Chapter 27
GUR REMAINED sprawled on the ground, but his tail flicked restively as he watched the new arrivals.
Damion embraced her and then pushed her away. “You reek,” he said.
“I’m aware,” Magda chuckled. “How did you find us?”
Honey, still on the roc’s back, gave the beast’s neck a hug. “Anqa found you. She saw your rat out in the meadow. She has very keen eyes.”
Damion gave Honey a dull, glazed sort of look, then turned back to Magda. “What happened to you?”
“Why don’t I let Kaelan explain?” she said. “I’m told I need to bathe.”
Honey continued to sit astride the bird, who was eyeing Gur with equal suspicion. “Oh yes, I can smell you from here,” the nymph chimed in.
Magda held up her hands in surrender. “All right! I’m going.”
“There’s a stream down that way,” Kaelan said, turning away from Honey and Damion and falling into step with her as she turned back. “I can show you.”
“I think I can find it,” she said. “Please, fill Damion in on everything while I’m gone, all right?”
He nodded, but his brow curved low over his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with a sigh.
“I just hate it,” he said. “The way she is now.”
He turned and strode back to Damion, who was tapping his foot, arms crossed, face dark.
Magda ducked into the hut and grabbed the clothes and a hunk of soap that had been left beside them.
After she had trekked down to the stream and scrubbed the layers of dirt and blood away, she stretched out in a sunny patch to dry off.
“Are you napping?” Damion barked, tromping down the hillside.
“I was,” she said, not opening her eyes.
His shadow fell over her, stealing the warmth that had been sinking into her skin. She’d forgotten how much she missed the feel of the sun’s touch on her. In California, she had taken it for granted.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We should leave immediately.”
She propped up on her elbows, blowing out a heavy breath. “I know.”
She grabbed the trousers and pulled them on as she stood.
They were well-fitted. Leave it to a brownie to know a girl’s exact measurements without having to ask.
The fabric was soft, linen and wool, dyed dark brown.
A thin tunic of gold was covered with a heavier vest that cinched along the sides and at the shoulders, cupping her breasts and giving them support.
Heavy canvas boots with woven soles itched at her bare feet as she wound the laces around her shins and over her knees, knotting them.
It was so familiar and yet so alien. All the while, Damion was grumbling.
“Tell me what happened with him,” he asked as she wound the linen around her wrists, securing the loose ends of her sleeves.
“Nothing happened,” she said.
“Would you tell me if something had?” he asked.
“What do you think, hm? That I had sex with him? So what if I did? What would it matter?”
“Don’t try to dismiss this,” he said. “Wasn’t it bad enough that we had one Elf Prince to deal with, but now two? Brothers no less. What are we going to do?”
“Just as we planned,” she said, tying the wrappings a bit too tight. “Go to the Spire. Lay claim to our family, vie for Radiant if need be. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“And you’re going to allow an Elf to come with us?”
“No one knows that Kaelan is an Elf.”
“It seems to me that quite a few people know.”
“Assuming that anyone from Froenz’s hall survived the battle and the dragon attack, do you really think they would cross all the way into Pixie Lands and to the Spire? No one needs to know who he really is.”
“We know.”
“You’re right. We do. He’s a Prince. He’s willing to help us. We need him, Damion. You know that.”
“You are afraid to fight,” he said, shaking his head. “What has happened to you?”
“I forgot who I was,” she said.
The scars on his face twitched and curved as his jaw clenched and worked. “Clearly.”
“Have you lost faith in me, coz?” she asked.
His mouth pressed tightly, and his arms dropped away from his chest. “No . . . but you’re right.”
She finished the other wrapping, retrieving her knives, incomplete as they were. She stepped back, holding her arms wide. “Well?”
He looked her up and down. “You’re starting to look like your old self again.” His face softened. “If you need more rest . . .”
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I do. I need a lifetime of rest, but we should go. The longer we stay, the more chance there is that Lavana will convince the Crown to make her Radiant before the year is up.”
She retrieved the Enneahedron from the pile of discarded clothes and slid it securely between her breasts where it would be hidden and its energy could flow straight into her chest. At once, her bruised heart and its limping pulse picked up strength and rhythm.
All of her doubts drifted to the back of her mind like shadows fleeing the bright light of the sun.
Crouching, she picked up the tattered and dirty clothes.
“What are you doing with those?” Damion said. “You don’t need them. Leave them.”
“Out here?”
“Where else?”
