Chapter 7
Shadovar, the dark Fae.
Unease coiled in my stomach over Ren’s muttered words earlier and at the realization that Alec is Shadovar.
That must be why he felt so… pushy. Demanding. But even as he showed all of that during our initial introduction, I never felt threatened—I liked it. He never even attempted to kill me when I attacked him at the inn.
A wave of frustration and shame jolts into my chest. Not only did I engage with him at the brothel, I failed to kill him as well.
But that doesn’t explain why he didn’t die.
Because no matter the realm, all Fae die the same. Yet Ren and Ezra fully believe it’s because I killed the wrong person, not that he evaded death by my blade, as there wasn’t a single drop of blood on the carpets.
As if someone cleaned it before we arrived.
We asked Helga about it, but she said no one had come in before us, though I had a feeling she was lying. There wasn’t a single trace of evidence that I was there either—neither Ren nor Ezra picked up my scent, which I find odd.
I also find myself suddenly wondering how Alec is in our realm, as King Elion decided years ago that it was best to keep our borders closed for the safety of Elderheim.
He created strict laws that allowed every race to live in peace, but he banned the discussion or the harboring of the Shadovar. No one is allowed in or out of our borders, and King Elion enforces it, as it’s our only measure of protection to keep citizens safe from their dark magic.
All Fae have the capability to wield elemental magic, but the Shadovar have their own unique power specific to their realm.
Like Elderheim. Our realms are two sides of the same coin—equal in power and long-term rivals.
But I’m not familiar with their magic or their capabilities, as I never bothered to learn since the border was sealed long before I was born.
“We need to stop soon. The horses need rest, and I need to dip in a stream somewhere before I end up melting.” I squint at the sun, hoping it will stop beating down on my face and cool down.
Even though it’s much cooler in the mountains, the afternoon sun bathes me in my sweat. I’m suddenly eager for dusk when the temperature drops thirty degrees.
We entered the Twin Valley a couple of hours ago, but we plan on pushing through in order to make it to Sylvanor by tomorrow afternoon. It’s a valley I’ve only been in one other time and although beautiful, it’s a bad place to get stuck in with only two exits—forward and where you came.
Luckily for me, I haven’t had any more intrusive thoughts of Alec’s voice in my head since Alvonia, having chalked it up to stress and failure over this mission.
Large intimidating trees surround the area, offering heavy coverage other than the frequently traveled path that we’re currently on. Ren travels ahead to ensure nothing is lying in wait, acting like bait if anything wants to come out of hiding.
“I think we can make it. We don’t need to stop in the valley this close to the town,” Ezra says, looking completely unfazed in this heat, which is ridiculous. How can he look like that on a horse in midday and not be sweating profusely?
“Well, I won’t.” I glare at him. “We can handle ourselves. If we don’t rest soon, you’re going to get a boot right up your—”
Bjorn halts, shuffling his feet only for Freya to mimic his movements half a second later. Both horses are huffing in agitation, swinging their heads. Ezra and I share a quick glance while Ren continues to ride ahead about half a mile.
We scan the surrounding area. The mountains and trees rest on either side of us, though there’s nothing for miles, but I can sense it. It’s one of those rare cases where I can hone in on the feeling. My body begins to hum with energy.
I glance at Ezra, putting a finger to my lips, when he looks down and motions at the footprints below us.
“Grokees,” he whispers.
“Fuck,” I say. Just what we need in the smoldering heat—Grokees.
They’re the most grotesque creature in our realm, which is pretty much how they got their name, typically found in the Twin Valley. Giant wolves that are five feet tall at the shoulder and missing fur and skin, with exposed bone. It makes me shudder just thinking about them.
We haven’t figured out why they look that way or what happened, but we think it’s a deformity or a sickness. Whatever they are, they become incredibly aggressive and will attack at any chance they get. And I’m definitely not in the mood to deal with withering, dying creatures.
The hair on my neck rises, and with a deep breath, I force my heart rate to slow despite the rush of adrenaline. My eyes lock with Ezra’s as we slowly grab our bows and put our horses into walks. We begin to slowly move forward, but within a heartbeat, three Grokees launch at us on our right.
“Now!” Ezra shouts, both of us shooting an arrow at the same time and hitting the first one in each eye.
“Why do you always aim for mine?” I shout as our horses frantically trot in place.
