Chapter 51
Chapter fifty-one
The stone pavilion encircled the Waygate like a crown, wide and weathered, its surface scorched pale by centuries of sun.
Towering menhirs lined the outer ring, monolithic guardians that reached skyward in a jagged rhythm, each one carved with faded symbols of power.
Their shadows, narrow and useless, shifted slowly as the sun hauled itself across the sky’s molten arc.
Rynna huddled in the only scrap of shade to be found—pressed against the base of the Waygate, where its curved frame blocked just enough light to spare her from being baked alive.
Even so, the heat clung to her like wet cloth.
Her skin was slick with sweat, and her hair stuck to her cheeks in damp, curling strands.
Digging her fingertips into her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut against the light.
The headache was brutal. More than just a throb, it pulsed like a second heartbeat behind her eyes, budding with every movement, every sound.
The aftermath of the Waygate jump, or any portal jump for that matter, had never bothered her before, but this one had been gutting.
A gust swept through the pavilion, stirring sand and rustling loose fabric. She winced, forcing her gaze up and stilled.
Kaelith stood a few lengths away, leaning his weight onto his uninjured leg, the other held carefully straight.
The long, lean line of his body was all tension and control, a quiet contrast to the raw heat around them.
He didn’t seem to notice the sweat slicking down his back or the punishing sun overhead. He was utterly absorbed.
His chin rested in one hand, thumb beneath his jaw, index finger tapping loosely along his cheek.
The other hand hovered near the stone, fingers tracing the carved outline of a serpent etched deep into the menhir’s face.
His touch was reverent. Slow. As if the snake might move beneath his fingertips and bite.
She couldn't look away.
The black pants clung to his hips, the fabric pulled taut across the strong cut of his thighs and ass, cinched by the simple wrap of a dark sash.
He’d discarded the sleeves of his uniform earlier, unwinding the black cloth and letting it hang from one shoulder in loose folds, fluttering in the breeze like a discarded promise.
The fine lines of muscle along his back gleamed with moisture, catching the light with every breath.
Even his goddamn ponytail, the mess of ink-black hair bound hastily on his head, looked deliberate, strands escaping to stick against the damp nape of his neck.
The pain in her skull flared, and still, she stared.
Something about the focused intensity of him, how he bent toward the snake with all the concentration of a scholar or a priest, dug under her skin in ways she didn’t have the energy to unpack.
It wasn’t fair, how good he looked while she sat here, cracked open by the travel, feeling like her insides had been raked raw.
Rynna let her head tip back against the stone, eyes half-lidded. Maybe if she stopped fighting the pounding in her skull, it would pass. Maybe if she stared at Kaelith long enough, she’d forget it entirely.
She doubted it. But, stars, he was beautiful.
As if sensing her attention, Kaelith stilled. His shoulders shifted subtly, pulling back and drawing his body into sharper focus before he glanced over his shoulder.
“Will you please drink some water, pet?” His voice carried easily across the ring, low and even, but tinged with something heavier. Concern, maybe. “I can feel your head pounding from here, and you still need to get us off this rock.”
She swallowed hard, her throat rasping dry against itself. The light seared through her eyelids when she squinted up toward the sun, and her vision swam with heat.
“I’m fine,” she managed. “And we need to conserve supplies. I don’t think we’ll be able to return if we leave.”
Just the thought of reactivating the gate made her skin crawl. She shuddered, memory prickling across her spine. They’d only just survived the first crossing. The fraying weaves of corrupted Source had barely held the portal together, let alone tethered it to this ancient, rotting place.
Her stomach turned before she could brace against it.
And the memory rose without permission—the sensation of the Waygate’s energy slithering along her bones, digging in like rot under the nails.
It hadn’t been clean. The flow of Source power, once oily and fluid, now strained with the sludge-thick weight of decay.
She doubled over and heaved. Bile hit the stone flooring with a wet splatter, thick and bitter.
“Here.”
She hadn’t even heard him approach.
Fenn crouched beside her, one knee in the dust. Holding out a water skin of weathered leather with a reinforced seam and a dark-stained stopper, his free hand reached into the side of his pack and retrieved a folded cloth, already damp.
Both silver-wolf eyes softened as they met hers, the edges crinkling in restrained worry.
“Kaelith’s right,” he said, gently pressing the cloth to her mouth and wiping the residue away with practiced care. “You’re not well.”