She frowned, but he was right. There wasn’t a trash can or even a rubbish heap here. Not that she wanted to throw them away. But she couldn’t bring them with her either. They were filthy and they stank.
She laid the clothes back down at the streamside, her tattered sneakers on top.
“Let me just check the pockets.”
Damion grumbled and tromped up the slope.
She dug her hands into the gritty and stiff fabric of her jeans. In the back pocket, she found the ichor-gold glove. The intricate mail was light and cool in her hand. It seemed years since she’d escaped Lavana’s dungeon. In fact, it had only been a few weeks.
She stuffed the glove inside her vest, secure under the lacings that wound around her waist. Hero came plodding along the bank. She held her arm out and he climbed up onto her shoulder.
Standing, she gave her old clothes one last look, wondering what would become of them. If they’d just rot there, if the stream would flood and sweep them away, if some enterprising creature would find them and put them to use.
“I am scared.”
She ran her finger between Hero's ears. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for you.”
“Me too,” she murmured.
Honey knelt beside Gur, knotting white and red flowers into his mane. Eyes closed, the lion-semargl appeared to be sleeping, but his tail continued to swipe back and forth across the forest floor. Magda couldn’t tell if he enjoyed the attention or was merely tolerating it.
Anqa had her back turned to them as she preened her feathers, one massive wing angled upwards as she worked.
Damion and Kaelan leaned against the little hut, drinking water and sharing what was left in the basket, watching the scene, neither looking particularly happy.
Kaelan’s brow furrowed as she approached.
“I look that good, huh?” she said, hands on her hips.
He chucked away his apple core. “What now?”
“We go to the Spire.”
“We fly?” Honey asked, bounding over.
“Doesn’t Anqa need to go back to her mate?” Magda asked, glancing back at the roc, who suddenly let out a high-ringing shriek.
“Her mate was killed,” Honey stated plainly, in the same way she might tell someone their shoe was untied.
“When? How?”
For the first time since the empusa had siphoned her soul, Honey frowned. “Anqa isn’t sure. She left us after we thought she was no longer needed and found him . . . or what was left of him. All his feathers were taken, and his head removed.”
Magda’s stomach churned.
“Then she can take you back to the forest,” Kaelan said to Honey.
“How will you reach the Spire?” Honey asked.
“I can take Magda there.”
“No,” Damion said. “Remember what happened the last time we did that? We all go together this time.”
“Damion’s right,” Magda said to Kaelan. “Besides, I can’t drag you unconscious before the Crown. And if I have to fight, I’ll need you at full strength.”
“Then we fly?” Honey asked.
“The Spire is a long way from here,” Damion said. “Will Anqa be able to carry all of us over the gulf and then the mountains?”
Honey twirled her hair. “She will require frequent rest.”
Gur stood, stretching, and let out a mouthy lionish sound, as if he were attempting to speak.
“We’re not taking that thing with us,” Damion said.
Gur’s eyes fixed on Damion, clearly communicating what he thought of Damion’s protest.
“I agree,” Kaelan said. “We can’t trust him, considering . . .”
“Considering what?” Honey asked.
Kaelan glowered, folding his arms over his chest.
Gur prowled up behind Magda and insinuated his head under her hand.
A flood of emotions and intentions pushed into her.
She took a moment, absorbing the semargl’s clear and strong personality.
He was loyal to Endreas. Endreas wanted her to live and reach the Spire.
So that was what Gur intended to see happen.
He would do whatever he could to help her succeed in that.
Finally, she let her fingers pull through Gur’s mane, plucking one of the exotic crimson flowers from his fur, spinning it, and then letting it fall.
“Kaelan and Honey will take Anqa. Damion, you and I will go with Gur.”
Honey clapped and bounced a bit. “I’ve always wanted to see the mountains.”
“Wouldn’t it be better . . .” Kaelan said, eyes fixed on the ground, “if I went with you, and Damion went with Honey?”
Damion scowled. “No.”
“If we’re separated or attacked,” Kaelan said, “Honey and I will have little hope of defending ourselves. You two are warriors. We’re not.”
Damion’s shoulders fell.
“All right,” Magda said. “Damion, you and Honey go with Anqa.”
“Why don’t I take the Prince?” Damion asked.
Magda knew he was looking for any alternative to spending hours in the air with Honey. She couldn’t blame him. The nymph’s blank-eyed cheerfulness wasn’t just irritating, it was unsettling. Every time Magda looked at her, the nymph's wounded soul seemed to cause Magda’s to twinge in sympathy.
“Because neither of you can communicate with Gur or Anqa,” Magda said.