Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Arcus Obsidian
Chaos follows me everywhere I go. It clings to me like sheets twisted around a warm body during sleep.
The forest around us is buzzing with energy—bugs singing, birds chirping, and the trees themselves seemingly alive with a tangible spirit. I haven’t talked much since I told everyone I plan on going to Crea. It doesn’t help that I wasn’t planning on it until the moment I said it.
Calix clears his throat, a brow raised at me as we follow Aster and Willow. “You good?” he whispers.
I sigh, wishing there was an easy answer for why I am very much not good.
Where to start? Graylen is trapped with Vidaris; there are supposedly Crean soldiers heading for Penyth—all because Adrian is here, leaving Moros to run the kingdom as he pleases—the souls from the trials are stuck in the Vale; and I still don’t know what it means that my trial ended before I completed it.
Now, we might have a way to help one of those things if we find Nightfall, but that’s going to require going to Crea first.
After I told the others of my plans, we devised a final strategy. Preparations have been made all afternoon and into the evening for us to leave, but I can’t ignore the pit in my stomach, the images my mind has concocted of what Graylen could be going through.
When I close my eyes, I see him in pain. I see him crying out for me, but hoping I don’t risk myself to come get him.
“Lu?” Calix presses, shaking me from my thoughts.
“The sooner we can get the fuck off this island, the better,” I mutter.
Calix nods and shoves his hands into his pockets.
A grunt sounds from behind us as a flash of honey-brown hair appears on my right. “We might not be saying that once you get to Crea,” Leda mumbles.
The corners of my mouth tilt up. She’s been far grumpier than usual since we made a plan after talking to Adrian.
“If everything goes well, we won’t be there long,” I remind her, but she doesn’t look convinced. “You agreed the best thing for us to do is split up.”
Her nostrils flare, and she stares down the trail like something is going to jump out and attack us. “Manors are stronger together,” she whispers. “Mother has always said that. But…” A long sigh exhales from her chest. “We don’t know what’s happening with Iris and Cyprian’s convoys.”
I nod my head. We’ve already been over this, but she keeps saying it to convince herself this is the right option. Going to Crea wouldn’t be my first choice, but if there’s any truth to me being the only one who can wield Nightfall, then I have to go.
Firelight flickers through the trees, illuminating parts of the cliff’s edge in front of us. Large shadows shift toward us as we step out of the forest, flashes of scales shining in the blaze from pyres.
My breath catches as my eyes adjust. Villagers are scattered around, painting faces, sharpening weapons.
Men and women alike have their hair braided in an array of styles. Some have half their heads shaved, with the other half twisted back. Others have theirs woven into crowns, while some have metal cylinders clipped around tiny woven strands.
The last time I saw this many of the villagers was when we were taken to the cave with the Nightfall depictions, but they were different then.
Their relaxed hand-stitched clothing has been replaced with thick olive-green cloaks, the same ones Willow and Aster wore when they helped us escape from the border.
Brown leather braces are strapped to their hands and up their forearms, matching the leather vests beneath their robes. A few of them have their cloaks draped across logs on the ground, their sleeveless vests showing a century’s worth of defined muscles and sculpted arms.
Most of the villagers have a buckled strap cinched across their chests or waists, holding various weapons—axes, daggers, and spears. But the one thing they have in common is the charcoal smudged across their eyes like a band from temple to temple.
“Hold still, Ramiel,” a deep and raspy feminine voice grunts. “Go to Tansea if you want a shitty marking done by soft hands.”
My gaze swings to the voice, eyes widening as I take in the group at the nearest pyre to our left. A female with perfect dips and curves is kneeling, leaning over a shirtless male lying on his stomach. Her hair is separated into two thick braids, so long that it grazes the ground.
Black ink marks every inch of her tanned skin, even her fingers and hands covered in elaborate designs that look like art found in a palace.
In her hands is a sharp white object—a chill runs down my spine when I realize it closely resembles the shape of a collarbone—which she taps into the male’s skin.
The male grunts as she pokes away, a black, inky liquid dripping off the end of her implement. Each time she taps, his skin lifts with it, and all the while she wears a content smile on her face—though the fae beneath her doesn’t seem to be enjoying it as much.
Unlike the others, she’s wearing a black leather vest that cuts off just beneath her breasts. Her high-waisted shorts show off her lean legs.
She shifts slightly, getting a different angle, and reveals a jagged scar that runs down the entire length of her left leg. A wyvern tattoo is inked around it, like it’s winding in and out of the scar itself.
“Wyvern bond.” Willow’s voice causes me to jump, but I’m too entranced by this female to look away. “Always cemented with a marking on both the beast and the Rider. Ryan here is one of our best—she’s been doing this for years.”
The male inhales a sharp breath, and Ryan tsks and mutters a string of curses as she resumes her tapping. A smile pulls at my lips as she tells him to keep still, and I’m certain she presses a little harder than before after that.
I’ve decided I like this fae.
“How do you know when it’s time to bond?” I whisper, my eyes glued to Ryan tattooing the Rider.
“Only the wyvern and their Rider know when it’s time for the bonding to take place,” Willow explains, her voice soft.
