Chapter 10
As hard as I try, I cannot make heads or tails of what the thick leather tome in my hand is. Other than an immediate invitation to the damp cells located underneath the barracks.
I press my lips together. Vibrant pages are spread across my lap. Familial crests. Images of estates.
I turn the page.
The first few sections of the contraband Fae text make me wonder if it's some sort of historical account—a documentation of Fae families or bloodlines. But then the images change to flowers. Plants. A tree with dangling gold fruit. And I can’t tell if this is a history book or a nature-lover's diary.
But no. The plant drawings are accompanied by flames…flasks…other clues that make me believe—no, make me hope—that this book is the key to unlocking a way to help Darius.
I just need to figure out how to read it.
The Fae language is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The letters are more like intricate symbols, two or three shoved together to create a word I have no inkling of how to pronounce. I certainly don’t know how to understand any of it.
I peer up and confirm I’m still alone in Darius’s tent. Incense curls in the air, the spicy scent I attribute to Fae now ingrained in my senses.
Draven dragged me here hours ago, shortly after I finished checking on my patients that morning. It was as if the surly Fae knew I was about to take a break, and he made it his personal mission never to allow me a moment’s rest.
I place the book on the floor and rub my throbbing temples.
Draven stayed with me for an hour before grunting that he had better places to be and stomping out of the tent, tossing a vague threat about retribution should I try anything funny over his shoulder.
It’s mildly insulting that the Fae view me as such a non-threat that they’d leave me alone with their vulnerable friend on the third day of knowing my name.
I snort and drop my hands.
Why would the Fae fear me? If I do anything to Darius, everyone I know and love will be destroyed. They have the upper hand. They always have. And they always will.
Darius suddenly jerks, a violent cough tearing from his chest. Phlegm rattles in his throat, choking him.
I lunge forward and slide a hand beneath his neck, tilting his head forward as he gags and heaves.
“It’s all right,” I murmur. “You’re all right.”
His coughing gradually subsides. I ease him back and draw my hand away, soft strands of black hair slipping through my fingers.
It’s clean. Smooth. Someone must have washed it recently, or maybe Fae hair doesn’t tangle or grease the way ours does. Just another advantage their kind has over humans, I suppose.
I glance at the looking glass on the table by the cot. My blonde curls are piled into a loose knot, the shiny roots glistening in the dim light. Dark circles hollow my eyes. My cheeks look sharper than I remember. I need to sleep.
I’ll find Lev tonight and invite him over. Maybe a night tangled in bedsheets will quiet my mind long enough for the fatigue dragging at my body to finally take me under.
I settle back on the plush rug, tucking my skirt under my knees, and resume searching the book. There has to be something useful here. I won’t accept anything less.
I nibble on a stale piece of bread I shoved in my satchel before leaving my home this morning and flip the pages. An insignia with thorns and a sword catches my eye. I look up at the selmary rose threaded through the tent fabric. It's as confounding as it was the first time I saw it.
I abandon scanning the unintelligible words and begin searching the pictures for the mystical flower, tuning out the hum of conversation from the soldiers gathered outside and the clank of metal as they sword fight or whatever else they do to pass the time.
I’m halfway through the text when fabric flaps. I look over my shoulder.
Nothing. Must be the breeze.
I return my attention to the book and focus on the depicted berry bush, squinting, trying to identify the species.
A blur of brown flashes in my peripheral vision.
My head snaps up, and I slam the book closed. “Hello?”
With my heart thumping, I scan the tent and subtly tuck the book under the cot. No one is here.
My forehead furrows. I swear I saw some—
“AH!” A scream rips from my throat, and I scramble upright, tripping over my skirt as a rodent the length of my arm darts across the rug.
My stomach churns as the creature snatches the stale bread I left on the plate and disappears under the nightstand.
A sudden commotion erupts behind me. Rian bursts into the tent, sword raised, shadows clinging to his broad shoulders like liquid night.
His gaze sweeps the space, sharp and dangerous. “What’s wrong?”
I freeze. His dark eyes—swirling with menace—catch mine, and my knees go weak. I press my palms against the rough edge of the table for balance, but I can’t seem to take a steady breath.
“Elara?” The grip on his sword loosens, but he doesn’t lower the weapon. “What happened?”
The sound of my name on his lips makes heat bloom across my cheeks, but I don’t know why.
My gaze drops to the floor, fingernails digging into the fabric of my skirt, willing my body to obey me. Even as my heart hammers, my shoulders betray a shiver I can’t quite suppress.
