Chapter Seventeen
M y eyes flutter open to the blinding rays of a midday sun.
I rub the exhaustion from my face with a sweeping hand and suck in a breath. The air feels crisp and fresh, the sweet aroma of damp soil mixing with floral notes comforting.
Still lying on my back, I slowly turn my head and stretch a hand out to graze the sea of flowers surrounding me.
Petals filled with soft pinks, reds, yellows, and unblemished whites boast beneath the gilded rays of a breathtaking sun.
My fingers tingle at the familiar texture of soft stems, teeming with life.
I smile lazily at the bed of vibrant color.
A salt-kissed breeze that reminds me of the Rivara Kingdom caresses my face.
Home , I think. Have I found hom—
Suddenly, I jolt upright and scan my surroundings. Flashes from the night race through my mind. The creature. Gray. Blood. Sprinting through the trees. The vial. And then…and then…
I press a hand to my now-pounding head. I wince at the movement, glancing down to find my body wrapped in white bandages soaked with blood. A sharp jolt shoots down my arm, and I grit my teeth against it.
How did I get here? Why am I idly laying in a field of flowers? How am I alive ?
I shouldn’t be alive.
And Gray…
Where is Gray?
My heart cracks with panic, and I try to stand. But my body is weak, and my head is woozy. White spots flood my vision like fluttering snowflakes, and my knees buckle, sending me back down to the soft ground.
I place a hand out in an attempt to steady myself, but I can tell I’m flirting with unconsciousness again. I’m in the process of preparing my body to push through its warnings, ready to search for Gray at whatever cost, when his familiar voice sends a rush of relief through me.
“Please stop trying to stand.”
I turn and find Gray knelt down, plucking flowers and placing them into his satchel.
“What happened?” I ask, pressing a hand to my head. “Where are we?”
Silently, he rises from where he was collecting flowers and approaches me, crouching down so we’re face-to-face. He releases a loaded sigh. “We’re only a few miles from the Cliffs of Yilandra. I saw this field of wildflowers and stopped to look for useful plants.”
Son of a Gardner, indeed.
But if we are so close to the Cliffs of Yilandra, that means…
“I was sleeping for an entire day?” I ask with no small amount of bewilderment caressing my words.
Gray nods tightly, his face drawn with tension.
“How…how did we get here, then?”
“I carried you.”
“You… what? You carried me for a whole day? For…for miles ?”
Another nod.
Gray tilts his head and studies me with a sharpened gaze. “Before I begin, I need to first know how you feel. Anything to be worried about?”
I lift a brow. “You mean other than the puncture wounds in my shoulder?”
I do a quick inventory of my body—rotating my aching muscles, cracking my neck, squeezing my fingers into fists and uncurling them afterward. All things considered, I don’t feel awful.
“No, I’d say I’m okay.” I narrow my eyes on him. “And before you begin what , exactly? ”
Gray’s expression tightens with frustration. “Before I begin scolding you for being reckless and putting your life at risk. What were you thinking , taking on that creature alone?”
My mouth falls open. “What do you mean, ‘ What was I thinking ?’ I was thinking that thing was about to make you its next meal when it slammed you unconscious against a tree. I was thinking that, no matter the cost, I had to help you.”
He regards me with a sharp stare. “You do not risk your life for me, Lyra. Ever.”
“Fine. Then you don’t ever risk your life for me .”
His brows furrow, and his face twists in frustration. “That’s different. I—”
“—It’s not different. There are no twists of logic that will allow me to believe you should have the right to put your life on the line, yet I shouldn’t.”
Gray’s frustration spikes. “You haven’t trained . Haven’t properly learned how to use a blade, your magic. You’ve never even seen combat. Understand where I’m coming from here, Lyra. There are risks, and—”
“—I understand, and I don’t care .” I pinch the bridge of my nose and dull the sharpness of my words.
“I took down that beast despite my lack of training, didn't I?” My voice is soft, the question entering the world on a calm wave.
“You had your sword and your magic. Had your training. And what good was it?” I let the silence sit heavy for a moment before continuing.
“There are different methods for achieving similar outcomes, Gray, and I will not let you undermine the strength of mine.”
He takes a long moment to absorb what I’ve just said. Finally, he huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dare purposefully undermine your capabilities. You’d probably spike my next drink if I did.”
