The Blood Crown (The Blood Folk #2)

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

T he surface of the Kesh glittered like liquid crystal in the fading winter light as they followed its meandering curves.

Karro’s baritone rumbled over the burble of the river as he hummed a tune beside Aurelia, his voice surprisingly pleasant.

She glanced to where Ven walked ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the pines. Her eyes trailed down his spine, quickly landing on a nearby tree as he glanced over his shoulder.

Karro’s humming ceased as he glanced between the two of them, raising a dark brow.

“A cave, further up,” Ven threw over his shoulder, jerking his chin toward the steep climb ahead of them, and Aurelia was grateful for the distraction as they plowed ahead in silence.

They’d barely spoken a word to each other since he’d bandaged up her leg, but the things she wanted to say to him—needed to say . . . they were still too delicate, too fragile to speak aloud.

The gaping mouth of the cavern was mostly hidden by shrubs and pines, curving away as Karro’s broad back disappeared into darkness. He emerged a few moments later, ducking under the rock. “Looks like some animal had its den here at one point, but it’s not been back for some time. Months, if I had to guess, but the scent should keep away any other predators.”

Glancing between the two large males in front of her, dark blades gleaming from where they were strapped across their chests, their arms, their hips. She let out a small huff of breath at the thought that either of them were concerned with other predators.

“It’s a good enough place,” Ven said. “Dusk isn’t far off. We’ll make a fire, fill our bellies for the night, and stay hidden.”

“I’ll find some kindling,” Karro replied, brushing off his shadowskin as he turned away toward the pines.

Faced with the prospect of being alone with Ven—Aurelia followed after him, trailing the smooth sound of his voice as he hummed, holding branches out of the way for her.

Her eyes scanned the forest, the saturated colors of late fall still apparent even in the early clutches of winter. Russet and bronze. Gold and scarlet. The deep indigo and emerald of the pines still scattered throughout.

It would be one of many firsts for her, sleeping out in the wilderness with only the ground as a bed.

Asher had waxed poetic about the patrols he’d done with the blue guard out in the more remote parts of the Valley. The rural areas where they might only come across a cottage every other day. No inns or creature comforts. Only the roughly spun blankets they carried in their packs and the stars above their heads.

And something about staring out at the expanse of the Shades before her felt like a small tether to her brother. She had taken Asher’s quick wit and his easy grins for granted, thinking that she’d be enduring his jokes and his snide remarks for the rest of her life, and now . . .

Karro’s singing stopped. “You’re quiet.”

She knelt to pick up a branch. “What would you like to talk about,” she bit out, immediately feeling remorseful for her tone.

Karro turned, raising a dark brow. “Save your venom for him,” he stabbed a branch toward the campsite, “I didn't do anything to deserve it.”

“I’m sorry—it’s not fair of me to take it out on either of you,” she mumbled, “I just—” The words caught in her throat, the jumble of emotions too twisted and tangled for her to comb through.

“Come on.” Karro turned back toward their camp, arms loaded with wood as she followed.

He dropped the pile of branches, dusting off his hands as he motioned her toward a clearing a dozen feet away. Without a word, he braced his feet apart, falling into a sparring stance across from her, hands raised.

“You don’t want to talk. That’s fine, but that unspent anger is going to be a liability to you—to us —if we get caught in another fight.”

An argument was on her tongue—but the frustration, the rage still pulsing through her body made her snap her mouth shut. He was right. And she wasn’t prideful enough to be stupid.

Her feet found the positions he’d drilled into her as Ven appeared at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree. He crossed his arms over his chest, wry amusement written plainly on his face, hooking a booted foot over his ankle as if he planned to enjoy the show.

“Let’s see if you forgot everything I taught you while you were playing dress up,” Karro drawled, purposely stoking her temper.

Karro made the perfect target as her fists found their mark. Huge, solid, her hits landing squarely where he’d taught her.

“Good,” he echoed after every throw, effortlessly dodging her strikes, catching her fists with his raised palms.

Jab. Cross. Hook. Jab. Cross. Hook.

The steady rhythm had her blood singing, sweat beading at her brow as the tension in her body unwound with every strike.

“What happened, Ari,” Karro murmured.

She ignored the question. Jab. Cross. Hook.

But slowly, surely, the emotions that she’d shoved down came rising back up to the surface.

Her eyes stung with sweat, Karro’s face becoming blurry as she landed hit after hit. He only bared down on her, becoming the punching bag she needed.

No—for that she’d need a mirror.

At some point, Ven switched out with him, silent as he took her hits. As infuriatingly unflinching as Karro had been.

Self-loathing and worthlessness bubbled up through the shell of anger that she’d wrapped herself in.

The fact that this—all of this—had been for her to return to the human realm. Not just to bring the First Brother to justice. Not just to cut off the King of the Void’s grasp. But to go back to her life there. To go back to her family. To go back to Bastien.

And all of it had been a lie.

It wasn’t that her father’s murderer had been right under her nose. Or that the First Brother had looked her straight in the eye as she sat across from him, pulling at threads. No—it was that the man she had loved since they’d only been children, had been a part of it all. And she’d been clueless.

Maybe Bastien hadn’t known the details of what the First Brother planned, but he made no effort to stop him once he discovered the truth, either.

The real betrayal was the realization that she hadn’t known him at all.

And it had cost her everything. Her home, her family, Asher . . . Jab. Cross. Hook.

Images flashed through her mind.

Her fists pounding against a locked door. The look on Bastien’s face when she’d realized what he’d bargained—not remorse, but guilt for being discovered . . . His vacant stare as she’d compelled him. The ferocity flashing behind Asher’s green eyes as the life flickered out of them . . .

“I ripped away someone else’s free will.” The words spilled out of her, her fists landing strike after strike as Ven’s eyes flared with understanding. “But I’d do it again—without hesitation, if it meant saving the people I love,” she confessed. Ven remained a silent target as she pushed on, needing the words to leave her body before they could poison her. “And when I found the First Brother,” she panted, her arms barking in protest as she raised them again. “I burned him to ash.”

Her fists fell at her side, balled up as she waited for a response.

Fear. Disgust. Some confirmation of what she knew to be true. That she was the monster Bastien believed her to be. Unworthy of remaining in the Capitol. Unworthy of her place at Ravenstone.

But when she finally dredged up the courage to look at Ven, his gaze was unflinching.

“Good,” he uttered, dropping his palms and turning back toward their camp without another word.