37. Atlas
Atlas
Greer didn’t speak to me once while we sat beside the fire last night. But her silence wasn’t the same as it is when she gets irritated with herself for me having caught her staring at me. Her silence wasn’t even the fiery anger I’m used to burning in her every remark as she tries to push me away.
It was something different.
Her usual confidence slipped when she froze during the panther attack, and I was smart enough not to ask her why she’s so damn hard on herself when it’s clear she’s barely hanging on by a thread.
So I sat beside her and didn’t say a word, letting her bad mood roll at me in waves. It was my fault anyway for pushing when I probably shouldn’t have. There’s just something so damn intriguing about that female, even when she’s shutting me out. I can’t help it.
I’m never nervous, but when Greer looks at me, I can’t think straight and end up saying whatever’s on the tip of my tongue.
Greer shoves her remaining items into her pack at the first hint of sunlight. Her gaze slices my way. Eyes sharp as glass. The softest silver of a blade. Her glance is so quick I almost miss it, piercing straight through me.
When she looks away, I swear she takes all her secrets with her, and I let it go.
If Rior were here, he’d tell me to get over myself. To get over her. Gods, I get enough attention from the females in the court that I don’t need to bother with her. So what is it about Greer’s sharp edges that makes me wish she’d put me out of my misery already?
I mask that thought with a grin when she glances behind her.
Her eyebrow lifts, tugging on her scar. I want to know how she got it. I want to know everything about her.
“You done patting yourself on the back for taking down the tent, or do you need to stare at the trees for another few minutes before we go?” she asks.
At least her attitude is back this morning.
“Waiting on you, lightning strike.” My eyebrows pull, mulling that over. “Lightning bolt? Lightning heart. We’ll work on that.”
“Are you seriously trying to give me a nickname? No. Just… no,” she grumbles, shoving past me and walking down the path ahead.
I can’t help but chuckle. At least if she’s angry, she’s feeling something that isn’t whatever gave her that defeated look last night. I’ll happily irritate her if it pulls her out of her sadness.
The trees groan as we pass through the forest. There’s no breeze, but the branches move.
Echme is terrifying. I felt it the moment I stepped inside and wanted to turn back around. A pulse throbs in the air.
Unsteady.
Unpredictable.
I’ve been at the point of a blade in battle thousands of times, but I’ve never been as on edge as I am since crossing Echme’s border. We can’t finish this mission fast enough.
Not that I say that out loud, or Greer would probably laugh at me.
She’s terrifying in an entirely different way. One that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder, carry her to my bed, and prove that she wants me as much as she seems to hate me just so I can spend all night making her beg.
My gaze runs her over. Lithe frame, but tall and strong. Sure steps. Her leathers hug her hourglass hips, and she walks with a steady rhythm that distracts me from the humming between the trees. Her long black hair is tied in a hundred tiny braids that fall halfway down her back.
Greer’s beauty alone is enough to bring me to my knees—something she might enjoy if she gave me the chance—but it’s everything else that has me in a chokehold.
Like her angry eyes darting over her shoulder, narrowing when she catches me staring at her ass.
Not my fault she’s so godsdamned beautiful.
Something stirs in the air, and Greer freezes. Flames tickle the tips of my fingers, dancing heat through my veins. I stretch my magic outward, sending a wave of heat to sense what might be waiting for us through the trees.
“Over there,” I whisper, pressing close to Greer.
My arm grazes her shoulder, but she doesn’t pull away like she normally would. If anything, she moves closer.
Another rustle of branches is followed by the slow drag of metal on stone.
“That’s not animals.” She reaches for her sword.
Hesitancy is stripped away this morning as she holds the blade out in front of her. Sharp, silvery eyes meet the distance. As a seer, Greer’s magic isn’t offensive, like mine, but she uses it like a weapon all the same.
Greer steps forward, nearly silent over the crushed leaves and twigs. Her eyes narrow, reading what’s ahead a different way than I am.
“There’s a group.”
I nod, reaching for my own sword. “I can’t tell how many without getting closer. Let’s leave our bags. Strip out of anything that might make a sound. We’ll circle the camp from the west, so we don’t cast any shadows, and see what we’re up against.”
I strip my bag from my shoulders, hanging it from a tree. When I hold a hand out for Greer’s, she pauses a moment.
“Sometimes I forget,” she says, shrugging her bag off.
“What do you forget?”
“That you might actually know what you’re doing.” The tiniest smirk lights her eyes, and it’s breathtaking.
I chuckle. “Yeah, well, there’s a reason Wilder chose me to be here. Why my father had me leading his army. I’m perfectly capable.”
“Let’s hope you prove them right, then.”
A challenge sparks in her gaze. It sticks my feet in place until she turns away from me at the sound of wood snapping.
The sound is too close, so we stop talking, aiming in the direction we need to move.
For some godsforsaken reason, Greer trusts me to guide her because she follows.
She’s a warrior herself, and before she came to Quietus, she was one of Malachi’s three generals.
There’s no doubt in my mind she could handle herself out here.
Especially considering Echme was her home.
For whatever reason, she lets me lead today, trusting my magic as I stretch it out to protect us.
First in careful spurts. Then, bolder gusts.
Fire thins with the wind, allowing me to read the scene. I’m careful to send it in waves so they don’t sense us coming. We finally get a glimpse through the trees, and there’s no mistaking the symbols on the tents.
“At least ten members of the Crown Guard,” I whisper.
She smirks. “Scared?”
“Only of you, Greer Maliren.”
She rolls her eyes, keeping her focus on the tents ahead. “I don’t think Malachi is in any of them. The orb emitted a certain energy in the Ley Court. I don’t sense it here.”
