14. Killian
KILLIAN
The morning sun peeked over the horizon, casting red and orange across the cloudy skies.
A cold breeze brushed against Killian’s skin as he watched the last embers die from the night’s fire.
His head hung, fingers gripping his leatherskin.
They had hunted all night and had no luck.
Riggs was right; they must have scared the renshees away.
Typical. He hated it when Riggs was right.
They set up camp on the outskirts of Dagon after the sun went down.
Crossing the bridge in Eldritch at night would be pure stupidity.
A small part of him was tempted to do it anyway, but Riggs insisted they travel by daylight.
Ultimately, he agreed. Riggs may be stupid when it came to women, but he knew Eldritch like the back of his hand.
The smart-ass spent most of his time researching the continent and the creatures that dwelled within.
The wind blew, and a tang of copper filled the air, Killian’s face scrunched.
Where’s the smell coming from? Glancing down, he frowned at his blood-stained tunic.
He tore it off and threw it in the firepit.
Fuck it. A cloud of black smoke carried through the wind, following the foul stench of burning cotton. He’d never get the stains out anyway.
Rocks crunched beneath his boots as he lifted River’s saddlebag and searched for a fresh one?—
His thumb skimmed over satin, his breath caught. His birthday gift from his wife.
I cannot wear this…
The tan tunic was never intended to be worn. He only carried it around solely to keep a part of Layalara with him—it was the one thing he kept—everything else was lost to cinders.
He reached for another.
This one will do.
The seams on his shoulders stretched, threatening to rip as he buttoned it. He smoothed out the wrinkles along the white fabric, adjusting the cuffs.
Go figure. It’s always something. If not sock replacements, then it’s boots, and if it's not boots, it’s godsdamn garments.
Killian loathed shopping. Maybe in the future they’d have birds delivering clothes instead of letters. He’d pay a pretty coin for something like that.
One day.
He crossed back onto the wooden log, reaching into his pocket, and grabbing the pack of jerky he won last night during Cribbage with Riggs.
Some nights, Killian won gold, and some nights he gambled for other things—food, lodging, intel.
Since he quit drinking, playing cards at Brodie’s Booze and Bonds was the only thing that seemed to hold his focus.
Opening the pack, he bit into the meat, feeling the dry, leathery texture across the roof of his mouth. He wondered where Riggs picked it up from—hints of rosemary and something else he could not place. Riggs is always experimenting with something…
If it’s not animals, it's food.
Hopefully it’s not laced.
He glanced over at Riggs and squinted his eyes in annoyance.
Riggs snoring made it clear his request for an early start had gone ignored.
He rose, feeling pressed for time. Six months and twenty-nine days to find the missing princess.
As much as he wanted to blame Riggs for the delay, it was his own fault.
After all, it was he who wanted to kill.
The three renshees had not been enough to satisfy Killian’s rage.
Whoever crossed their path today would be a sorry bastard.
“Wake up, Riggs, it’s getting late,” Killian urged, growling as Riggs continued to sleep. He kicked Riggs in the ribs, grinning at the whoomph that escaped. “Wake up!”
Riggs' eyes flew open, his hand immediately flipping off Killian. “Good fucking morning to you too, asshole,” he grumbled, rolling into a ball.
“Get up,” Killian demanded. “It’s late.”
“Late?” Riggs cracked an eye open and pointed at the plant beside him. “That’s morning fucking dew?” Riggs sat up from his bedroll, mumbling something under his breath.
Killian walked to River, saddling up. “We should have been home already.”
Riggs tilted a brow. “And whose fault was that? You’re the one who backtracked thirty minutes from the bridge.”
“Grab your shit.” Killian’s jaw ticked. “Let’s move.”
Riggs stood, folding his bedroll and tucking it under his arm. “Did I already tell you, you’re an asshole.”
“Loud and clear, brother.” Killian faced ahead, sunlight illuminating the path.
“Enjoy the jerky?” Riggs teased, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eyes.
Fucking. Great.
“Don’t tell me it’s laced.” Killian clenched his jaw.
It wouldn’t be the first time Riggs had drugged him.
A year ago, Riggs gave him a biscuit of some sort.
Killian had hallucinated in the woods chasing butterflies—fucking butterflies.
Needless to say, once Killian sobered, he’d beat the shit out of him for it.
“No, gods, no. Who do you think I am?” Riggs said, chuckling and securing his items to the saddle. He swung his leg wide, saddling Storm.
Killian rolled his eyes. “An annoying little brother who likes to fuck with me and my food.”
Riggs gasped, slapping his hand against his chest. “It breaks my heart you don’t trust me, you know that?”
“Just tell me if it’s laced,” Killian insisted. He waited for a response, but instead, Riggs just laughed, galloping ahead.
“What a dick,” Killian breathed. He narrowed his gaze ahead, keeping a close eye on the trail. Purple and blue flowers dotted the expanse, a surprising calm washing over him.
