Chapter 48
LYKOR
With a slash of rending, Lykor hacked through a vine in the wretched jungle.
The infernal heat in the humid forest only intensified his deteriorating mood.
Despite the overwhelming desire to eradicate this unnatural pocket of life in the Hibernal Wastes, he refrained—such destruction might endanger the Heart of Stars.
The clearing he sought was where the wraith had taken refuge after fleeing from the prisons. His muscles spasmed in protest. Those whispering grasses harbored too many torturous memories.
After Kal and Mara had excavated the golden spikes from his spine in the squalor of the dungeons, an infection had ravaged and burned his body.
In those days, when the fire in his back became unbearable, Lykor would collapse in a stream near that fucking glade.
His shoulders had never fully recovered—the flesh around his bones a gnarled mess like the knobs on the surrounding trees.
Hauling his mind away from the past, Lykor scowled at the darkening night stretching through the endless forest. In hindsight, he should’ve dumped the elf and Fenn off here and remained in the keep.
Water dripped from monstrous leaves, splashing into his face. Swiping the obnoxious moisture away from his eyes, Lykor’s boot snagged on a root. He cursed as he lost his balance, stumbling forward. Spinning around, he blasted the offending plant into the next realm with a punch of force.
The spray of soil showered Lykor’s armor as he strode off through the vile jungle, aiming for the clearing that he’d ironically avoided all these years.
It was the only “shade of a glade” that he could think of—assuming what the girl had heard through the Heart was correct.
He and Aesar had been scouring this forest for weeks without a clear sense of what they should be looking for.
Lykor doubted his luck would have another relic gallivanting into his lap like it had with that shaman spawn.
He could only hope the elf and the lieutenant’s fucking around would finally lead to something productive—ideally locating the artifact that might be in the keep.
Between the encroaching humans, the elven patrols, and the restless reavers, the wraith were overdue to abandon this side of the world.
A dim glow from the moons bled through the canopy of leaves, scattering splotched pools of light across on the loamy forest floor.
Flashing glowbugs whirled around Lykor like overbearing chaperones.
He slapped the audacious insects away from his face, staining his gauntlet with streaks of their luminous entrails.
An unexpected pulse of magic flared to his left. Alarmed, Lykor pivoted, wrenching on his entire sea of Essence. Darkness exploded from him, a veil of death, ready to defend.
Lykor’s heart impaled itself on a rib. Power slipping from the shock, he ruthlessly refortified his control. Shadows churned like a raging whirlpool while he gaped.
It was him.
The elf who’d saved him, the one haunting his dreams. The one he’d recklessly been visiting the military island in search of during the dark hours of the night when Aesar was deep in slumber.
The elf that the girl had insisted was called Jassyn.
If the blade in Lykor’s possession had actually belonged to her friend.
Exiting a colossal tree that was presumably an ancient dwelling, the elf skidded to a halt. He dropped the tome that he was carrying before a violet shield slammed around him.
Aesar had insisted that this location was secure—his twin being the only other with knowledge of this place. Searching the jungle was a risk they’d both agreed to take—surely Vesryn would have no reason to venture here.
But much could change in the century they’d been absent from the realms. The king could very well be dispatching his soldiers to every corner of the world to hunt for the Hearts—or the wraith.
Lykor stalked forward. “How did you get here?” he demanded. A witless question wasting words. Of course the elf had portaled to this miserable jungle. “Are there others with you?”
Surrounded by floating globes of illumination, the elf glanced around and backed away. Raven curls skipped over his forehead as he silently shook his head in response.
Lykor’s shadows thrashed, ready to flay the elf if he so much as moved a hand too quickly. He didn’t temper the growl in his voice. “Did the king send you?”
The elf’s eyes widened before hardening. “This is the only place I could hide from those like him.”
He wasn’t here for the Heart then.
Still on his guard, Lykor’s shoulders marginally relaxed from the reassurance. He retracted the threatening darkness along with his fangs. There wasn’t any reason to act like a feral beast. Judging from the elf’s shifting gaze, he was already nervous enough.
When Lykor stepped forward, the elf retreated another step.
Something Lykor didn’t have a name for twisted through his chest like one of the accursed vines strangling the trees.
A strange uncertainty needled at him for being the source of fear.