“Then let’s hope there’s a clue as to where he is.”
She nods, and I shift behind a tree as a guard circles the fence line. Greer does the same, pressing her back to the bark. She closes her eyes, but her entire body is on alert as she holds her sword in front of her. Listening for every crack of the guard’s footsteps.
When her eyes fly open, they’re warmer. A spit of hot flame dances in her gaze. Heat swells in the air between us, and I get my first taste of Greer in battle—a mesmerizing sight.
Somewhere deep in my belly, Greer reaches down and pulls, harnessing my magic and shining a light on it. She sees within me and stokes the blaze until I’m burning.
Her stare meets mine, and flames crawl beneath my skin.
They wrap my fingers, twining around the hilt of my sword.
Her magic dances with mine, a small smile playing in the corner of her perfect lips.
She’s godsdamn stunning. The most intoxicating being in existence.
And when she attacks, the fire in my belly surges.
Greer moves like lightning strikes—quick and merciless. A flash of light in an endlessly dark sky, only heard long after she’s done her damage. She slips from between the trees and has the first guard on his back in one sweep of her leg. Her sword at his throat.
“Don’t yell, or you’ll lose your tongue.” She presses the tip of the blade to his neck. “Where is Malachi?”
“The king—he’s not—” the male stutters, his honey-brown eyes darting around like he’s waiting for someone to come rescue him. “He’s not here.”
Greer squats down, holding her blade firm. When the male tries to wiggle, I send a hot rope of flame around his wrists and ankles, stopping him. His flesh crackles, but I sear the pain from his thoughts so he doesn’t scream and give away our location.
“Where is he?” Greer asks again.
Desperation bleeds through her tone. Offering a hint of just how important this mission might be to her. And not because Elorie asked her to be here or because we need to find Malachi to use the void against the orb. Greer needs to be here for a different reason.
Blood trickles down the male’s neck where her sword presses firm.
“I don’t know. We don’t get told when he moves.” The male squirms, and I release my hold slightly to not sear through bone.
“But he’s in Echme?”
“There’s magic here.” The male panics. “Stronger than anywhere else.”
That much, we know already. It hums in the breeze, radiates from the ground. The lightning fields are still strong. Echme will be the last to fall when the Well drinks down both realms.
“He needs it. He needs the magic. But I don’t know where he is.” The guard chokes out a cough as Greer pulls back her blade.
Her fingers don’t loosen on the handle, but they’re shaking when she holds her sword at her side.
Greer stands, not looking up at me. “We need to get a look around.”
I nod, sending a ribbon of flame into the guard’s mind and finding the echoes of us. With careful precision, I burn those memories straight from his thoughts as if we were never here. As if we aren’t here at all, standing directly in front of him.
Greer doesn’t meet my gaze, knowing I’m using my magic. Knowing I need to if we’re going to go unnoticed. It’s clear she has her reasons for not liking what I wield. She’s not the first to feel that way, but what I do is necessary.
We travel through the camp, being seen but also not. No one here is strong enough to fight through my flames. Not like in the Ley Court when I had to avoid certain groups because their mental barriers were strong enough to keep me out.
We manage to make it through the camp without being noticed.
There are five tents. Ten guards. A blacksmith works at one station, busier than the rest. This camp isn’t intended for battle.
They’re gathering a rare turquoise metal that turns silver when heated.
I’ve never seen it before, so it might only be found in Echme.
Father told stories about this place. He said the lightning is laced with something other here. A kiss of the gods. He said that while Fae can’t survive the strikes, the sand turns to something greater underneath where it’s been struck. Something unbreakable.
Glancing at Greer, I wonder if Father might have been wrong that no one can survive these storms. The lightning carved her, sharp as any metal, strong as any gods-blessed stone. She might as well be the lightning itself.
I’m still watching Greer as I turn over the necklace my mother gifted me, toying with it between my fingers. I follow her through the camp until she freezes in place.
A large flat boulder sits before us with a Fae bound in vines to the rock.
His arms are stretched overhead, while his legs are tied down.
Bloody cuts mar his exposed skin. Heavy gulps of breath choke out as he hangs on the brink of death.
On the ground beside him is a blade with familiar symbols carved into it.
A blade like those I haven’t seen in well over a century.
A blade I couldn’t forget if I tried, given how, when it slices, it carves out more than just flesh and blood. It drains magic.
The Fae groans, having lost too much blood to fight.
Even immortality has its limits, especially now with the realms dying.
The Fae’s eyes meet mine, and I test the edges of his thoughts.
His memories are fragments already fading.
Weak and frayed. I stand before him, not bothering to claim what’s left as he clings to a vision of someone else that is far more comforting than what he sees here.
His eyes might be on us, but he isn’t paying attention to me and Greer.
He’s somewhere in his mind, waiting for the end.
Greer steps forward, sheathing her sword and pulling out a dagger.
Only then do I cloud the Fae’s vision. I strip her away. I don’t force him to watch as she brings the blade to his throat and slices it cleanly through. She shows him mercy when the guards here have shown none, sparing him this pain.
Rage brews in her eyes as she stands to face me. She’s clinging to my fire, and it burns hot in her eyes now. Orange flames of fury flicker. Her grip tightens on her dagger, dancing the edge of restraint like I am, when the click of a tongue comes from behind us.
I thought I’d hidden us from all the Fae in the camp, but what approaches now is a shadow that escaped my light.
Greer’s back stiffens, and we both turn to see Malachi’s adviser, Cyan, stepping out of a tent. A cloud of darkness weaves along the ground. Callum’s father stands in a pool of shadow. Ropes of midnight nothingness twist against my flames.
Cyan’s head tilts, watching us. “Welcome back, Maliren. We’ve been waiting for you.”