A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

36. Onora

Chapter 36

Onora

“ W ho is that from?” Dryston asked.

“Jackson,” she replied. “He says they realize you aren’t the cause of the attacks, and the warrant has been called off.”

Dryston frowned. “How does Jackson know we’re here?”

“He knows about Tannin, and he knows that Tannin would be who I would suggest seeing to take the shackles off. He’s the only one who knows, though.”

“Do you trust the missive?” He rubbed his jaw, worried.

“It’s in his handwriting.” She stood. “I have to get ready. He wants me to meet him at midnight. Tannin, do you have a horse I can borrow?”

Tannin nodded. “I’ll get her ready for you.”

Dryston grabbed her arm as she went up the stairs. “Are you certain it’s safe?”

“Yes. Jackson wouldn’t send this to me if it wasn’t. And maybe I can help figure out what’s happening with the attacks.”

It was silent for a moment, his eyes swimming with questions.

“Don’t go back,” he said.

“They’re my people,” she said quietly.

“I don’t think it’s safe.”

She clenched her jaw. “What would you have me do?”

There was nowhere else to go. If she didn’t have this ... She had nothing.

“Come with me,” he said fervently.

“To The Darkened City?” she scoffed.

“You could.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “And be killed on sight?”

“They won’t—I won’t allow it.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “I can’t ... Dryston. I just can’t.”

She believed he would protect her. But at what cost? He had loyalty to his people, and would they truly accept her? Be comfortable with her? A human in the cave city of the Shadow Realm? It was laughable. Besides, she would have to watch him find his mate and the thought of that made her stomach turn.

“Or stay with the elves or orcs. Just don’t go back to the human lands yet,” he added flippantly. “Just be careful. Make sure it’s truly safe.”

His care warmed her heart in uncomfortable ways, but it was only that—his general care.

“I will. Jackson wouldn’t summon me if he thought there was any chance of endangering me.”

She went up the stairs, grabbing the few items she had. She’d need to leave soon, and she wanted to carry light. Tannin had a few of her old daggers she’d left here, and she carefully placed them on her, then headed back downstairs. Dryston waited for her in the kitchen, arms crossed, chewing his lip as he stared out the window at the fields in front of the house.

There were so many things to say—too many. The words tangled, collapsing in on themselves until they were nothing. So instead, she pulled out her favorite dagger, the only one she’d kept on her this entire time and handed it to him. He stared at it in her hand before taking it, turning it over, the etchings glinting in the light. It was a demon dagger, one she’d taken during the occupation and had become a comfort to her. She been able to hide it and keep it secret and it had always felt like a small protection.

Because of that, she never actually used it. She just kept on her for good luck. She’d always seen it as a sign that she’d used their weapons against them, that she’d overcome the demons. But handing it to Dryston colored a new meaning. It meant she felt free of that old fear—mostly. She was certainly becoming free of it, and was when it came to him. He’d made her feel safer and more protected than the dagger ever had.

But she didn’t tell him any of that.

“You’ll need some form of protection on your way to Port Arro,” she said stiffly. “I have plenty enough.”

“This is a demon-made dagger,” he said, frowning.

“I took it long ago, during the occupation. It’s good luck.”

He gave her a faint smile, concern and many other emotions swimming in his eyes. She wanted to say all the words that bubbled up in her, but she shoved them down. It was no use now.

“Goodbye,” she said.

“Goodbye.”

Then, she left.

It took several hours to reach the bridge, but she had plenty of time to wait and think before it was midnight. The cool night air bit at her cheeks and she nuzzled against Tannin’s horse, shielding herself from the wind. She supposed Dryston was already in Port Arro by now, perhaps making plans to fly far from Nemus, back to his home.

She would probably never see him again. Their goodbye had been brief, succinct, barren. There were many unsaid words between them, but the two nights of bliss would have to be enough. The thought hurt more than she cared to admit, so she just looked up at the moon, wondering about the moon goddesses of the demons. She wondered if Dryston would have shared more with her if she’d gone with him. It would have been foolish, but part of her wished she had taken him up on it.

Stupidity. She hadn’t survived this long by being impulsive and driven by her emotions. The demons would want her killed. Dryston would grow tired of her, and she’d truly have nowhere. She just needed to speak to Jackson, to see him and hear his voice and her mind would be righted.

Finally, she heard horses approaching, and she frowned, looking to the other side of the bridge. There were so many Hunters coming toward her. Hadn’t Jackson said it would be just them? Or had he said that only she should come?

Scanning the faces of the Hunters, she didn’t see Jackson, but she did see Brayden. An oily feeling slithered in her stomach, some primal fear that made her almost mount the horse and run.

But Jackson had said that the bounty was called off. Maybe Jackson was at the back and she couldn’t see him.

