Chapter 18
The sky was dark. The war had begun anew.
And Arawn pushed his horse faster, hooves thundering against the snow as he followed Six through the woods.
Ezer had called him. She’d called him through the stone, and then he’d seen Six approaching the edge of the woods, riderless, after Ezer and Kinlear had taken her out.
...just as night fell.
“Come on!” he growled, as they came to a clearing in the trees, far beyond the Gates. Far beyond the safety of the wards. Six stopped her running, hackles raised as she tucked her wings close to her body and paused, glancing back over her shoulder at him.
“What is it?” Arawn asked. “Where is she?”
Because at first...he saw nothing but thick evergreens, and branches broken and twisted, and a great, carved up portion of snow that looked like the claws of a giant had gouged into the earth.
The mark of a mighty winged beast, crashing into the snow.
He’d seen it countless times on the battlefield.
He’d seen it with Soraya’s own war eagle, months ago, and now...
Fear hit him like a bolt of lightning. Like a penance brand to his chest, because he was taken right back to that night again. When everything had broken.
When he was left cold and desperate and alone.
“Gods,” he breathed, as he saw the ring of ravens in the snow just beyond.
They’d made a tiny shield wall. A circle of dark sentries, standing guard in the darkness, and in their middle...
“Ezer,” Arawn gasped. And Kinlear beside her, both of them curled upon their sides...with blood staining the snow beneath them.
He ran for them, half-stumbling as he fell to his knees.
He felt like he’d fallen right back into the past, felt the terror and the panic return to him like it had been there all along, biding its time until it could claw its way back to the surface.
“What happened?” he snarled over his shoulder at Six, as if the beast would answer him, but she only let out a soft caw that sent the ravens soaring towards the treetops.
“Please,” Arawn gasped, turning back to Ezer. “Please be alright.”
Her cloak was runed, just enough warmth left that her lips hadn’t turned fully blue. She’d spread it across herself and Kinlear, as if she’d been awake after the crash, enough to think of saving him.
Arawn’s hands found her face, searching for wounds. No blood upon her, but she was too cold, too frail—what if something inside was broken? What if she was too far gone, what if he was too late?
No, he thought. I won’t lose her. Not like this.
He dared anyone to defy him, even the gods themselves.
She would not die tonight.
Carefully, Arawn pulled her into his lap, her head lolling against his chest.
Lifeless.
Cold.
It sent a shockwave of terror through him, but then she groaned and leaned further into him, as if she sensed his presence, his warmth, his fire.
And it struck him, suddenly, how the last time he’d scooped someone from the snow, bent and broken...
They’d tried to murder him.
But Ezer only leaned into his touch... as if she felt safe with him.
A strangled cry left his lips, relief flooding him.
Hope.
But she was shivering far too much, her body as frozen as ice. He reached for the small dagger at his hip, hands shaking. Focus, Arawn. You must not fail again.
He wasn’t much for carving runes, but he knew the simplest kind. The ones that never worked on Soraya, and his heart tremored in fear again.
He wouldn’t let Ezer die.
He would not lose another part of his heart.
If he did... he’d have nothing left.
With trembling hands, he carved the healing rune into Ezer’s skin, on the back of her delicate hand. It glowed softly as the magic came to life, the only hope he could offer her until he could get her to Alaris.
“You’ll carry her,” he said to Six, and the beast lowered itself at once, almost as if it had understood. He didn’t give himself time to consider that. Gently, Arawn placed Ezer upon Six’s back, taking his own cloak to lay over her.
He wanted to hold her, wanted to check every inch of her for injuries, but howls sounded beyond the clearing.
His blood spiked with heat, with warning.
The wolves would be swift on their way.
It was an effort to tear himself from her side, but he went for Kinlear next—furious, as he lifted his twin.
How dare he bring Ezer beyond the Wards, how dare he put them both in danger?
Arawn hated him.
He hated him... and he loved him, dearly, despite their odds.
He couldn’t imagine himself without Kinlear, even now, even though he would curse his twin’s name to the wind tonight... so long as the bastard stayed alive.
“Damn you, Kinlear,” Arawn growled as he carved the healing rune into his skin, jagged and hideous but enough to glow as it came to life. In his mind, he saw them both as boys.
Wild and free in the halls of the Citadel, raising hell with sticks for swords.
He saw Kinlear’s drawings and how Arawn had paid the penance in his place.
He saw a speaking stone passed between them, and himself, seated on the edge of Kinlear’s bed as he screamed from his nightmares.
