CHAPTER SEVEN #3
As we walked, the air increasingly cooled until it started to send shivers down my spine.
It was nowhere near as cold as the snowy parts of the Pines, but it was definitely chilly.
Shrubs and grass rustled and swayed with the wind that made my face sting and tossed around the small curls that had escaped my ponytail.
Unfortunately, the biting breeze didn’t clear the foggy air currents. The density never eased, no matter what. It was a testament to how well Talon and the officiates knew the isle that they didn’t wander aimlessly.
“Hey, Lear, do you think the beasts around here avoid Talon because they know what he really is?” Reeve whispered in front of me.
She cast him a quick look over her shoulder. “They may sense it. Not sure. Go ask him.”
Reeve’s head jerked back. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
She only snickered.
I’d yet to see Talon in his true form. He would go off alone to shift shape, wanting to ensure that he didn’t harm any of the city’s residents.
He’d disappear from the garrison for hours at a time.
When he returned, he still wore his default dark frown.
But there’d be less tension in his muscles, and his stride would be more fluid.
I cursed as the wind abruptly picked up. Ducking my head, I squinted against the blunt force of it. My flapping hood kept falling, forcing me to yank it back up. My breeches fluttered around my legs, not providing any real buffer from the cold.
The cloak, at least, helped keep my upper body from icing over. Still, my cold nipples were tight to the point of pain. I wore my gloves, but the frosty air still managed to seep through the material.
I rapidly blinked as a drop of rain skimmed along my cheek. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
A fine sheet of rain soon fell, pattering off rocks, foliage, and puddles. It seemed to heighten every other scent, making the earth smell stronger and the grass smell fresher.
The soil became boggier, slowing us down and making it more difficult to walk without slipping. The constant drizzle made my clothes increasingly damper the more we walked, until my breeches and cloak began to feel heavy.
This was why I’d brought a spare cloak. I’d known there was no way that I’d be able to use one as a blanket if it got drenched by rain.
My boot hit something hard, and I stumbled forward. Rock. The person behind me snickered.
Without slowing my pace, I glanced over my shoulder. It was Atticus’ new best friend, Klemens.
“You might want to watch where you’re going, mortal,” he sniped.
Yeah, he’d taken to calling me that. Inventive, right? Why he thought it made him sound intimidating, I had no idea.
Silently hoping that a viper found its way into the dick’s tent, I turned away, uninterested in interacting with him.
Even as a chill settled into my bones, I kept going. Even though each step caused my wet clothes to chafe my skin, I kept moving. Even though my throat tickled from thirst, I didn’t stop—in fact, I drank the rain every now and then. I noticed that I wasn’t the only person who did.
The buffeting wind was relentless, whipping around the scents of wet grass, ozone, decaying peat, and boggy earth.
I heard the odd bleat, caw, or growl as something edged close, but I was never able to make out what it was or track its movements—the beasts always remained hidden by the patchy film of fog.
The light took on a grayish cast as the hours went on, making visibility worse. Eventually, darkness fell. But still, Talon showed no signs of stopping for the night.
Praying he soon would, I forged on ahead, stepping through shrubs, grimacing at the feel of burrs snagging on my breeches and pricking the skin beneath. The Laelaps easily continued onward, admirably tireless.
A curse rang out, and someone laughed. The line kept moving, and it wasn’t until I took a few more steps forward that I realized Atticus had stumbled into a bog. Ha.
I didn’t even bother hiding a smile, but I had no clue if he saw it—I was focused on not repeating his mistake.
The rain eventually stopped, but it was so cold here that my skin continued to feel damp and dewy.
More, my hair and clothes remained all but stuck to my skin.
It didn’t help my morale that a gnawing sensation had built in my belly—I’d swear it was trying to eat itself, desperate for any nourishment it could get.
Scraping away the wet curls from my face, I licked at my chapped lips, praying once more that Talon would announce we were done. But he didn’t. And so I kept walking. I walked until my feet throbbed, my back ached, my legs protested, and my shoulders hurt from the knapsack straps.
Soon, the ground became more solid, and the grass became softer. The wind, however, didn’t ease. The gust swept up tufts of grass, purple petals, and bits of debris.
Would it be so bad to dump the knapsack?
