Chapter 59
Zadriel
One blink, and Zadriel was staring into wide, sea-green eyes, a delicate breeze brushing his cloak, gently rustling the material.
Another blink, and the Elementalist unleashed herself.
Aoife’s fingers curled as she lifted her arms, muscles straining in her neck as if the air were heavy, but she gritted her teeth and pushed until the wind heeded her call.
An invisible wave splashed onto the earth.
Ancient evergreens snapped in half, branches cracking and swirling through the vortex, a maple pulled from its roots, the torrent careening toward the tent.
The support pole pressed against Zadriel’s spine. His muscles tensed, adrenaline surging through his veins, but Zadriel couldn’t move. Couldn’t run from the oncoming barrage. Did the Halfling intend to save him... or end him?
The gentle gust stopped playing in his cloak—it curled around him, coalescing into a sphere, nestling him safely inside like a... He smiled. Like a shield. Had Aoife’s mother taught her how to use their own abilities to imitate an Aegist?
A haunting howl slipped into the pavilion’s open maw, and Silas’s head snapped toward the sound. “What in the—”
The evergreens crashed into the tent, rough needles and gnarled boughs tearing through canvas.
Crack!
The support beam snapped, plunging toward Silas while billowing red material swallowed him whole.
Zadriel curled inward, bracing himself. Bits of wood bounced off the cyclone shielding him, flinging into the air and piercing what remained of the tent’s ceiling, but a single piece slipped through.
It swirled around the vortex, cutting a line through Zadriel’s cheek before it clattered on the floor.
Blood welled, beading on his face, though it was a minor thing—Aoife had done well protecting him with her power.
“Fucking shit!” Silas bellowed, tearing at the partially collapsed tent boxing him in, a continuous string of profanities following.
At least, Zadriel assumed that’s what it was—the constant whoosh of the winds in his ears was so loud it was difficult to hear.
Silas’s tone, however, was unmistakable.
The man was pissed.
Zadriel wrapped his hands around the rope and stood, shimmying the ties until they slipped from the broken beam. He was free. Well, mostly—his wrists remained bound behind his back, but he appreciated the small win.
“Your friends won’t save you, Fae,” Silas shouted, slamming a dagger through rippling canvas and wrenching his arm downward, tearing the fabric.
A quick glance at Aoife told Zadriel they didn’t have much time—her hands shook, sweat gathering on her brow, her well swiftly running dry after such a strong push.
“Your woman won’t save you either,” he snarled, ducking under a fractured pole and racing for a break in the tent.
Maple branches and dirt clinging to the rip.
His head pounded along with his footfalls, an endless throb pressing against his skull and radiating through his bones as if it longed to hold him hostage.
He breathed through it, focusing instead on his heart shuddering in his chest. Urging him to move.
Aoife grunted, straining so hard her legs shook, and the current split like a snake’s tongue to avoid hitting Zadriel.
He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to find Silas still struggling in the trap she’d made, boxed in by splintered wood and torn swaths of fabric.
How much time it bought them, Zadriel had no idea, but he wouldn’t waste a second.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said as he drew near, certain she could hear him. That she bent the winds to pull the sound to her ears.
She swayed, knees buckling. “And you’re a sore sight,” she wheezed, gawking at the sorry state of his cloak, the dark material torn and sticky with sap and blood. She paused to take a gasping breath. “I can’t push like this for much longer.”
Loose rope trailed behind Zadriel, splinters gathered in the loop that once clung to the support beam. “Can you cut me free?” he asked, turning and showing his wrists.
Aoife grimaced, feet slipping while she reached into her pocket and pulled out his paring knife, one hand holding firm and directing the winds. “I don’t have time to be careful.”
A single, dry laugh worked up his throat—thank the Mother his blade wasn’t made of iron. “I’ll heal.”
Fibers gave to the blade while Aoife sawed through his bindings, the sharp tip biting into his wrists before they snapped free. He flexed his fingers, eyeing the Esper Rocks. Wondering.
“Follow me!” he yelled, grabbing Aoife’s arm and pulling her down the sloping hill to the beach. Half-frozen muck and rot slicked their boots, nearly hauling Aoife to the ground, if not for Zadriel’s steady hold.
When dry beach grass snagged their breeches, she tugged on his grip. “Where are we going?” she cried, waving the blade, attempting to match his pace.
Zadriel didn’t slow. “Cillian’s things might still be down here.”
“Who?” Aoife wheezed, dragging her feet. “Can you slow down?”