“I saw it first!”
Ren suddenly swivels around, gripping the reins and turning his horse. He races toward us, grabbing his bow in the process.
Nocking another arrow, I aim for the next one as we both launch our horses forward.
Trusting Bjorn to run straight, I pivot in the saddle and catch the second one in the shoulder.
It doesn’t go down. Ren’s determined eyes lock onto one behind me just as he launches his arrow, hitting it before I can reload.
Thank the Fates his aim has always been great.
“Isa, behind you!” Ezra shouts.
Within seconds, the third one launches itself at me and latches onto my right shoulder. It throws me off Bjorn with such a force that the breath forcefully escapes my lungs.
Ezra’s horse continues to gallop ahead when I land, smacking my head against the ground so hard that stars dance across my eyes.
I fight to keep my eyes open and focused as its snapping jaws are inches from my face.
I’m pinned by its feet with my forearm against its throat, preventing it from ripping my face off.
Gods, it’s drooling on me.
Its beady eyes are glossed over, as if there’s nothing there but aggression and hunger. I cry out as my right fist drives into its ribs, but when I pull it back, my hand is coated in fur and flesh. I gag.
It smells awful—like it’s decaying.
The stench of it almost makes me retch, but I’m able to free my right hand enough to get it to my ribs and grip a dagger. I shove it in its chest with enough force that it instantly stops moving and lays all of its dead weight on me.
My eyes water from the smell as I turn my head, gasping for air. But Ezra and Ren come running, shoving it off me a moment later.
“Are you okay?” Ezra breathes. He shields his face with his elbow in an attempt to stifle the smell. At least he’s finally sweating. “I thought you were dead by the way that thing latched on. Let me see your shoulder.”
I sit up with a cry of pain as my adrenaline fades, leaving my right shoulder burning. Luckily, whatever infection they carry isn’t transmittable to Fae or humans, so their bites—though nasty—are harmless.
Still, it fucking hurts.
“Not dead. I’m okay though,” I groan, tilting my right shoulder forward with a wince.
“You’re lucky I came back—I almost took off without you,” Ezra teases, throwing me a grin.
Ren remains silent as he nudges it with a boot. It’s decaying in a heap of flesh and bone, beady eyes glazed over. Ezra looks at my shoulder, now blackened and slick with drool.
“Damn, that looks bad. I have some supplies in my pack. The horses got spooked and ran up the road. Let me gather them and we’ll clean it up.”
I nod, meeting his gaze just as I notice the sound of running water nearby and grin. “There’s the stream I was wishing for.”
Ezra barks a laugh. “I guess this is our stop then.” He throws me a wide grin over his shoulder, taking off at a run to round up the horses.
“You’re definitely bathing. I refuse to catch a whiff of you on the saddle.” Ren’s face is twisted in disgust and scans my face, now splattered in a sticky drool.
Normally, I’d argue just to argue, but I have to agree with him. A quick dip in the stream is exactly what I need to erase this awful smell, so I walk in the direction of the moving water.
Nestled in the middle of the mountains, Sylvanor is tucked away at the edge of the valley instead of in the mountain itself. Trees and sharp-edged peaks surround it for miles, leaving us fresh air and a cool breeze.
We only got a few hours of sleep outside of Dryborn before waking again, leaving just before dawn to arrive with enough time to track Alec. Thankfully, Ezra picked up his scent on the trail earlier, confirming that we were headed in the right direction.
Ren’s remarks throughout the day had me wanting to throw an apple at his head, but not before Ezra reached over to snatch it from my hand.
But finally, I breathe.
The quaint little town comes into view early afternoon. With the sun shifting down, we only have a few hours left before dusk settles on this side of the mountain.
Sylvanor is quiet and small, surrounded by tall lampposts that line the cobblestone road. The horses’ hooves click against them at a steady pace. Flanking both sides of the main road, bushes and vines snake up the structures.
I could cry with relief. The heat was excruciating, leaving me slick with sweat, head pounding, shoulder throbbing from yesterday’s bite. And although I rinsed the wound in the stream and kept it clean, it’s begun to burn again.
“I could go for a cold bath and an ale right about now.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. Even though I’m not a huge fan of ale, the heat of summer is the only reason I ever want one. I glance at Ezra, both of us dripping in sweat as the afternoon sun continues to beat down on us.