Chapter 28 #2
Ryot shifts his weight, calculating.
“They haven’t seen us yet,” he says.
Einarr lets out another low sound, a growl trapped in his chest.
“What do we do?” I whisper, my fingers tight around the snath of my scythe.
Ryot’s jaw clenches, and he looks at me and then Einarr. I can see the calculations he’s making—two Altor, but one of them untrained. And we have one faravar against two draegoths.
“If they turn west toward Morendahl, we stay down.” His voice is clipped and precise. “But if they follow the coast …”
He doesn’t finish, and he doesn’t need to. If they follow the coast, they’re looking for something to kill.
The creatures sweep closer. They’re not headed for Morendahl.
He points toward a small cave behind us, tucked into the rocks. “Hide in there.”
I stare at him, aghast. “I’m not letting you fight them alone!”
He gives me a little shake. “For once in your life, Leina, listen to fucking orders. You don’t have a faravar. It will be impossible to fight them with both of us on Einarr’s back. And if they see you here, grounded, you’re dead.”
I nod, throat too tight to speak, hating the logic in his words.
I back into the mouth of the cave, my scythe gripped against my chest. Ryot doesn’t wait for more.
He vaults onto Einarr’s back in one practiced movement, and then they’re airborne.
The Kher’zenn spot their dark black shadows against the bright, blue sky instantly.
They peel off from their flight path to angle toward him. Einarr wheels once, then twice, drawing them farther from the cliff—farther from me. When they’re in range, Einarr dives and Ryot’s sword slices through the air, aiming for the first creature.
But the second one doesn’t follow Ryot. He jerks his draegoth around, toward me. I force myself to breathe, pressing back against the rough stone as the Kher’zenn smiles. He knows I’m here.
The draegoth dives in a spin, but the mouth of my cave is too narrow and far too low for a draegoth to wedge itself fully inside. I scramble backward, swinging my scythe in warning as I go.
The draegoth manages to get its head inside the cave. It snaps its teeth at me, but it can’t reach me—not without bringing the rocks down on us both. The Kher’zenn, though, slides from the back of his creature.
He lands with a grace that’s wrong in its perfection. He’s tall—taller than Ryot—and lean, his armor a strange weave of metal and leather. His hair is a silvery white, falling long around his shoulders, and his eyes?—
His pale eyes catch mine and hold. He’s beautiful in a way that’s not meant for mortals. Something unseen tugs at me, deep in my chest, threading through my ribs and pulling me toward him. I tighten my grip on my scythe, digging my boots into the rock.
No. Not this time.
I plant my feet and swing.
The Kher’zenn slips sideways with an inhuman ease, my scythe missing his throat by a hair. He doesn’t draw a weapon. He doesn’t even seem alarmed. He watches me with an expression that’s curious.
I swing again, aiming to sweep his legs out from under him. He jumps effortlessly, impossibly high, and lands a few paces closer to me.
“Leina Haverlyn,” he says, his tone an admonishment.
I stiffen. How does he know my name?
“You don’t have to fight.” He tilts his head in a way that’s more animal than human. “I have a message for you.”
I keep the scythe between us, edging back toward the deeper shadows of the cave. It’s only then that I realize the swirling, silver text on my scythe is glowing . But I can’t inspect it now.
“A message? Seems doubtful, as we don’t share any acquaintances.”
His pale lips curl into something that might be a smile. “Don’t we?”
I lunge, swinging the scythe in a vicious arc.
He ducks, moving almost too fast to track.
His hand snaps out, catching the snath near the blade with his bare hand.
I wrench the scythe free with a snarl, driving the butt of it into his ribs.
He grunts, stumbling back, but it’s not enough—not nearly enough.
He’s already regaining his balance, but this time, he pulls the shredwhip free of his belt and snaps it with a deafening crack.
A roar splits the air.
The draegoth at the cave mouth rears, its massive head swinging wildly.
Einarr’s wings beat the air in a thunderous gust as Ryot drives his sword deep into the base of the creature’s skull.
Blood sprays, dark and hot, and the draegoth collapses with a crash, blocking the cave mouth with its dead weight.
He snaps his head toward the entrance, distracted.
I don’t waste it.
I drive forward, scythe arcing upward in a two-handed strike. The blade finds his chest, punching through with a wet, scraping sound. The Kher’zenn simply stares at me, his pale eyes wide with something like wonder.
“She will find you,” he whispers.
Then he collapses at my feet, blood pooling black in the dim light.
