Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ryot is setting a brutal pace, and I’m struggling to keep up now that the adrenaline has faded. I flutter my eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the darkness, though Ryot doesn’t seem to have an issue seeing where he’s going.
Me, not so much. We turn a corner, and a branch slaps me in the face.
“Ouch! Slow down!”
“Bossy little thing,” he mutters under his breath, but he stops and glances back at me.
“Could you at least set my arm? I’d probably move faster.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you going to attack me if I set your shoulder?”
Maybe. “Of course not.”
He kind of chortles, then turns around to keep walking through the forest. “You really do need training. Here’s a lesson: stop exuding your emotions.”
I narrow my eyebrows in confusion, thinking about the way I can taste others’ feelings. “That’s an ability Altor have? Sensing emotions?”
He grunts, which I interpret as an affirmation.
“What is it used for?”
He casts a sideways glance at me, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to decide if telling me is compromising some important secret.
“It’s how we communicate with our beasts,” he answers finally.
“At first, we don’t have conversations like you and I do.
It’s more of a …” He waves his hand around in front of him like he can pull the word he’s looking for out of the air.
“It’s more subtle than a conversation. Man and beast can sense each other’s emotions, sometimes even intentions, though that is much more difficult and takes many years. ”
“Beasts?” I question.
“Mmm. All Altor have a beast—their faravar.” Oh. The winged horses.
My eyes widen, and I cast my eyes as if there could be a winged horse lurking behind a tree. “Where is your faravar?”
No answer. Alright.
“Why can’t I tell what you’re feeling?” I ask him.
“I’m blocking.”
“Blocking?”
“I create a shield around my mind. It keeps everyone but my beast out of my head.” He shoots me another sideways glance. “It is one of the many things you need to learn how to do.”
“What else do I need to learn?” The last six years have been a terror of unknowns. To have answers is almost worth being captured. Almost.
But he ignores me. Asshole.
“So we’re going to walk all the way into Faraengard?
” I say it with a forced bite, to try to cover how much I really am dragging.
My head throbs where I slammed into the tree; my stomach aches from hunger.
Each step sends a wave of jarring pain down my arm, and whatever energy the adrenaline provided is long- since gone.
The idea of walking from here to Faraengard is unfathomable.
“Don’t you at least have a horse?” I try again.
But he seems disinclined to answer me, his pace less brutal but still a struggle for me to maintain. I hate him. He grunts in answer, like he heard me. I guess, in a way, he did.
My brain fogs over, and my senses go dull. My legs are spent, and I begin stumbling over each little stone and stick in my path. The heightened awareness of all that’s around me fades, until I’m left with nothing but a vague imperative to continue putting one foot in front of the other.
After what could honestly be minutes or hours, we come to a sudden stop.
I raise my gaze from where it was locked on my feet and realize we’ve left the forest behind.
We’re standing in a small clearing. Ryot releases his grip on my arm and continues forward.
As much as I resented his hold on me just a few seconds ago, apparently it was all that was keeping me upright.
I immediately crash to my knees before falling over with my cheek pressed into the downed leaves.
Finally. I’m closing my eyes, eager for the relief of complete darkness, when he comes back.
“Uh uh, rebel girl,” he admonishes me. He’s cupped my neck in one hand, and is holding a flask to my lips. “If you pass out before you’ve had nourishment, you’ll be out for days.”
I press my lips closed so not even a drop could get through.
His jaw ticks in annoyance. “If I wanted you dead, it would be far more efficient to snap your neck. I have no need for poison.”
There is that. I sniff at the flask, drawing a deep breath. It’s not alcoholic, but the fruity smell is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—not water, not wine, not even coffee. It’s sweet and tart. “What is it?” I mutter through mostly closed lips.
His sigh is deep and long-suffering. “Laomai,” he says simply. “It will restore your energy and help you heal.”
I’ve never heard of it, but then again, he’s both the first Faraengardian I’ve met who’s not a soldier and the first Altor I’ve ever interacted with, so that’s probably not a surprise. I open my mouth and take a deep drink.
Flavor explodes on my tongue, and I know immediately this is exactly what my body needs.
I sit up and grasp the flask with both hands, chugging now.
In the two minutes it takes me to drain the flask, I’m already recovering, my energy returning rapidly and the fog around my brain receding.
One by one, my senses return. My eyes adjust to the dark, and now instead of a vague outline against the light of the moon and the stars, I can make out Ryot’s facial expression.