..as Arawn held his hands, and whispered, I’m here. There’s no monster, Kinlear. Wake up.
They were once closer than brothers could ever be...two sides to the same coin.
He missed those days. He missed the old Kinlear, before Soraya. Because after her...Kinlear had changed, too.
He’d broken. He’d lost his Matched. Of course, he’d broken...and Arawn hadn’t even considered Kinlear’s pain for a moment.
“Damn it all, Brother. What did you get yourself into this time?” he breathed.
Kinlear’s head was gashed, but his pulse was bold. Bless Ezer for saving both of them. Bless her beautiful, clever mind.
“Come on,” Arawn growled, reaching for Six’s halter as he slung Kinlear over her back, too. Not as carefully as he had Ezer, and the beast reared back, clacking her beak in distaste. “We have to get them home.”
Six growled, wings snapping out as if she’d protect them both from Arawn. As if he were the enemy now.
“Come on!”
He lunged for the halter again, but she sidestepped him, and when he managed to grab a hold, she dug in her claws, refusing to move.
Refusing to bend to his will.
“You came for me!” He growled at her. “You...” He pulled on the halter with all his might. “Must...” The worn leather creaked in protest. “Move.”
She didn’t.
Not even an inch.
“Six!” Her big, dark eyes met his and narrowed. “If you care for her at all, you’ll move your paws.”
Another howl sounded, this one closer than the last. Ravens cawed somewhere deep in the trees, and an animal yelped as its life was cut off short.
Arawn’s horse bolted, abandoning him in the snow and silence.
So, he drew his sword and pointed at the raphon. “I swear to the gods above, beast. If you don’t move, I will cut you limb from limb, and—"
She huffed in his face. Her tail twitched twice...and she covered him with snow.
Gods.
“Please,” he said, lowering the sword as desperation brought an unwelcome warmth to his eyes. As he stared at Ezer, helpless on her back. That tiny healing rune...it would not be enough. “Please, or they’ll freeze to death.”
Six considered him, head cocking to the side.
Her paws clutched at the snow as she shifted, and on her back, Ezer groaned.
The sound convinced her more than Arawn’s sword did.
For her tail twitched once, and then she turned. And slowly, as silent as the grave...she walked deeper into the woods.
Arawn had no choice but to follow.
Six found a cave.
A cave that was empty of any bears or beasts, thank the gods, and Arawn covered the entrance with sealing runes. A feeble protection, for he was no Scribe, but it would do until the safety of morning.
The cold clung to every part of him, his breath coming in thick clouds as Six curled around both Ezer and Kinlear, offering them her body heat. A strange and gentle movement, for the Acolyte’s beast.
Perhaps there truly was more to her than he realized.
Arawn sat down, cursing the world around him as he tried to light a fire.
“Come on,” he growled. He’d gathered what little sticks he could find that weren’t drenched in snow. He’d piled them high with trembling hands, his entire body racked with shivers...
And begged Vivorr to gift him with a wave of magic.
“Come on!” he yelled.
His voice echoed off the rounded cave walls, the darkness lit only by the twin runes on Ezer and Kinlear’s hands.
“Vivorr, please!”
But his hands did nothing. They gave no spark, no flame, no warmth to bring Ezer back to life. “I need you.”
There were tears in his eyes now, pain throbbing in the back of his skull.
He’d failed her.
He’d failed Soraya, and he had failed Ezer.
“Not again,” he whispered. “Please, not again.”
He slammed his hands together, as if he could make Vivorr listen. As if he could call power to them, but silence came, no matter how furiously he hissed his invocations.
There was no peace in his mind. There was only terror, and there was only cold that would shatter her bones, soon, if he did not bring this flame to life.
He cursed beneath his breath, desperate enough that he might have to leave this cave, go back into the woods, and--
He swore the wind blew.
Not from outside the cave, but from within, like a delicate kiss that pulled his head to look back at Ezer. There she was, curled beneath the raphon’s wings.
Alive.
Almost peaceful, as she slept.
When he’d first met her...he’d thought her the ghost of Soraya, come back to haunt him. They were both small, and brave, dark-haired and determined. But...the more time he spent with her, the more he realized she was not his old friend.
She was so much more.
She was fearless in a way Soraya had never been, because she’d chosen to stay in the north. She’d chosen to tame a beast that wanted most men dead, and she’d danced with Arawn, not because he was the only one that could...
But because he was the only one she’d wanted to dance with.
She saw him. His pain. His mourning.