14. Buried Paths #4
Tears stung Allora's eyes. Relief washed through her, intense and bittersweet.
For the first time, he had chosen her. She closed the space between them and threw her arms around him, holding him tight with real affection, with love and respect that transcended the impossible situation they found themselves in. Her voice trembled against his ear.
"I hope one day we'll be friends on equal ground. In a world where neither of us is bound to anyone else. Where we can just be Luko and Allora, nothing more."
She pulled back, her hands lingering on his shoulders for just a moment. "Thank you for choosing me."
Luko's eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill over. He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
Kalemon grabbed Allora's hand and together they ran, snow spraying in their wake, vanishing into the alleys toward the waiting mules.
Luko stood alone in the falling snow. He turned his back deliberately, facing the opposite direction so he would not see which path they took. Tears finally broke free, sliding down his cheeks as his breath clouded in the frozen air.
"I can't wait for that lifetime," he whispered to the empty street.
Malec stood in the inn's common room, his rage thick enough to choke the air.
The soldiers knelt before him, stammering excuses about the runaway Canariae slipping through their fingers.
Worthless. Every last one of them. He ignored the fact that she had done the same to him, again and again, because acknowledging it would mean facing the truth he refused to name: she was better at this than he was.
He was tired. Bone-deep, soul-sick, tired.
Done with incompetence. Exhausted from chasing a wild animal that refused the cage he had built with his own bleeding hands.
Dark thoughts coiled suddenly in his mind, whispering solutions that grew more twisted with each passing day.
When he caught her—and it would be when, not if—he would make sure she never ran again.
A shackle around her ankle, spelled to allow movement only within the boundaries he set.
The bedchamber, the bathhouse and maybe the courtyard.
Always within arm's reach, always visible, always his.
She could rage against it all she wanted, but the metal wouldn't care, and neither would he.
The thought should have horrified him. Once, it would have. But that version of himself had died somewhere between the second week and the third month of this hunt, buried beneath sleepless nights and the constant, aching pull of the tether that told him she was alive but never within his grasp.
Snow clung to his long platinum hair, straight and heavy, dripping down the collar of his blue and white uniform.
Dark circles carved shadows beneath fawn hued eyes, which burned with a fury hovering near madness.
He hadn't slept more than a few hours in weeks.
Food tasted like ash. Nothing existed except the hunt, the mission, and the golden thread that sang her location through his veins like poison he couldn't purge.
The door creaked open.
Luko stepped inside, shoulders hunched, his glasses fogged from the snow. He looked half-frozen, but the truth was heavier than the weather. He knew he had to speak before one of the soldiers did. If Malec heard from them that he had seen her, there would be no mercy left in him.
"I ran into her," Luko said softly.
Malec turned, his gaze cutting through him with cold precision. The movement was slow, predatory, and the look in his expression made Luko's stomach drop.
The words Allora had spat earlier still clung to Luko’s thoughts. We can never be true friends. You'll always choose him. She was right. And the fact that he had expected anything else only made her words more brutal.
"Where?" Malec's voice was low, controlled. Too controlled, like a drawn bowstring waiting to snap.
"Behind the tavern," Luko admitted. He made sure not to mention how long ago. He had given her thirty minutes at least before he came here. A small mercy. Small enough Malec would never notice.
“Which direction?” Malec stepped closer, his eyes blazing, feral now, his hand flexing as if he might throttle the answer out of him.
Luko swallowed. "She was with another Canariae. They ran into me, knocked me down. I didn't see which way they went."
For a long, dangerous moment, nobody breathed.
Malec's jaw danced, the muscle jumping beneath skin that had grown pale from weeks without proper rest. The soultether inside him throbbed like a golden chain being yanked taut, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, letting it guide him.
South. Always south. Running from him like he was the monster in her nightmares.
Maybe he was. Maybe he didn't care anymore.
"Outside," he barked, his voice cracking like a whip.
The soldiers scrambled. Malec charged through the inn doors, snow exploding beneath his boots. He whistled sharply, and his black stallion came thundering from the stables, breath steaming in the frozen air. In one smooth motion, Malec swung into the saddle, his cloak whipping in the storm wind.