On the surface, he’s clearly annoyed. But there’s something else there, too. He's … speculative.
I lower the flask. A thank you is hovering right on the tip of my tongue when I realize—this spawn of Lako tracked me down, beat me up, separated me from my family, and is bringing me to what will likely be my execution or imprisonment. I shove the flask into his chest.
We glare at each other silently, and since I don’t know how to block my emotions, I focus instead on blasting him with all the rage that’s inside me.
He smirks, then takes the flask, carefully screws the cap on, and returns it to his pack.
Then without warning, he reaches out and snaps my shoulder back into its socket.
I hiss out a breath, reaching up to grab at the shoulder, but the pain is already receding. It’s far less sharp now, more of a dull ache.
“It should heal pretty quickly. Healing is one of our strengths.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “I highly recommend not trying to escape. I can injure it again just as easily, and the other one with it, if you give me too much trouble.”
I don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, I close my eyes and start opening my senses up now that I’m more alert and not drowning in pain.
Noises, smells, and sensations filter back in.
The cool night air is blissful on my bruised and cracked skin.
The wind whistles through the leaves, and all manner of bugs and animals skitter about.
And then I notice a peculiar smell. I’m wrinkling my nose, trying to figure it out, when the angry snort of a horse in front of me has my eyes jerking wide open.
But the beast staring back at me isn’t a horse. Or, it isn’t just a horse.
An immense, barrel-chested winged horse stands inches from my face, eyes shining with black flames. The faravar would tower above even the tallest warhorse; a tall man’s head wouldn’t even reach its broad withers.
Even the air seems to shift with every breath it draws.
But all of that seems inconsequential when it spreads its mighty wings the full length of the clearing.
They blot out the night sky, each blade-like black feather as long as a man’s arm.
When it lifts its wings, the forest hushes. When its wings fall, the trees move.
The only other faravar I’ve seen are depictions on shields or crests or in paintings, and those renderings, while glorious and beautiful, categorically fail at capturing the savage energy and wild, battle-ready attitude.
This isn’t an animal bred for working farms or pulling carriages.
This is a beast the gods made for one thing—war.
Its size alone is enough to unsettle—massive frame, storm-built wings, strength in every line. But it’s the eyes that truly unnerve me, and the sharp, unsettling brightness behind them. There’s a clever, relentless, curious mind in that gaze.
It doesn’t blink as it stares, and I get the strange, chilling sense that it’s reading me. Not just watching—knowing. Like it sees straight through to the parts of me I don’t show. The parts I don’t even know are there.
Then it steps closer, snuffling at my hair with a huff of warm breath … and promptly snorts in my face, like it’s made its judgment and isn’t terribly impressed.
The blood in my veins goes cold, and I shiver, gooseflesh crawling across my skin. It moves with the deliberate power of something that knows it can’t be stopped. For the first time in years, I think the gods might be real.
I want to creep backward, to put even a little bit of distance between me and the animal touching me nose-to-nose now, but there’s no point. There’s no escape from a creature like this. Instead, I stare back and raise my chin. I may very well die on this ground, but I’ll do it with dignity.
The faravar holds my gaze, eyes sharp and searching, before it snorts once more and steps back.
It shakes out its mane and gives a rustle of its wings before folding them neatly against its sides.
Then, with a quiet lift of its head, it turns its attention to Ryot.
Their eyes lock. There’s something in the silence between them—an exchange I can’t hear, a conversation spoken without words.
The moment stretches, weighty and still, until Ryot finally turns to me.
“We won’t be walking all the way to Faraengard,” Ryot says. “We’re going to ride.”
I’ve never been on a horse, and he wants me to ride on that giant, flying beast of war?
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I don’t kid,” he says, as he drags me to my feet. “Don’t approach Einarr on your own. He’s a surly bastard.”
Einarr snorts, as if to say you’re one to talk .
I take one cautious step back, but bump into Ryot’s chest. Between the two of them, though, I decide the beast is scarier. Barely.
“He can have all the space he needs,” I murmur. Einarr kind of chortles and then swings his head to look at Ryot. The two stare at each other intently again for a full minute, maybe longer. Einarr tilts his head and then whinnies, like he’s answering a question.
Ryot drops his hold on my arm.
“Introductions are over. Get your weapons together. It’s time for your first ride.”