Brayden dismounted as he came closer, walking toward her. She took a step back as other Hunters rode swiftly to the front, surrounding her.

Shit.

“You came,” he said, a calculating smile spreading across his face.

“Where’s Jackson?” she asked.

“Good question. We hoped you could tell us,” Brayden said.

“He sent me a letter and?—”

Brayden laughed.

“Gods, I forgot how grating that noise is,” she spat, and Brayden snarled.

“I sent you that letter. I was afraid you’d be able to tell it wasn’t from him, but I suppose you are easily fooled.”

Her heart stuttered. “It was in his handwriting.”

Brayden waved his hand dismissively. “That’s an easy enough spell.”

“For who?” Tannin had told her once that forgery required a great deal of care and skill, and many were unable to perform spells like that. Too much precision. It was easier to do it by hand.

“I think you know her, but I don’t want to spoil the surprise. She’s very excited to see you again.”

“Who?”

He tsked, waving his finger. “Now, now, patience is a virtue, dear.”

He came next to her, grabbing her arm. She recoiled, but his grip was strong and there were too many arrows poised to fly at her if she tried to fight him.

What in the darkest pit was going on?

“Where’s Jackson?” she demanded again.

“Where, oh where? See, no one has heard hide nor hair of him for about a week now. We thought perhaps we’d draw you both out with this. But it seems he’s less gullible.”

She cursed under her breath. The letter hadn’t sounded like Jackson, but she hadn’t even bothered to question it because it was in his handwriting.

A fool. She’d been a damned fool.

Brayden grabbed her sleeve, pulling it back. He looked over her tattoos with disgust, then held her arm up for all to see. Hunters grumbled and cursed, and she yanked her arm back.

“He’s marked her as his mate!” Brayden said, pointing at her in horror.

Onora glowered at him, but the protest died on her lips.

Fuck. Oh. Fuck!

She had to get out of this. They would kill her. Put her up for some sham trial before killing her. Full circle, as she’d done to Dryston.

But if she fought him, she could die.

It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t go down without a fight—without her honor.

She brought her elbow down forcefully, hitting him on the nose, the crack filling the air. He cried out and lunged at her, but she brought her dagger up, slashing at him, cutting his arm. He drew his sword and circled her.

Well, fuck.

This wasn’t good at all.

He slashed down at her, and she ducked under as the other Hunters surrounded her. She slashed at one’s leg and he cried out as an arrow flew, grazing her cheek.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Another slashed at her and sliced her arm, the warm, sticky blood dripping as she rolled to the side, away from them. Then another arrow flew, hitting her in the shoulder of her dominant arm.

She would have to give up. But then she’d be subjected to the gods knew what.

Let me out to play, Onora.

She didn’t push the voice away this time, she didn’t shut it down. What other options did she have?

Yes? she asked it.

Let me make them pay.

Onora breathed in heavily, her fear of whatever this was overtaking her. What was she unleashing? What was she doing? This phantom voice that had followed her since childhood. So she closed her eyes and let it take over.

First, the world became black. A pitch blackness the likes of which she’d only seen one other time. In Evolis, when she’d been fighting Hevena. Everything shifted, tilting, things warping like noodles on a fork.

That’s right. Let go. Let me take care of you.

She’d lost control before, losing track of time and space, and she tugged on the reins.

Okay then, I’ll let you see.

The shadows shifted and she could see—but it felt different. As if it weren’t her eyes perceiving it, but instead her whole body became aware of things in front of and behind her, as if she could feel it and then her mind could see it clearly. The Hunters were shouting in fear, but every sound was swallowed up in the intense blackness, dying away as it sank away like water in a drain.

Brayden ran, fleeing somehow, and the voice inside of her didn’t care, letting him go.

A cold seeped in, more intense than winter, greater than the ice caps of the mountains, a cold that pierced the bones and wrapped around them like a blanket. They turned to ice, and she knew their veins were cracking and breaking, their faces fashioned in an eternal scream.

Onora’s powers were shifting, growing, pulling until she was unaware of herself, of time, of anything but cold darkness.

When she came to, their bodies lay on the ground, their lips and skin blue. She shuddered out a cold breath that drifted on the air. Her shoulder ached, her head dizzy. She’d lost a decent amount of blood and there was poison in this arrow. Regular poison, not the velin that only affected magical beings. She stumbled to the horse, and carefully climbed on her back. She rode her over the plains, her vision blurring and her heart racing. Where could she go? Tannin’s place was compromised, and she didn’t know where Jackson was. She had nowhere to go—no one to trust.

Except Dryston.

Where was he now?

Something inside of her tugged and pulled, like a cord of gold. And in her muddled mind, hazy with each thought that slipped away, she followed it. Because what else could she do?