"Mount up," he snarled. "She has only two paths available to her: further south or west into Zaharein. The tether is pulling south."
The soldiers obeyed, clattering into their saddles behind him.
Malec leaned low over his stallion's neck, fury and desperation singing in his veins. The tether throbbed again, hot and demanding, a compass that wouldn't let him rest until he held her again. His hands shook on the reins, not from cold but from the sheer force of need that had consumed him.
He would find her. He will bring her home. And this time, he would make sure she could never leave him again, even if it meant becoming the monster she believed him to be.
Kalemon and Allora pushed the mules as hard as they could, but the beasts were bred for pulling bricks and hauling timber, not for speed.
Their hooves slapped heavy against the frozen road, their breaths already ragged.
To leave the road would mean tracks, easy marks for the Silver Fox's hounds, so they stayed where the earth was packed, praying distance would do what their mounts could not.
Kalemon cast a glance over her shoulder. Allora swayed in the saddle, her dark skin ashen and slick with sweat despite the biting cold. The girl's hood clung to her brow, her hands gripping the reins too loosely, knuckles barely maintaining their hold.
"Gods, have you even eaten today?" Kalemon barked.
Allora didn't answer. Her body listed dangerously to one side, and Kalemon cursed under her breath, slowing her mule to draw level. She held a steadying hand out, pressing Allora upright before she toppled off entirely. "Kiddo, this is the worst damn time to pass out on me."
"I'm good," Allora rasped, blinking up at her with unfocused eyes. Nausea rolled through her in waves, each jostle of the mule sending fresh pain through her lower back. "I've been in worse. I was a soldier, remember?"
Kalemon snorted. "Yeah? And were you ever hauling ass across a province while pregnant with an Awyan warlord's child?"
Allora's jaw set, her eyes sparking with what little defiance she could muster.
She didn't answer. Instead, she kicked her mule roughly, forcing the beast into a faster trot.
The movement sent an intense cramp through her abdomen, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.
Her hand drifted instinctively to the swell beneath her ribs, as if she could protect the child from the punishment she was inflicting on her own body.
They rode another mile before the sound reached them. Distant but undeniable. The heavy, thunderous rhythm of hooves. Not mules. Horses. War-trained destriers moving at full tilt, eating up the ground between them with terrifying efficiency.
Kalemon's stomach sank. She didn't bother looking back. "Faster!" she bellowed. "Move, girl!"
The hoofbeats grew louder, closer, like drums announcing an execution.
And then a voice.
Light. Calm. Almost amused. Floating up behind them as if born of the wind itself.
"You're almost caught, little bird. You need to find a way to stall them."
Allora stiffened, her head snapping back.
Kalemon's hand flew to the knife on her belt, her entire body coiling into defensive readiness.
Neither had heard anyone approach. No crunch of snow, no rustle of branches, no sound of hooves.
And yet, there she was. A cloaked figure on horseback, deep blue velvet sweeping like water over the saddle, the golden constellations on the hem gleaming faintly through the trees as though lit from within.
The horse beneath her was silent as a ghost.
Impossible.
"How the hell did you—?" Kalemon began, but the figure cut her off, her voice carrying effortlessly over the approaching storm of hooves.
"I've been in the forest," she said simply, as though materializing from nowhere was the most natural thing in the world. "Laying false trails, scattering signs. It slowed the Fox, but only by ten minutes at most. If you want to shake him for good, you'll follow me. I have a plan."
Without waiting for reply, she pulled her horse hard to the left and veered into a narrow deer track, the underbrush snapping beneath her mount's hooves. She didn't look back, only shouted once, urgent, echoing between the trees.
"Come on! They're behind you!"
Kalemon spat a curse under her breath, glaring at Allora. "That's trouble with a capital T. Don't trust her."
Allora's hands shook on the reins. She nodded, another wave of dizziness washing over her.
The edges of her vision blurred. "I know.
" Her voice was low, breathless. "But we don't have a choice.
Not against him." Her hand drifted again to the swell beneath her ribs, and the unspoken truth hung between them: she couldn't keep running like this much longer. Her body was giving out.