Chapter 13
Thirteen
Zax stopped at the base of his brother’s mountain, panting.
The mountains were Titans once, his oldest brother, Slate, had told him. Some say they still speak to us. Some say they still listen.
Zax had prayed to the Titans and listened for a sign. He thought they had heard him, thought they had heard the desperate plea of a man who had been trying for so long to find a companion, only for the objects of his desire to run away screaming.
“I believed in you,” Zax told the mountain. “I believed you would help! Why have you done this?”
The mountain was still. His brother was still a day’s journey away, at least. He would not hear Zax’s wailing. Only the Titans would hear him. If they even existed so long after their deaths.
“Are you even really there?” Zax cried. “Or am I a fool, as many of my brothers have said? I thought you gave her to me.”
There was no reply except the wind through the trees.
“I thought I was a good husband,” Zax said miserably. “Was I wrong about that, too? I thought—I thought she cared for me.”
Still no response. Zax was standing at the base of a mountain, talking to himself. He thought he would come back here with a wife, but he was alone. As usual.
Zax threw back his head and howled with all the despair in his scarred body, then he slumped to the ground.
His knees slammed into the rocks, sending a jolt of pain up his injured side. But there was something else with it. A strange thrum of magic, so small he barely noticed it underneath the pain. But it was there, he was sure of it.
He looked around uncertainly. There was no one there, and no Titan whispers in his head, as his brother had.
Zax took the freckle rock out of his pocket. He rubbed the shiny surface, remembering the soft warmth of Fawn’s cheeks. Then he threw the rock away, not bothering to watch it bounce into the rocky distance and out of sight.
But the rock did not clatter as he’d thought. There was only more silence.
Zax turned.
His eldest brother Slate was standing next to him, tall and commanding as ever, his eyes shining familiar blue. He was holding the freckle rock he had thrown away. There was a portal glowing next to him, dark and shadowy.
“Slate,” Zax choked.
Slate inclined his head. “Here I am.”
“How?”
“I heard your pain,” Slate explained, stepping away from the portal. “The veil between my void and the mortal realm is thin here. The magic is brighter.”
Zax nodded glumly. He was grateful for his brother’s presence. But nothing could pierce his despair at losing Fawn.
Slate offered him his hand. Zax allowed himself to be helped up, wincing when the movement tugged on his wound.
“You are injured,” Slate said.
“It is not so bad.” Zax touched the wound gingerly. “The malblossom burned it closed.”
“Lucky,” Slate said in a tone that implied otherwise. He looked over Zax’s scarred form, his tail flicking agitatedly. “You have been injured many times, evidently. What happened?”
Zax touched his scarred-shut eye. Then he started to speak, telling Slate everything that had happened since the Circle captured him.
His escape and his first meeting with Fawn.
Then their second meeting, weeks later. How he had fallen for her instantly.
Their time in the treehouse, where Zax thought they were happy.
Then she had run from him as soon as she could.
“I was foolish and desperate enough to believe she was given to me by the Titan gods,” Zax said, his tail drooping. “I should have listened to you. The Titans do not hear us.”
“They hear, sometimes. They just do not care for us,” Slate corrected. “If they ever offer you something, it will not be something you want.”
“I just—” Zax sighed. “I did not know where else to turn. And Wick has heard them.”
“Never for any good reason,” Slate said. He hesitated, then laid a hand on Zax’s shoulder. “Zax. Little brother. You must have known the truth, deep down. Of course, the mortal was a coincidence. And not every mortal is willing to be a Skullstalker’s mate.”
“I know,” said Zax sadly. “I thought Fawn was different.”
“Well, you should have thought differently,” Slate said.
Then he cleared his throat, as if he had not meant to say that.
“You should go to Wick. He lives not far from here in the mortal realm, does he not? He will be glad to see you. I have duties to attend to, but after I finish, I will meet you there. I am sure Briar will have some ‘adventure’ for us, yet again. Perhaps we will even find you a proper mate.”
Zax nodded. He did not point out that he did not want a new mate; he wanted Fawn, but it seemed like a useless thing to say at this point. At least, she had been crying when she told him to leave. At least, she had claimed she was sorry. He could even smell her sadness as she said it.
“Little brother,” Slate said impatiently.
“I will find Wick,” Zax replied.
“Good,” Slate said simply. He stepped back toward the shadowy portal, then paused. “I will be there in a week. Perhaps two. Possibly a month, if this duty runs overlong. You understand how these things are.”
Zax did not understand. He never had a void to care for. He had to invent his own home, and now it was ash. Even his bathtub was broken on the forest floor. He would have to find a new one when he set things up for his new spouse.
The very idea made his heart clench with reluctance. But he did not want to be alone. He would have to move past Fawn so he could be the very best husband for his next companion. If he ever managed to find one. After Fawn, he was starting to suspect he was not meant for one.
“Have heart,” Slate told him. He paused, then leaned back and pressed the freckle rock back into Zax’s hand.
Zax stared at him, uncomprehending. But Slate only said, “I will see you soon.”
Zax nodded again. He watched Slate vanish into the portal, which closed neatly behind him. Then he looked up at the mountain.
If he started now, he could be at Wick’s cottage in a few days. They would set up the guest room for him, and he would sleep in a new nest and be given hot chocolate, something that Wick had developed a liking for in the past few decades.
Zax sighed. Then he set off, the freckle rock still clutched in his claws.
But before he could set foot on the mountain path, something made him stop.
It was a voice. Familiar and beloved. He thought he would never hear it again.
“Zax,” called Fawn from the forest. “Wait!”