The sweet scent of lilac was intoxicating. Impossible longing tightened his chest.
Lilac was his wife’s favorite flower.
A small smile formed at the reminder. Wherever he went, she was always with him.
The air thickened once they reached Eldritch, just as Killian knew it would. The swamp was covered in green algae and reeked of sulfur. Tall, fluffy trees blanketed the sky, trapping moisture below. He pulled the end of his shirt and wiped the sweat off his face for the tenth time.
Narrowing his eyes on the long wooden structure, Killian said, “You first.” River was much heavier. If the bridge went down, he’d have peace of mind knowing Riggs made it across safely.
“No way.” Riggs laughed, a slight breeze ruffling his dark hair. “I went first last time.”
“Just go, will you?” Killian jerked his chin toward the bridge, his impatience clear in his tone.
“You better hope we find Princess Elora fast.” Riggs flipped him off. “I don’t think I can stand a day longer with you.”
Killian nodded his agreement, watching Storm’s brown tail swirl as she galloped across the wooden planks.
He didn’t mind working with Riggs most days, but Killian was on a tight schedule, and Riggs didn’t understand.
Riggs was more focused on his research projects, collecting bugs or sexual conquests.
He never understood the importance of time.
Or lack thereof.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, Kills.” Riggs halted, throwing a fist in the air. “We have a problem.”
Killian cursed under his breath, rolling his temples. “What now?”
Riggs turned in his saddle with a frown. “Multiple boards are broken. We can't cross.” He pointed at the gap, which was too big for the horses to safely navigate.
“Motherfucker.” Killian grunted. “We travel the swamp.”
Riggs scrunched his face, shaking his head. “Are you fucking crazy? Do you know what will happen if the ammits awaken?”
A small smile curved Killian’s lips, turning River easily and heading back toward the swamp. “I guess you’ll get to collect that blood sample after all, won't you, Rigsby?”
“Don’t call me that,” Riggs warned, the tension in his tone evident.
“Call you what? Rigsby? That’s your birth name, get over it.” Their mother had picked out that name, and even though Riggs loathed it, Killian had planned to name his first son after Uncle Rigsby. The gods, it seemed, had other plans.
Riggs scoffed, mocking him with a goofy face.
“Lose the attitude,” Killian warned.
“Or else, what?” Riggs snorted. “I woke up with your boot in my ribs. What did you think was going to happen? That I would wake up feeling all sunshine and rainbows?”
“I hardly kicked you.” Killian deadpanned, guiding his horse toward the green, thick waters.
River staggered backward, neighing loudly.
Killian tried to soothe the beast, his palm against the horse’s neck.
River senses the ammits. “It’s okay, River.
Come on, boy,” he urged, prodding him to move forward.
As River trudged through the swamp, the thick algae clung to his legs. Riggs followed close behind, making comments about the smell. Killian crinkled his nose as he watched a bubble pop from the water, hissing viciously.
“It smells like your ass in here,” Riggs said, huffing out a laugh.
Killian rolled his eyes. They needed to stay quiet and listen for any movement in the water. Once you wake one ammit, you wake them all.
Killian turned in his saddle, placing a finger over his lips.
Riggs flashed his middle finger. Again. He loved using that fucking finger, and Killian was close to ripping it off.
Water swished. Killian whipped his gaze ahead, scanning the water for movement.
But there was nothing out there. Just flying insects and cicadas buzzing loudly in the trees.
By the time they made it halfway through the murky depths, the water line was up to River’s belly, and Killian’s boots were entirely in the water. The horses were exhausted, their steps covering less ground, dragging loudly through the sludge. Soon they’d have no choice but to swim to shore.
River stepped forward and plummeted down. Warmth enveloped Killian’s legs as the water swallowed his saddle.
Unfortunately, now would be the time.
Carefully, Killian slowly submerged into the swamp to avoid any unnecessary splashing.
“You got to be fucking kidding me?” Riggs murmured, sliding off his horse, the water dangerously loud as he jumped in.
“What did I say? Be quiet!” Killian scolded, keeping his head above the water. Algae clung to his beard as he swam through, and his legs strained, boots hardly scraping the mushy ground.
“First creek we hit in Aldmoor, I'm rinsing off.” Riggs mused, “The smell is making me want to puke.”
“Keep it in your mouth,” Killian whispered, stroking his arms to keep him afloat. He eyed a frog on a leap pad, moving through the water in front of him and catching prey. With one firm shove, he sent the frog flying.
“Uh, Killian? I heard something move over there,” Riggs whispered, his tone laced with concern.
“That was me.” Killian shook his head. “Relax.”
“Oh, from ten feet away?” Riggs scoffed. “Didn’t know you could transport.”
There’s that damn attitude again.
Fuming, Killian scanned the shore, and his heart leapt into his throat when he glimpsed what was heading for them. Ammits.