14. Dumortierite
The sun is already high in the sky when we wake up in the bright forest. A part of me says that it’s fine that I slept in, considering the events of last night, but I bolt upright nonetheless.
Two dozen women with sharp ears have joined our meager camp. They are eating our food and talking with Niht.
He laughs at something one of them says, and I can tell the exact moment when he flirts—not because she laughs with him, but athim. Niht seems blissfully unaware of her mockery and the bored, dangerous eyes of her group.
My tail flicks behind me as I’m surprised to note the group is not merely made up of elvish women. I stare at a pack of wolves, several bears, and one alce. I haven’t seen an alce in decades, but it towers over all of us, and its proud antlers stick out around its head, demanding to take up space. A tall woman is brushing its fur and adjusting its green saddle.
As I stand, several eyes swivel toward me.
“Good morning,” I say in my best approximation of elvish.
They don’t react.
The woman tending to the alce steps forward.
“Teo, King of the Enduares,” she says with a very shallow bow. “I am Ayla Daecaryn, leader of the Faefurt Assassins.” She gestures behind her and continues, “My greatest work was when I infiltrated the swamp ogres as a courtesan and killed their Shaman Ogre King while he walked the astral plane.”
She says nothing about her mount, but it huffs a snort and stamps its great foot.
I nod at both her and the creature as well. Hearing her speak so openly of her bloody exploits isn’t surprising. After all, they made me kill someone to prove that I could be trusted enough to help. Perhaps this is their custom.
The one whom Niht was flirting with steps forward.
“I’m Glyni. I killed my father, High Lord Oakfeather.”
Niht’s face nearly makes me chortle, but I give my attention to our newest allies.
We’re introduced to both elves from the sunny, tropical islands in the east and those who’ve grown up in the Faewilds of the far south. Thasinia, a woman with skin darker than my Estela, speaks of her murder of a giant family, while Farryn and Elanila, a set of elderly twins, talk about how they took out a member of my father’s court eight decades ago.
My eyebrows rise. My father had spoken of the tragic accident that had befallen the Reh family line—never in a thousand years had I expected to be standing face-to-face with their murderers.
Despite trying to focus more on the names than the kills, I find I can only memorize Lusha and Taenya’s names before anxiousness claws at my gut. I don’t know if these women will be right for the mission, but they certainly are capable.
Cocking my head to the side, I think of their leader, Mrath, who refused to share any information about herself at the party.
“These stories are fascinating, but I can’t help but wonder: what of Mrath? Who did she kill?”
Silence greets my question, fizzling in the warm sun as birds and insects flit between the trees.
One of them looks back at the smoking black mound in the distance, the house of Laavi. She swallows and says, “Sister Mrath killed her father, the old king.”
I blink, frozen. It makes sense, I suppose, why she wouldn’t tell me.
From the left, I hear one call out, “I’ve never bedded a human. Is it worth all this trouble?”
That’s all it takes for Ra”Salore to growl at them.
They laugh, and the introductions continue. When the last name has been spoken, I give them a deeper bow.
“We are grateful for your help.” The words aren’t lies, per se, but they burn my throat. Gratitude might exist, but the trust between our people is non-existent.
They watch me.
“We are ready to leave when you are,” Ayla declares.
My eyes fall on an empty pack that held dried supplies. “Have you eaten a hearty breakfast?”
Ayla smiles, showing the fangs that mark our two peoples as distant cousins.
“Yes.” She walks over to her alce and leaps atop it with impossible grace. She shouts a few words to her women that I don’t quite catch, and they all move to their mounts.
I go to the glacialmaras, which Ulla is watering as she sings a ballad. When I approach, she smiles, but her expression is tinged with sadness.
“Are you well?” I ask her.
She nods.
“Last night was awful. I just thought that he…” she trails off, glancing at the elves. There is one particularly bloodlusty elf who won’t be joining us.
“Be careful with him,” I say under my breath in our language to avoid someone overhearing. “Mrath called Thorne her pet.”
She nods, then looks up at me with glassy eyes. “I don’t think he’s as awful as Mrath. Thorne hated what that woman did, you know. And you… gods, did you have to deal with that before you came home? I thought you had told me everything—I thought?—“
I shake my head, wondering how she knows what Thorne does or doesn’t hate.
“The past is dead. Let it stay buried.”
Rahda continues to nudge my side, and I look down at her. “Yes, yes, you have been so impatient all night. What was I to do?”
Another ram to my hip makes me laugh as I stumble. Ulla joins me in laughter, and some part of me feels wrong. My mate is still missing.
It’s going to be all right.We have the allies, and today we ride.
Soon, we will rescue my wife. The Fuegorra sings to life in my chest, and I let it fill me up as we clear this vicious place. It sings to Rahda as she pushes above the trees for the first time in days. The other Enduares follow me, but the elves remain confined to the ground with their beasts.
I stick my hands out wide as the air brushes past them like threads of silk against my skin. It slips through my fingers, and my hair blows back. I suck in breath after breath of pure sunshine.
I’m coming, Estela.
I push through my silent bond, hoping she can feel me, even if she can’t hear the words. Together, she and I can chase away the ugly shadows littering our world.
I will always come for you, my love. No matter the distance.