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why did you scream?” he presses.
“I saw a rat. Or something similar.” I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. “I know, it’s stupid. I’m just…really, really not fond of rodents.”
I haven’t been since that night when one of them nestled at the foot of my childhood bed and decided my toes looked like a tasty snack. Juniper paid one of our neighbors handsomely for a cat to come live with us the next day. Socks was a fierce, devoted pet.
A pause.
Then, “Where did it go?”
I pry my eyes open. Rian’s patient stare pins me in place, and I swallow hard before pointing a trembling finger toward the nightstand.
“Under there.”
He crosses the tent. The shadows surrounding him begin to dissipate into clouds of smoke before blinking out of sight. I press my lips together, determined not to cry out if the rodent runs by me again. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.
But my mouth parts in surprise when the tall, muscular Fae drops to his hands and knees to peer beneath the nightstand. The sight is…oddly disarming. A creature of shadows and violence, hunting for a rodent on my behalf. It’s almost, dare I say, kind.
But when his attention flicks to the cot, where my secret tome is tucked away, my chest seizes.
“It ran outside,” I blurt, rushing forward, my voice shaky.
Rian stills, then turns his head toward me from his crouched position. One strong, dark brow lifts. “You saw it?”
My stomach flips.
Knock it off, Elara. Stop noticing how good-looking the evil Fae is while he’s on his knees.
Heat creeps up my neck.
“N-no,” I stammer, crossing my arms like they can shield me from the strange emotions swirling in my body. “But it took my bread. I’m sure he’s off in the forest somewhere, stuffing his belly as we speak.”
Rian pushes back onto his heels, rising to his full height with fluid grace, his gaze never leaving mine.
Something unreadable in his eyes makes it difficult to breathe. Then he glances at the plate on the ground.
“You were eating?”
“I’ve been here for hours,” I say defensively, shifting from foot to foot. “I got hungry.”
A glint of emotion sparks in his gaze.
“What’s going on?” Jaxon flies into the tent, holding a pair of daggers in each hand. “Is it Darius? Has that prick found—”
“There was a rat,” Rian clips out. His features shutter, and the shadows hovering over his back thicken once more. “Find it. Before it decides to snack on Darius.”
The reminder of my encounter with a rodent makes me shudder.
Rian’s eyes slide my direction for a split second before he turns away. “I’ll be in my tent.”
Then, without a backward glance, he leaves.
I stare after him, lips pursed.
As a healer, I’m good at reading people. Juniper drilled the skill into me—said it was as vital as mixing herbs or setting bones. Patients rarely tell you everything about their ailments. Embarrassment, fear, or plain ignorance keeps the truth locked behind their lips.
So, I learned to read what they wouldn’t say. The twitch of a hand. A shift in the eyes. The things that betray them.
And that instinct tells me I wasn’t the only one rattled by what just passed between Rian and me.
Dare I think he’s attracted to me?
No.
That can’t be it.
Fae are infamous for their beauty, their allure. I’m…fine. Pretty for a human. But compared to the otherworldly females who must surround him back in his homeland? I don’t compare. Whatever flickered in his gaze, it couldn’t have been that.
My gaze drifts to the cot, my pulse quickening as another thought forms.
Did he notice the book? Was he testing me?
“—did it go?”
I jolt. My head snaps up to find Jaxon watching me expectantly, one brow arched.
“I-I’m sorry. What?”
“The rat.” He sheaths his daggers in holsters on his belt. “Where did it go?”
“Oh.” I clear my throat and lie. “Near that trunk, but I think I saw it run outside.”
He strides over to the dark wood trunk and shifts it forward, peering behind it.
I huff a relieved sigh when nothing appears and inch closer to the cot while Jaxon continues to search the tent. I position my feet so they conceal the tome from view. If he gets down on the ground, however, I’m in trouble.
But what if I’m not? Should I tell Jaxon about the book? He’s, by far, the least aggressive of the three Fae. The others don’t care to interact with me, which means if there’s a Fae to ask for help, it’s Jaxon.
But what if he takes the book from me? What if Fae covet their knowledge and don’t want to leave it in the hands of a human?
I can’t take that chance. Too much relies on me finding a way to improve Darius’s condition.
The unconscious Fae’s chest rises and falls steadily. A drop of broth leaks from the corner of his mouth. I pick up a cloth and dip it into the water basin in front of the lone mirror in the tent, then walk back over to wipe his lips and chin, studying his face.