“Usually after an incident where they have to rely on each other—often a situation where they had to put their lives into the other’s hands.
It strengthens the connection that’s already there, breaks it wide open like a river crashing through a dam.
“It could be years before a wyvern bonding takes place,” she continues. “Every Rider is different, just as is every bond.”
I swallow and tug on the connection that ties me to Zeph, her responding tug instantaneous. I don’t call her to me, but I want to feel her there. She responds with a flurry of sensations—wind that brushes against my face, the cool night air filling my lungs.
She’s flying nearby, likely with the rest of my fleet’s beasts.
“I can still feel her,” I whisper. “Even without the bond.”
Willow turns to me, and I finally rip my gaze away from Ryan and the squirming male.
“Your wyvern chose you for a reason,” Willow says slowly. “What you feel with her now is the bond manifesting quietly, a fraction of what you’ll feel once you fully make that connection.”
My brows pull together. I look up at the dark night sky, blurs of shadows passing over us where the wyverns soar.
“How do I do that?” If I’m going to Crea—a place a massive wyvern won’t be able to sneak through—I might need that bond. I haven’t been apart from her for long, and certainly not a kingdom away. What if I can’t feel her from such a distance?
Willow pats me on the shoulder and steers me toward where my friends are gathered. “When the time is right, you’ll know.”
She walks ahead of me, joining the circle where Aster is talking. I join them, settling beside Calix. I catch sight of a familiar tall female with cropped auburn hair. Brielle’s gaze finds mine, and she gives me a small smile, her color less gray and her eyes a little brighter.
A roaring laugh comes from behind our group as two males race to chug cups of ale, others gathering to cheer them on.
I lean over to Calix and whisper, “What’s this all about?”
We discussed splitting up—me going to Crea with Adrian and Leda flying with us to stay with Zeph once we made it across safely. The rest of my fleet would wait for her here, then head out to find Iris and Cyprian’s convoys.
These fae…they look like they’re preparing for battle.
“A bonding ceremony,” Aster cuts in, his voice snapping my attention over to him. “Bonds tend to increase the closer war gets—like there’s something in the air that causes a flurry of Riders to feel the pull.”
Ceremony isn’t the way I would describe this. It’s more of…a preparation for war.
Aster hesitates, but moves on quickly. “Lunaria and Leda, these are for you two,” he says, holding out thick cloth for each of us.
We step forward, and I take it from him with a nod. When I unravel the fabric, I see that it’s a cloak—the same kind that the majority of the villagers have on. I swing it around my shoulders, tying it at the base of my throat.
It’s light on my back, but immediately blocks the chill of the night air.
“You’ll need it for the flight,” he explains. “Keeps the wind blocked and your core warm.” He scoots a sack toward us with his boot. “Supplies to get you and the human through two weeks of travel—though let’s hope Leda is back long before that.”
My neck prickles and nerves tingle up my spine as Leda bends down to pick up our provisions. I focus on the plan again, repeating it to myself like a prayer.
“Once Leda is back, Zephyr will stay here, awaiting your call once you return.” Aster’s gaze is on me. There’s no denying his past as a warrior. His words are short—clinical. His movements are relaxed but refined. “Brielle should be ready to leave by then, and the rest of your group will set off.”
I clench my teeth together at this part of the plan. We asked—several times—for their help. But they shut down our requests before we could even finish a sentence.
We won’t be getting any more help from them. Though housing us and our wyverns, providing food, and telling us about Nightfall is more than we could ask for. Still, they’re warriors—Riders—yet they made it clear they won’t be leaving Kauri any time soon.
“There’s one last thing you need.” Aster’s voice dips low, his hand reaching into his pocket. “This will be more useful to you on your journey now that you’re going to Crea.”
He holds his hand up, the firelight catching on a stark white object. It’s flat with jagged edges, small enough to fit in my palm.
“What is it?” Leda asks slowly.
Aster’s brows flatten. “It’s how we’ve been tracking Nightfall.” His words suck the air out of my lungs. “We found it in the cave with the drawings, stuck to the blade of the dagger’s image.”
The longer I look at the white object trapped between his fingers, the more I feel a tug on my chest, pulling me toward it.
“We think it’s a shard of the blade itself,” he whispers—at least I think he whispers it, because the sound barely reaches my ears.
The same buzzing I felt back at the cave returns, so loud that all the noises around me fade away. In the corner of my eye, I see Aster’s curious gaze on me, but I ignore him.
I can feel the object calling to me in the same way the images on the cave wall did.
My stomach sinks as the familiar buzzing fills my ears again. The connection I have to the piece of this blade… Is it the blood that runs in my veins? My connection to the gods, as Nyx has claimed?
I swallow thickly. Nyx could have fabricated everything.
My mouth opens to tell Leda what I’m feeling, but Aster holds the shard up—inadvertently bringing it slightly closer to me. That’s all it takes.
The force drawing me in yanks my feet closer until it’s too late to stop myself from reaching out and plucking the shard from Aster’s hand. The moment my skin makes contact with it, I see a hazy image slowly roar to life around me.