Chapter 42
Derian
“You know,” Cal draws out the words as he trots along at my side.
We’re at least twenty paces ahead of the others and have spent most of the day rotating between companionable silence and reminiscing on old memories.
“I couldn’t help but notice that your lovely bride-to-be made up her own tent last night. ”
She sure did.
She hasn’t said a word to me since her outburst. I’m doing my best to give her space, to let her come to terms with this new part of her identity in her own time, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
When I saw her start setting up her own tent last night, I nearly had it out with her right there in front of the others and dragged her into bed with me.
“Trouble in paradise?” Cal asks.
He’s stopped insisting I be wary of her every five minutes, but that doesn’t mean either of them has warmed up to the other.
“I don’t know if any experience with Huntyr can be described as paradise.”
Never mind the fact that I don’t want paradise. I don’t want the easy happiness that comes with domestic life. I want the push and pull. I want the fire and unpredictability that comes with a relationship built on equal strength and determination.
It’s part of what is so intoxicating about her.
She isn’t acquiescing or sweet. She isn’t thoughtful or diplomatic.
To most people, she is probably considered unlikable at best, but she is unapologetically herself.
She has no qualms about evoking and facing my temper.
It’s not that she is fearless, Huntyr has plenty of fears, but she doesn’t let them hold her back or limit her in the slightest.
“Is it—” Cal frowns, his demeanor becoming awkward, and he spares a quick glance back at her. “Did you do something?”
I balk. “Why do you assume I did something?”
“Well, because you’re you, Derian. You’re not an easy person to love.”
I bristle at the word he so casually slips into the conversation, as if that word is a reasonable concept to attach to the pure desire that cements the foundation of my interactions with the Huntress. I’m about to tell him as much when I hear the distinct sound of another horse trotting up to us.
And then she’s there, on Cal’s other side, glowering at both of us like we’re no better than the mud on her boots.
“You’re talking about me,” she assumes, her brows raised and expectant.
“Would you like a prize for your perceptiveness?” I mock, throwing her earlier taunt back at her and watching the way her fingers tighten against the reins in her hands.
“Anything you two need to say about me, you can say to me.”
Cal glances between the two of us, lips twitching with the uncomfortable feeling of being literally stuck in the middle. I think I might even see him physically cringe.
I’m not sure whether it's sympathy for my best friend that motivates me, or the knowledge that the action will annoy her more than continuing our little sparring match, but I turn my eyes back to the road ahead of us, completely ignoring her.
I wait for her to fall behind again, or to say something particularly vicious, but she’s quiet for some time before she finally speaks again.
Only this time she’s not talking to me.
“I know that you know who I am. What I am.”
Cal’s brows raise as high as I’ve ever seen before. “I do.”
He says it like a question, regardless of the fact that it’s clearly not.
“Good.” She lifts her chin, and I marvel at how the sunlight brings out the faint freckles splattered across her nose.
I’d never noticed them before. “So again, if you have any concerns about me, you can discuss them with me directly. I’m not his pet, and he’s not my keeper.
I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. ”
Cal’s lips curl into a suppressed smile. “You want to have the conversation out then?”
She shifts her weight on the horse, glancing over her shoulder to ensure the Eshari is still following behind, before tossing her hair back off her shoulders. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
My best friend nods. “Very well. I think you were trying to kill Derian the night of the masquerade ball.”
He’s testing her, trying to see if she’ll prove herself to be an untrustworthy liar. My huntress is too smart for that though, and she gives him the smirk that always manages to instantly harden me.
Gods, I went one night without her and I feel as desperate as an adolescent.
“Caldren,” she tuts, her voice light and teasing. “I thought we were having an open conversation? I’m very aware he’s already told you that.”
I’m not sure how I feel about the two of them speaking as if I’m not right next to them.
Cal grins. “Alright then, what proof do I have that you’re not still a danger to Derian?”
I feel her eyes on me like a heated weight even as I keep my gaze locked on the road ahead of me.
“I am a danger to Derian.” She shrugs. “I’m a danger to lots of people. The truth is, you have no proof that I’m not going to go on a killing spree whenever I feel like it. So, the question you should be asking is not whether or not I’m going to do something.”