I stagger back, gasping, my hands slick on the handle, my whole body weak with an exhaustion that’s beyond the physical. Behind me, Ryot calls my name—but it’s distant, like he’s calling from across a vast, endless space. Something swirls around me, brushing against my skin like a living thing.
“Leina!” Ryot’s voice cuts through the fog that’s surrounded my brain. “Sweet Serephelle, you’re pale as death and cold as the frost. Did it touch you?”
His hands cup my cheeks, rough and unsteady, his blessed warmth seeping into my skin. The world is tilted sideways—but Ryot is an anchor in the chaos, his blue eyes blazing.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though my knees threaten to buckle underneath me.
His fingers tighten almost painfully on my face.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Really, I—” I stop, take a deep breath. I place my hands on top of his, to calm us both. “He didn’t touch me.”
He holds me there, his forehead almost touching mine, breathing hard. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, slow and reverent, as if he's trying to memorize every line of me—proof that I am still here, still breathing.
“I thought you—” He breaks off, his jaw clenching. “When I saw it diving for the cave?—”
“I know,” I whisper.
He lets out a shuddering breath and presses closer, until our foreheads touch.
His scent—leather, adamas, the faintest hint of cinnamon—grounds me more firmly than the cave floor beneath my boots.
He tangles one hand in my hair and another grasps under my chin, angling my face toward him.
Our lips are a hairsbreadth apart. I can’t help the way my hands grip his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
Einarr snorts and stomps outside, frantic because he can’t see his Altor. Ryot pulls back, just a hair.
“You scared the hells out of me,” he says, voice so low and raw it scrapes at the hollow places inside me.
“You scared me, too, charging into the air like that.”
He draws back further, and his brow draws into a quizzical line. “How did it know you were in here?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t draw their attention. He—” I stop again, terrified to put this into words. “He knew my name, Ryot.”
He stiffens, the hand still braced against my cheek going rigid.
“What?” he says, voice dropping.
“He knew my name,” I whisper again, like maybe saying it softer will make it less real.
Ryot's jaw clenches so tightly I can see the muscle twitch. His hand drops from my face, only to hold my shoulder instead, grounding me with the weight of his touch.
Behind us, Einnar stomps around, trying to squeeze himself into the narrow opening of the cave, around the draegoth. Get out here , he seems to say. The scent of the creature’s blood is thick in the air, metallic and wrong in a sweet, cloying way.
Ryot looks me over again, from the crown of my head to the tip of my boots. “Can you ride?”
“Yes,” I lie, because the truth is I don’t think my legs could carry me ten feet—but I would drag myself through the dirt before I slowed him down.
He gives me a tight nod, then reaches down and retrieves my scythe from where it clattered to the stone when he grabbed me. He slides it onto his own back. Without another word, he turns, pulling us past the dead creature sprawling across the cave’s entrance.
“Are we continuing on?” I ask.
“No. We’re going back to report to the Synod that the Kher’zenn are hunting. And that they know your godsdamn name.”
He swings us both onto Einarr’s back, but he doesn’t put me behind him, the way a second rider would usually sit in formation.
Instead, he tucks me in front of him, against his chest. He wraps one arm around me as Einarr launches us into the air, the beast’s massive body trembling from either exhaustion or rage. I’m guessing rage.
Ryot tightens his hold on me, his palm spread over my stomach.
I give into temptation and lean back, resting my head against his chest. My heartbeat eases, my breathing slows, as the wind slices through my hair and Einarr’s feathers.
I know the danger hasn’t passed. It’s only distant.
But here, against Ryot, the chaos of it is muted, like it can’t quite reach me.
A dozen words skim the edge of my mind, as I try to name the sensation unfurling through my body. Relief. Gratitude. Exhaustion.
But none of them are quite right. I sift through the fragile, half-formed pieces of my thoughts, trying to understand it, trying to pin it down, and when realization dawns, it almost knocks the breath from my lungs.
I feel safe. Not because the world has stopped trying to tear itself apart or because the danger is gone. No, I feel safe because of him .
The last time I felt this way, I was a child—small and unknowing, tucked between my parents’ sides, their voices murmuring soft stories into the dark, protecting me from the worst of the world’s cruelty.
Before I learned how easily everything can be ripped away, before I learned safety is just a pretty lie we weave for children to ward against nightmares.
I close my eyes, pressing in closer to Ryot’s chest, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing be enough.
For now, I let myself believe the lie again.