“And wait for the brute to find us?” He clicked his tongue. “I think not.”
Frigid water splashed their boots, the tide steadily crawling up the shore. Soon, the ocean would scramble up the Esper Rocks as if it longed to kiss the spindly trees speckling their tops, swallowing the beach whole.
“We need to leave!” Aoife shouted.
Ignoring her, Zadriel scanned the sand, searching.
Praying he’d at least find the ring before it was too late.
Hauling Aoife toward the sea stack where he’d last seen it, a splash of gilded sap glittering on its stony surface.
Waves crept toward its base, seaweed swaying lazily in its grasp, pebbles and silt ebbing and flowing along with it.
There were no hints of a golden band. No pearly white gem with an eerie black iris. No fucking ring.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Zadriel hissed, releasing Aoife and kicking sand. “Where the fuck is it?”
Hands on her knees, Aoife caught her breath, glaring up at him, her knapsack nearly slipping from her shoulder. “Maybe,” she huffed, “your captors took what you’re looking for?”
“No.” He frowned, staring at the mess of sap staining the ground. “Silas was furious it was missing.”
It was as if he’d summoned the man. “Get back here, Fae!” Silas shouted from the top of the hill.
Zadriel’s upper lip peeled back. He bared his canines, a vicious growl echoing as it weaved between the Rocks, gold churning in his dark stare when he turned to face Aoife. “Run back to Baith and wait for me with Aedlin.”
She shrank back at the tone in his voice. “She isn’t in Baith.”
“What?” Zadriel still felt it, the tether vibrating in his chest, demanding he follow its pull and journey toward Baith. Though that ache was fainter than before, as if Darius weren’t far. “You were there until today, weren’t you?”
She shook her head.
“But...” A cold flash of azure burned in his memories and Zadriel bit his tongue. It was a dream. It had to have been a dream. Because if Brennan were here...
Mother damn me.
The hair on the back of Zadriel’s neck rose, a squeezing feeling enveloping his chest, but there was no time to wonder.
No time to entertain the fear coursing through his blood.
“There are caves by the shore,” he said to Aoife, jerking his chin toward the cliffside.
“Hide there, I’ll come for you as soon as I can. ”
Her hands shook, throat bobbing while she peeked around stone to watch Silas’s approach. “What if you need me?”
“Your well is nearly empty.” When she didn’t move, Zadriel stepped out from the shelter of the sea stack, barking over his shoulder, “Leave. Now!”
“But I can’t—”
“GO!” he snarled, hating himself when Aoife paled, shaking like a leaf. Still, she listened, her feet pounding wet sand as she made for the sea caves, his paring knife clenched tightly in her grip. It wasn’t much, but he was glad she had a blade if she needed one.
He squared his shoulders and thought of the sap at his feet, calling it to the surface. Focusing on the power rumbling within. When he inhaled, Zadriel felt lighter, the sleeping beast in his chest a welcome thing.
A reminder of what he was.
Who he was meant to be.
Magic thrummed, gilded sap seeping through sand and heeding his call, a puddle gathering on the ground before crawling up his legs. His mother would have sung, a melodic summoning in the old tongue—the language of trees. Something that died with her.
His jaw shook at the thought of Vehsa, of everything Brennan had taken from him, throat tightening until he could hardly swallow past the ache.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
Salty brine soothed his lungs, while comforting warmth seeped into his skin, the sap weaving over his fingers and crawling under his sleeve to wrap around his arm.
When he opened his eyes, he didn’t allow himself another moment to think—Zadriel pushed his body as hard as he could, bellowing his fury as he ran down the beach and launched himself at Silas, tackling the man to the ground.
“Why do you have Cillian’s things?” His snarl was cut off when Silas wrapped his arm around Zadriel’s center and squeezed until there was a pop in his ribcage, a sharp, pulsing pain skittering through his chest.
“That’s not your concern, Fae,” Silas seethed, tossing his weight, trapping Zadriel beneath him.
A cloud of sand puffed in the air, dusting their clothing and coating Zadriel’s hair, bits finding their way into his mouth.
He coughed and his ribcage burned, a hot, pulsing agony.
Gritting his teeth, he hissed a shallow breath and slammed his fist into Silas’s face, so hard it reverberated through his bones.
Blood sprayed from the brute’s nostrils, spattering Zadriel’s knuckles, crimson glinting among gold, and peppering his cheeks. He stared at it for a moment, something stilling within him. “Tell me and I’ll give you Elodie’s power.”