He’d never thought twice about intimidating others before—it was all he knew, birthed from the necessity to instill order when the wraith had turned savage in the prisons.
Cautiously stepping forward to retrieve the dropped tome, Lykor resisted the impulse to leaf through the pages to see what the elf was reading. He extended the volume, offering it back. The elf hesitated, his attention hooking on Lykor’s gauntlet clamped around the book.
Detesting the constant reminder of what he’d endured, Lykor was seized with the temptation to hide the clawed monstrosity behind his back.
The elf’s gaze swept over him, appraising the rest of his armor, flicking over the raw Essence blazing around him.
Lykor felt systematically deconstructed, analyzed, and then assembled again.
His breath hitched as those fascinating amber eyes lingered on his, the surrounding illumination highlighting flecks of greens and golds.
Ears burning with an unfamiliar warmth, the unusual attention made Lykor feel seen for once instead of seen through.
The elf dropped his shield to claim the presented tome. “What can I call you?” he asked.
Lykor blinked, the question slashing through his guard. No one had ever asked him that before. He couldn’t number the years he’d spent raging that he wasn’t Aesar.
“Lykor,” he said, shifting his feet. His spiked boots suddenly felt distractingly heavy.
Following the elf’s lead, Lykor reluctantly released his magic and fumbled for something else to say, drawing on what guidance he assumed Aesar would offer if he were awake. He doubted there were any normal questions to ask a stranger in a forgotten jungle.
Lykor settled on stealing the elf’s words. That had to be an acceptable response, but his pulse raced faster as he fretted that it might not be. “And…what can I call you?”
“Jassyn,” the elf said, his long fingers tightening around the book.
So the girl was right. Lykor unclenched his fists, not knowing when they’d snapped shut.
“I’m going to the glade.” The statement sounded like a pathetic attempt at engaging in a conversation—uncharted territory. “Were you…heading in that direction?” A stupid query to fill the silence.
“Are you searching for something?” Jassyn asked, rather than answering the question. A considering frown flashed over his face before he set the volume near the entrance of the tree.
Despite his bewilderment at the elf’s presence, Lykor retained enough sense to avoid prattling everything to this stranger. It was unknown where his loyalties truly lay—or how he’d gained knowledge of this jungle.
Lykor cracked his neck and admitted, “Yes—something for the wraith.”
Twisting on his heel, Lykor picked his way along a stone path that wound from the ancient dwellings to the clearing. The rocks encased glimmering gems, carrying a luminescent glow of their own as they shimmered against the forest floor like stars in the sky.
While feigning a scan of the jungle, Lykor stole a glance at Jassyn. He’d followed, long strides keeping pace at his side. Height exceeding his own by a hand, Jassyn was much taller than Lykor expected of an elf—let alone one with mortal blood.
Feeling oddly aware of his body’s every unwieldy movement, Lykor focused on the ground so he wouldn’t trip over his own fucking feet. The moss-carpeted floor spread out like a blanket beyond the stones, glittering with hues of lustrous cyans and verdant greens.
They silently snaked their way around an undergrowth of ferns and various gargantuan leaves before the foliage opened up, spitting them out at the edge of the glade. A gurgling stream carved a path through the clearing, mirroring the cold radiance of the stars.
“I’ve been thinking about you—” Lykor drew to a halt, jaw screwing tight as he severed those words. His statement sounded absolutely ridiculous, that of a blathering simpleton like Kal.
Swallowing what he hoped were the last remnants of any further idiotic remarks, Lykor corrected himself. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. That you could…help me?” He searched Jassyn’s eyes for something. For hope, even if it was foolish. “You could release me from the king’s power?”
Lykor’s pulse droned in his ears, louder than the collective chorus of the jungle’s insects.
He turned away sharply, his desperate words lingering between them for far too long.
A feeling that had to be mortification nearly drove him to slash open a portal and flee—anything to avoid this uncomfortable silence tightening the skin over his bones.
He must’ve misremembered what Jassyn had said that night, fabricating this delusion in his head.
After all, Lykor was the one who’d attacked his home, the wraith most likely killing his comrades.
Why would Jassyn want to help him? A barricaded breath loosened from Lykor’s lungs when the elf finally spoke.