“What is the question I should be asking then, Lady Lachlan?”
He uses her title on purpose, knowing it will get under her skin, and she does indeed visibly bristle. Instincts push me to intervene, to tell him to back off, but she was right about one thing during her tantrum yesterday. She doesn’t need me to defend her.
Besides, they need this conversation.
“The question you need to be asking yourself, Caldren, is whether you would be capable of stopping me.”
And just like that, she’s won over my best friend.
He chuckles under his breath and looks over at her with something in his gaze that looks an awful lot like respect. With their mutual understanding reached, she pulls her horse in a tight circle and resumes her position next to Ulna as my Aunt demands every detail of our conversation.
Nosy old bat.
We ride for a solid twenty minutes before Cal finally laughs out loud.
“I don’t know how you managed it, Derian.”
It’s like I can sense his next words before he says them. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the barb that’s about to come.
“You’re going to be married to someone who might be even more disagreeable and arrogant than you are.”
The sun is just hitting its mid-afternoon peak on the final day of our journey when we reach the small town just south of Springhallow.
I’ve traveled through the town dozens of times before. I’ve even grown particularly fond of a bakery within its small market square. It’s a simple place, where everyone knows everyone. Travelers rarely cross through, and so on the rare occasions they do, they are treated with great hospitality.
More than once I’ve been swindled into staying in the local inn just so I can continue the conversations I’ve started in the tavern with some of the locals.
And yet, hardly anyone seems to notice us as we make our way through the street lined with wooden cabins. I glance behind us, seeing the same tension mirrored on the faces of Taric and Roland.
With an incline of my head, we all dismount and tie our horses to a nearby fence, making our way deeper into the town on foot.
We walk cautiously through the neighborhood streets with houses that appear empty but not deserted, based on the gray smoke that still twists into the sky from fireplaces jutting out of the barren roofs.
I suppress the urge to look back at Huntyr and confirm she has her weapons drawn and at the ready.
Her sense of danger is as sharply honed as my own, I remind myself, and she’s already proven time and time again that she can take care of herself.
I need to let her do that if only so I can focus on what’s going on here.
That’s when we hear the crying, growing louder and louder with each step we take toward the part of town that veers towards the forest. Cal looks to me, unleashing his sword as I gather magic inside of me, letting it rise and fill me like a growing tide.
The houses begin to clear, revealing the townspeople gathered in a cluster next to the wooded area. Women are sobbing, gathering curious children and forcing them away, while men exchange terse words.
“Prince Derian!” Ambresia, the innkeeper, recognizes me instantly, rushing towards me and grasping hold of my hands as Huntyr takes a step closer.
Tears stream down Ambresia’s tanned face as she quickly takes in our group. “Thank the Gods you’re here.”
“What’s happened?”
“You must look! I can’t begin to describe it.”
I look over my shoulder, first to Huntyr, then to Ulna and Taric.
“Stay here,” I instruct before inclining my head to Cal in a silent instruction to come with me.
“Joseph and Kaelthyn went hunting yesterday and never came back. It wasn’t until a girl went out to collect firewood that we found Kaelthyn, but there’s still no sign of Joseph,” Ambresia explains as she leads us through the crowd, their eyes tracking us as we make our way towards the body that lies on the edge of the woods.
Clothes torn, skin scraped and bleeding, head at an unnatural angle. I take in the scene, noting the black hollow eyes and the mouth dangling open in slack-jawed scream.
Velkai.
I turn to Cal, watching him come to the same conclusion I have. His fingers tighten and release on the scabbard of his sword once, twice, as he stares down at what remains of the woman.
I walk towards him, turning my back on the people.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” he whispers softly, careful not to let the townspeople overhear. “Velkai this far past the Wastelands?”
“I think this counts as our confirmation that they’re expanding their territory. If they’ve come this far, it’s only a matter of time before they infect the land.”
His hazel eyes meet mine, his jaw locked in a tense and unhappy angle. “Derian, if that’s true…”
I know what it means.
The Velkai cannot be allowed to grow the Wastelands.
If they have somehow emerged from those barren lands, if they are somehow organizing again under a new leader after all these years, then another war isn’t just a possibility. It’s an inevitability.