His offer of concession.
“Wise man,” I coo through a smirk.
Gray chuckles and positions himself on the ground next to me, raking a hand through his half-bound hair. “How’d you do it, anyways?”
“What? Save your ass?” I mock a casual shrug, sending a spark of pain shooting through my shoulder. “Like I said, I have my methods. ”
Gray lets a gentle laugh escape from his lips and nods. “Fair enough. Though I really would like to know.”
I tuck my knees into my chest—resulting in another jolt of pain—and rest my chin atop of them.
“Honeysuckle,” I murmur. “When we were traveling, I noticed a honeysuckle bush not far from where we were. I scrambled a plan together, and ran back to it, praying to the gods I could find a hollow branch. I did, and then I used it to shoot the paralyticus potion your father gave us down the beast’s throat. ”
Gray looks at me, stunned, until a creeping smile spreads across his lips and he gazes at me with such adoration, I have to fight the urge to fidget beneath the undeserving look. “You never stop amazing me. You know that, right?”
My cheeks warm at the compliment. But wanting the attention off me, I pivot the conversation. “What was that thing, anyways?”
Gray glances down at his palms. “It was a Wynn,” he answers, his features and tone growing solemn.
A Wynn?
Surely that can’t be right.
A creature of nightmares built with exceptional strength, sharp eyesight, superior speed, and hearing. And much like nightmares, it is a lethal beast incompatible with sunlight. If the sun shines on them too long, they burn and crumble to ash.
As the story goes, Wynns were nothing more than ordinary wolves until they were struck by a mad wielder who imbued their very veins with forbidden magic as a cruel experiment.
To his savage delight, the pack of wolves became…
different. They became lethal killing machines capable of great destruction through their unparalleled senses.
The mad wielder attempted to create an army of Wynns, imbuing pack after pack with forbidden magic, thinking he would forever be their master.
Until he discarded them like old toys when he soon learned they could only exist under the blanket of night.
The Wynns turned on the wielder, and they shredded him with their teeth while he slept. Thus the nightmare had been born.
I had always thought they were nothing more than creatures in a bedtime story. Something meant to make children grow wide-eyed with terror, fearing the Wynns may come for them if they misbehaved.
Something else strikes me, too. Another component of the story.
Wynns feed off of forbidden magic. It’s the only way they can survive.
The implication sends a slash of ice down my spine.
“Are you sure?” I ask Gray. “I thought Wynns were just some made-up creature in some made-up story.”
But before Gray can answer, the sound of thunder rolls through the valley. Only, with a quick sweep of my eyes, I can see it’s not thunder at all, but rather a band of horses with hooded riders galloping toward us.
What in god’s veins are riders doing in Foreigner’s Valley?
Gray and I quickly scramble upright—the movement sending a sharp, slicing pain through me—and he steps in front of me, outstretching his arm. “Stay behind me,” he demands in a low, steady voice. An authoritative type of voice I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Gray use with me before.
The horses slow to a halt in front of us, and the hooded riders dismount—some with more impressive grace than others.
As a group, they approach. By a quick count, there are four of them in total, with no others in sight.
Two figures seem to lead the small group.
They trail in front of the other two with a kind of authority and respect I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to command.
“Who are you?” Gray asks, his voice deep and unwavering.
But the voice that replies back is even deeper—firmer. “Funny, we were going to ask you the same question.”
It comes from the hooded figure on the left. His cloak covers every inch of him, yet what it can’t cover is his towering height—his indisputably large frame.
“Forgive me for not answering first, seeing as we are exposed to you and not hiding our faces.”
Watching Gray so easily slip into this diplomatic, yet authoritative persona only further solidifies my belief he would thrive in court.
The cloaked figure to the left lets a low laugh ripple from deep within his throat. “Alright,” he says. Slowly, his fingers lift to his hood, and he pulls it back, revealing his face.
And goddess’s tears is it hard not to openly gape.
Night-dark shaggy hair rippling with waves tumbles against his sandy-beige skin. A strong nose and an even stronger jaw complement his full lips, carved with a deep indent.
But it's his eyes…
One is filled with a translucent seafoam green, while the other holds a soft gradient of shifting blues and greens. And branching from his pupil, like a crack in the earth, is a small fissure stemming diagonally, breaking apart the gradient with a small slit.