Who needed a tent? I could just sleep on the ground. The soggy ground. Where worms and frogs could be found.
And snakes.
Okay, so I was keeping the knapsack. But I reserved the right to inwardly sob about it. The weight—
The line stopped as Talon let out a loud whistle. I held my breath for a few moments, not daring to believe that we weren’t simply pausing for one reason or another.
“Listen up, everyone,” called out Ajax, “we’re going to set up camp here.”
My shoulders slumped with relief. Oh, I might kiss him. I really might. I was betting that I wasn’t the only one who thought it a fine idea.
“Gather round and watch how this is done just in case you need the reminder,” he ordered. “Because no one is going to do this for you.”
Like the other candidates, I walked toward his voice, finding him and Talon stood together near a fallen tree with the Laelaps circling them. Ajax was pulling a rolled-up canvas tent out of its protective leather covering.
Talon gave me a swift onceover, and I’d be surprised if he wasn’t inwardly laughing—I had to look a mess. His gaze briefly held mine before skittering away to scan our surroundings, ever vigilant.
Ajax deftly erected his tent in a series of quick movements. “You lay your wool sheet on the floor and use your cloak as a blanket. Simple. Now go pitch your tents. Pick a spot in this area. Don’t go beyond the fallen trees here unless it’s to do your private business—that we don’t need to see.”
Glad the ground in these parts was more solid and a lot less muddy, I quickly found myself a spot.
I was glad that we’d had to practice putting up a tent, because I wasn’t sure I could have otherwise managed to do it right this moment while my fingers felt numb, my muscles hurt, and my hands were shaky …
just as they often were after I’d been forced to stand in the same position for what felt like hours while naked and cold.
It just went to show that, though the trials of Xalbia sometimes felt cruel, it did prepare you for the reality of being part of the Order.
As we put up our tents, the officiates built a fire. We all soon gathered around it, holding our hands up to the warmth to chase the chill from our bones. Small rations of food were passed around—nothing that tasted particularly good, but I’d eat pretty much anything right now.
Feeling eyes on me, I glanced to my right just as I finished my “meal.” Atticus and Klemens were looking right at me, whispering to each other. Whatever.
Eventually, we were all sent to bed. Inside my tent, I carefully removed the drizzle-covered cloak, not wanting to shake any rain droplets onto my bedding.
Peering down at my feet, I frowned. Gods, my boots were covered in mud.
I kicked them off and placed them off to the side, away from the woolen sheet.
I’d better not wake to find any worms in my boots—they seemed to be everywhere in the moorlands.
I wanted out of my sodden clothes more than I wanted my next breath, but there was no chance that I was going to sleep in just my undergarments. It was too damn cold for that.
Deciding I could instead don my one clean outfit, I first shed my wet clothes and used the dirty tunic to dry off my clammy skin.
Once I’d tugged on my clean garments, I settled on the woolen sheet on my side and then dragged my spare cloak over me.
Maybe I was being paranoid, but I decided to keep my blade handy.
Well, I wasn’t the only one who’d earned a weapon when sparring.
I slipped the dagger beneath the sheet within easy reach and then closed my eyes. Shivering from the cold, I burrowing deeper under my cloak. I suspected that I was going to have some major aches tomorrow from sleeping on the hard ground.
I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Outside, the wind moaned and howled, rattling my tent and causing the canvas to flap incessantly. But I was so exhausted from the hellish hike that I eventually managed to fall asleep.
I wasn’t sure what woke me. It almost felt like I was nudged awake, yet I was alone.
Grass crunching.
Even through the moaning of the wind—which wasn’t quite as violent now—I heard hesitant footfalls approaching my tent.
My breathing briefly stopped as I tensed, instantly snapping to full alertness. Still lying on my side, I slowly slid my hand beneath my pillow and located my blade.
My nape prickling, I listened intently. Could it be an animal? One of the beasts that called the moorlands its home?
There were no stomps of paws. No prick of claws. No rough bestial breaths.
A scrape of leather on dry earth.
My jaw went hard. No, it wasn’t an animal, I realized, my pulse quickening. The heavy tread coming up behind me was made by boots.
Gripping the handle of my blade tight, I pulled it out from under the woolen sheet. My heart jumped as a fumble came from right outside my tent. Someone was close. Too close.
And the tent collapsed on top of me.