid, touching the silky soft strands. “By the goddess, it’s unfair how beautiful you are.”

“Stop your nonsense,” she barked, “and say the godsdamned incantation, Dryston.”

“Absolutely gorgeous when you’re angry.” He was crazed from the fever. What in the darkest pit was she supposed to do?

She slapped him across the face.

“I swear by your twin goddesses that if you compliment me again, I’ll kill you and drag your corpse along with me until I find the magesmith myself.”

He raised his brows and closed his eyes. The pain was receding some, but the poison was settling in. He’d lose consciousness soon.

Her hands laid over his heart. “Gods-fucking-damnit!” Then she started muttering the words she’d heard him say, her tongue slipping over the syllables, the rough-hewn consonants something that seemed to escape her.

“Your accent is terrible,” he muttered.

She shot him a glare but didn’t stop speaking, her mouth furious and her eyes ablaze like lava. She kept going, so blind with the rage of her emotions welling up that she couldn’t see anything until she was done. Slumping to the ground, body wiped and drained as she looked down at him. The wounds were healed and his skin was cool. He had passed out, but the black veins were gone now.

Her legs and arms shook as her emotions calmed and her body became aware of every ache and pain in her.

Water splashed, and she swiveled around in an instant, her dagger out and ready. A nymph sank down below the water. Only her eyes and the top of her head were visible. Her finger pointed up, though, and a soft, flutelike whistle sounded. She was alerting someone, and Onora tried to stumble to her feet, tried to tug on him, but she only fell in the water again, too weak.

Twigs snapped and leaves crunched in the forest, and she gripped her dagger. Nothing readily presented itself and tension coiled in her gut.

Shit .

Something else shifted, and she stood, stepping up to the edge where she’d heard it. There was silence and she evened out her breathing, honing her hearing. The faintest sound of breath was directly in front of her, hiding in the dark. Thrusting her hand out, she hit flesh, and she wrapped her hand around it and yanked, making the being yelp as she pulled it into the clearing.

Moonlight colored his pale skin blue, his amber eyes seeming to glow golden as he stared at her. The jewels on his antlers tinkled and his long, delicate fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“I mean no harm, my dear,” Silenus said. “Naida told me friends were in trouble. I’m here to help.”

She swallowed back the sob of relief forming in her throat and nodded, unable to form the words of fear and relief that mixed like bitter herbs and sugar on her tongue.

Silenus walked up and examined Dryston, grimacing. “He was shot with poisonous arrows, I see.”

“I can’t tell if all the poison is gone,” she said.

Barking passed in the distance, but it was farther away, growing fainter with each yelp of the hounds. Had the dogs caught another scent?

“If you’ll help me carry him, my house is a little way away.”

Onora helped Silenus pick up Dryston. Unconscious, it felt like trying to move a boulder, but they managed—slowly.

Silenus lived in a hollowed-out tree. The door opened up to a cozy scene, a living area with a fireplace decorated with crafted items from the woods, a pleasant seating area with blankets and stacks of books, and off to the side, a generous bed. She helped Silenus take Dryston there and lay him down, collapsing on the bed with him, his head falling in her lap. Then Silenus went to his counter and washbasin, gathered herbs from a jar, and began making a salve.

Onora chewed her lip, guilt washing over her. This was a simple male, living a cozy life. She could very well be bringing the wrath of the guild on his head.

“We’re being hunted,” she blurted out.

Silenus gave her a smile over his shoulder and nodded. “I gathered as much, from the wounds and chains, etcetera.”

“They may come for you.”

Silenus shrugged. “I doubt it. I have my house warded and the surrounding woods. They’ll never be able to find me. No offense, but the humans of Nemus are not very adept at identifying magic spells.”

Onora knew that was true. Having no magic until recently had meant they were at a severe disadvantage from everyone else.

“Is that why the hounds didn’t follow us to the river?”

Silenus mixed the herbs together. “Most likely.”

She let out a sigh of relief.

Silenus brought the salve over, along with water and rags. He began cleaning Dryston’s wounds, then tilted his head back to help the tea he brewed go down.

“What happened?” Silenus asked, taking a damp rag and placing it on his forehead.

She drew in a deep breath, the events of the last few days stretching in her mind like years. So much had happened, and so much had changed in her heart and mind. She told Silenus all that had occurred.

“I ...” She chewed her lip and looked down at Dryston, his eyes fluttering behind closed lids, his breathing even now, but his skin still clammy and more pale than she’d like it to be. “I volunteered to execute him.”

She couldn’t look at Silenus for that confession. She didn’t know why she felt confident telling him these things, but she did. He had a gentle way of looking at her that made her want to blurt every thought to him. Shame wormed through her body, and she couldn’t bear to see his reaction, as much as she still felt the need to utter the words out loud. To clear the air. To let Silenus know who he was helping.

Silenus chuckled. “Well, I don’t think he deserved it for what he was accused of, but I can’t say I blame you. He can be lethally tiresome at times. However, the poets say love and hate stem from the same vine of passion.”

He flashed her a sympathetic smile, a look of knowing in his usually playful eyes, and the shame fell away to an oddly tender feeling. Like a wound healing, and she looked away again, launching back into the rest of the story.

“They’re hunting me as well,” she said.

Silenus pursed his lips. “That’s a very curious thing ... Something is afoot here. Some scheming I don’t care for.”

The chaos they’d been through hadn’t lent her much time to think it all through, but even now, she couldn’t comprehend it. What scheming could be happening? Why order her to be killed? And more importantly, why lie and make Dryston and the demons the scapegoat?