Chapter 49 #2
Roan’s up in the next beat, book in hand, out the door before I get a chance to flatten the map across the Skripi board, weighting each corner with empty mugs and bottles.
I scan the ink etchings, my gaze homed on the broad stretch of ancient forest just north of Bhoggith, standing between the nesting grounds and the mountain ranges we’re tucked within.
The Forest of Harthor.
The final resting place for many who step foot amongst those massive trees on their way to claim a Moltenmaw egg, but also the only possible path to the spawning grounds without getting too close to the wall on either side.
“Since we’re heading in that direction …” I pull a blade from my sheath as I scan the constellation of islands knobbled through the bog. “There’s apparently a moonshard right … here,” I mutter, pushing my blade into the map, digging it so deep into the Skripi board the weapon stands on its own.
I don’t realize Pyrok’s leaning all the way over me until he says, “That’s unfortunate. Not sure anyone has ever successfully raided a nest that close to the center.”
I bring my hands together and use them as a perch for my chin. “I’d worried that was the case.”
To reach the shard, I’d have to build a stone path.
Something that would cast reverberations noticeable by every broody beast in the vicinity.
That’s if the nesting dams don’t pick up mine and Rygun’s dominant scent the moment I set foot on the shore, then start screeching for their mates to hunt me down.
I can withstand a lot, but a thunder of territorial Moltenmaws would be my end.
“Wait … isn’t that the dam with the sterile egg?”
I nod. “Her mate set himself to rest directly above her. If he drops during the coming fall, chances are the shard will be obliterated.”
My skin prickles with Raeve’s approach even before I’m hit with the sound of her descending footsteps.
My next breath is all her.
I twist around, brow arched at the sight of her coming down the staircase draped in the pearly cloak I gifted her, the visor unrolled and shielding half her face.
The way she wears that fall of floppy material … It looks like Moonplume wings dragging behind her as she stalks toward the kitchen without a word of recognition, a predatory smoothness to the way she moves that has me sitting straighter.
She inspects the stew Pyrok made, grunts in what sounds like disapproval, then clonks the lid back in place, scenting other things until her hand lands on the cooling box. She slides the slate covering aside and begins rooting around.
“Looks like someone’s regretting the skulling contest,” Pyrok murmurs beneath his breath, then toasts the air and belts out, “Ready for another round, Raeve? Or are you happy to admit defeat?”
She makes a low rumbling sound that trembles through me.
Pyrok chuckles, though my gaze is all Raeve’s as she removes a clay container packed with the raw colk tenderloins I was planning to cook for feasting.
I expect her to ask me to fire up the stove. Instead, she strides toward us, drops into the seat Roan vacated, then lifts the lid, revealing several long slabs of pink, bloody meat she roots through with her bare hands.
The smile falls off Pyrok’s face.
He sits up, brows hitched. “That’s r—” He cuts off as Raeve brings a hunk of meat to her mouth and tears into it with her teeth—chewing. Groaning. “Rrreally good meat to eat … raw. And with your hands,” he finishes, passing me a sideways glance that says one thing very clearly:
What the fuck.
I’m inclined to agree.
Raeve grunts, swallows, grabs a second smaller tenderloin with her other hand, and alternates between the chunks. Blood dribbling down her chin, she feasts with a primal fierceness I’ve only seen once before.
In the meadow, just after Líri slew that bhar.
Perhaps she’s tailored a taste for raw meat?
I plant my elbows on my knees and lean forward, hands clasped, watching her polish off an entire strip before I lift a brow and say, “Hungry, Moonbeam?”
“Precious One’s stomach growled like a beast. Too much poison. Not enough meat.” Still fisting the other tenderloin, she backhands one of Pyrok’s many empty bottles, sending it skittering across the table. “Hunger brews weakness. I am helping.”
The cut of her tone shoots a chill up my spine, and I meet Pyrok’s side-eyed glance.
Raeve drops her messy meal in the container and lifts it to her lips, gulping the gathered blood in deep, rowdy draws.
Pyrok screws up his face. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I cut him off with a lift of my hand.
“I’m gonna go and toss my guts down the privy,” he mutters, then shoves up, leaves his bottle on the table, and makes for the washroom faster than I’ve seen him move in daes.
Something I expect Raeve to comment on.
Instead, she sets the container in her lap and gets back to masticating the meat, pointing one bloody finger at my lodged blade. “Why is this tiny weapon trying to slaughter the table?”
“I was using the blade as a map marker.”
Her cool gaze hunts me from behind the veil, blood still dripping from her lips as she says, “What did this map do to you, mate of my Precious One?”
Mate of my—
“There’s a nest on that mound, in which sits a sterile egg,” I say, something innate urging me to use the gentlest tone I can muster. “According to a reliable source, it also holds a moonshard.”
Raeve goes stone still. What’s left of my stew frosts over, my next exhale a puff of white.
“From which fallen beast does this moonshard belong?”
Though I can’t see her eyes, I feel the cold slit of her gaze. Like a blade slicing deep into my soul, threatening to pop something integral.
“Slátra …”
She shoves up so fast the container clatters across the table with the flopped tenderloins, splattering blood across the map.
“We go now,” she bites out with such primitive authority it feels as though some invisible beast has its maw bared and slightly parted, teeth hovering over the vulnerable skin at my neck.
She wobbles. The only warning I get before her knees buckle.
I leap around the table and catch her before she hits the ground, holding her close while she heaves breath. Like she just sprinted from something and is only now finding a moment to fill her lungs.
“Raeve?”
She shoves back her hood and visor, squinting at me for a moment before her eyes widen, all the color dropping from her cheeks as she feverishly scans me over. She leans back and grabs my hands, appearing to count my fingers before she breathes a sigh of what seems like … relief?
Odd.
“Is everything alright?” I touch her cheek, brushing my thumb across her brow—
She untangles from my grip and pushes to her feet, leaving my arms achingly bare. “I was—sleepwalking. I do it sometimes. Should’ve warned you.”
My brows pinch together.
On my knees beside the table, I watch her smack her tongue against the roof of her mouth, her gaze dropping to the mess she made with the tenderloins.
Noticing the blood on her hands, she rolls her eyes, then snatches Pyrok’s bottle off the table, drawing five long glugs without a single breath between.
“Raeve?”
She slams the now-bloodied bottle back on the table, using the back of her arm to wipe her mouth. “Hm?”
Her response comes without a single glance in my direction.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She points at my blade. “What’s with the marker?”
Pushing up, I cross my arms and scan her from head to toe; every muscle seeming poised to move. Like she’s standing on the outskirts of a village, waiting for the first arrow to strike from an approaching army moving through the Mists.
I keep watching, hoping for her to meet my gaze, but she seems intent to study the map, scouring it like she’s never seen one before.
I release a slow sigh. “It’s pinpointing the location of a moonshard.”
She stills like she did before. When she finally looks at me, her eyes are almost luminous. “In Bhoggith?”
I nod.
“You plan to retrieve it?”
“I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.”
“Before the fall?”
Another nod. “My duty to my kingdom is pulling me in that direction anyway, which opens the opportunity.” A beat of taut silence slips by before I say, soft and slow, “If I can’t get it … there’s a big chance it’ll be lost forever. And Slátra will never be whole again.”