We can’t leave this town undefended. Cal knows that as well as I do. If the second man is still missing, it’s because whatever Velkai lingers in these woods aren’t finished with him. I begin to turn, to consult Cal on a plan when—
“Oh, fuck.”
My world shifts on its axis. Those two little words from that distinctly feminine voice are all it takes for my entire focus to shift to the short, dark-haired creature who now stands at my side.
I grasp hold of her arm, practically dragging her away, even as she stares wide-eyed at the body behind us.
“Would it kill you to actually do as you’re instructed, instead of whatever you damn well please?” I growl at her.
She rips her arm from my grasp, stopping halfway between the crowd and our friends, both groups of people openly staring at the two of us.
“What was that?”
“That is none of your concern, Huntress. The next time I tell you to stay put, I expect you to stay put.”
For Gods' sake, there could be a Velkai right at the edge of these woods waiting to attack, and as formidable as Huntyr is, she doesn’t stand a chance against one. She’s never even seen a Velkai before.
“No,” she says simply, as if I had asked her if she wanted milk with her tea. “Tell me what that was. What leaves a body like that?”
Her eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them before, and shimmering with intensity. Not the intensity she’d had after her final trial, this is something different. Something worse.
There is pure horror on her face.
“Velkai, Huntress. Velkai kill like that.”
She pauses, her mouth hanging open, before she shakes her head in disbelief. “Velkai aren’t real. It’s a story you made up.”
“I can assure you it’s not.”
“It is,” she insists. “It’s a story you made up to hide your people’s atrocious actions.”
I clamp down on the irritated rush of anger that swirls through me, and she doesn’t even glance up as grey clouds begin to cover the sun, casting shadows across her skin. I don’t have the time to debate with her about whether the Fae are the true enemies or not.
Glancing towards Taric, I issue my silent command, and he nods, stepping towards her.
“Stay here with Taric and Ulna,” I tell her. “Cal, Roland, and I will go take care of the Velkai.”
She pauses, a million emotions spreading across her too expressive face. Shock. Confusion. Understanding.
Indignation.
“I will not stay here.”
I glare at Taric. She’s staying here even if he has to tie her to a fucking fence post.
She senses his approach, pulling one of the blades on her belt, and levels it at his throat with the same blinding speed she’d used when she aimed that very blade at me during our throwing contest. I should have realized that night she wasn’t totally Mortal.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she warns him, her voice low and tinged with menace.
He holds his hand up in surrender before inclining his head at me with a shrug. His thoughts are as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud.
She’s your woman, you control her.
Except she’s not. She’s not my anything, and I clearly can’t control her.
“I’m coming with you,” she insists.
“Huntyr, this isn’t the time for you to assert your independence. We’re very aware how strong you are, but you are also half-Mortal. You are a half-Mortal with no experience fighting these creatures and no ability to control your magic.”
Her back stiffens when I reference her magic, but she doesn’t back down. She doesn’t even lower the blade from Taric’s throat.
Cal’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, a reminder that we need to go if we have any hope of finding the monster.
The Eshari comes to sit at her feet, looking at me with the same anger that is painted across Huntyr’s face.
“Try to stop me and I will cut through every person who stands in my way.”
I raise a brow at her. “Do you really think you could manage to kill Roland, Cal, Taric, the Conclave winner, and Ulna, the Silverthorn Warrior before getting to me?”
I swear I can see Cal take a step backwards as the tension between Huntyr and me becomes palpable.
Her head tilts, stubbornness so obvious in the angles of her posture. “Maybe not, but I’d leave at least one of them bleeding, which I imagine would be an inconvenience.”
My temper is barely held back by the leash I’ve tied around it. The air thickens with suffocating humidity, curling the ends of her hair.
Stubborn, reckless, ridiculous woman.
“Fine,” I growl. “You stay behind me the whole time. Daggers in both hands. If I warn you to run, it’s because I genuinely think you are going to be injured if you don’t run. So, if I tell you to run, you will run, Huntyr. That’s the only way I’m allowing this.”
Her arm slowly lowers, even as her other hand reaches for a second blade. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I spit back at her, before turning on my heels and stalking off.