“I said no.” She turned from the canteen, voice strained.
“Rynna,” Fenn started as Kaelith’s voice snapped her attention up.
“Pet.” He turned toward them fully, arms crossed, the lazy heat in his expression gone. “I’m making progress,” he went on, his tone cool. “But it’s hard to concentrate with your head stabbing spikes into mine.”
Her eyes dropped instinctively, taking in the length of him. Moisture wicked the defined planes of his torso as his chest rose and fell in a slow, controlled rhythm.
Rynna’s mouth parted slightly before she could stop it.
His lips curled faintly as he gestured to Fenn. “Hold her down if you have to, wolf. But get her to drink the damn water.”
Fenn said nothing. He just shifted his weight lower, settling behind her, silent as stone.
She hadn’t even noticed when he’d sat. Because her gaze hadn’t left Kaelith. And her head was still pounding.
“Come here, love.” Fenn didn’t wait for her protest. He slipped his hands beneath her arms and lifted her, drawing her into the space between his legs until her back met the warmth of his body.
His scent hit her all at once—woodsmoke and wild pine, a grounding mix that filled her lungs.
She tensed, suddenly aware of every point of contact between them, especially where the hard bars of his ribs pressed into her back.
Then, his chin lowered, resting against the crown of her head, as one arm circled around her.
The other reached forward, lifting the water skin to her lips.
“Drink.”
She craned her neck, looking up at him. “I’m not a child, Fenn.”
But when she tried to squirm free, his thighs shifted, bracketing her in, and his arm tightened around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides with calm, relentless strength.
“Then don’t act like one,” he murmured. A sigh followed, warm against her ear. “Drink the water. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve passed out from dehydration.”
She wriggled again, managing to slip one hand free, snatching the skin.
“That was one time.” Taking a small swig, she swished the cool liquid around her mouth, then swallowed. “And Bran needed it more than I did.”
“And I still had to carry you back to camp through enemy territory with assassins on our trail.” He brought his hand up beneath hers, guiding her grip with his own as he tilted the water skin toward her mouth again. “One more.”
Rynna glared at him but took another sip, exaggeratedly slow. “It was one time.”
From the side, Kaelith chuckled.
She slapped the cap back onto the skin with a hard twist, screwing it tight. “What’s so funny, snake?”
Kaelith ignored her, looking to Fenn instead. “Vessel Fenn. Ember Reach’s Crimson Wolf. Legendary Rogue Hunter. Unit Leader. Commander of the Third Regiment. And...” He made a dramatic sweep with one hand. “Brat tamer.”
Rynna’s jaw dropped as Fenn snorted behind her, the air a puff against her hair.
Kaelith gave a final, exaggerated nod. “Perhaps the most impressive of all his titles.”
Her stomach twisted. “Brat tamer?!”
She started to lurch forward, but Fenn slid his hand up beneath the hem of her shirt, splaying his fingers wide across her stomach. The heat of his palm burned into her skin as he pulled her flush against him once more.
“Did you find anything?” he cleared his throat, the rumble of it vibrating through her back. “The etchings look like they tell a story, but I can’t see to what end. Or how it might help us.”
“Perhaps,” Kaelith said, his tone turning crisp. “Now that I can think clearly…”
He turned back toward the carved stone, trailing his fingers across one of the larger circles etched into the top corner. Lines fanned out from it like rays of sunlight breaking through clouds.
Rynna allowed herself to lean back again, exhaling slowly as she threaded her fingers through Fenn’s, where they rested on her stomach.
I’m not a brat. Am I? She reached inward, brushing against the sliver of connection she’d felt when Fenn had stepped in front of Bran’s flames. It wasn’t the same as what she shared with Kaelith, but it beat in the same space. Familiar. Resonant. Anchoring.
Fenn stiffened behind her. Then he leaned in, lips skimming her ear.
“Only when you’re tired, love.”
Rynna strained, turning her neck to look up at Fenn. Her muscles ached from the motion, but she needed to see his eyes. They were crinkled at the corners.
“Looks like the snake was right,” he said, voice warm.
“I usually am,” Kaelith called from the end of the pavilion, his tone breezy as ever. He moved to the next monolith, nose nearly touching the stone’s surface.
Rynna coughed. “You two have been talking?” She kept her gaze on Fenn. “When?”
“On the eagle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “When you fell asleep.”