Page 99 of Of Blood & Stone

His smile widened, “Oh, but it is. You and every other woman who has filled orodyte with Aretta’s power.” He ceased tracing the orodyte serum as he tilted his head, “But I still need you, Sylzenya. There’s one more task to accomplish, and I’m in need of my most powerful Kreena. So please, come home.” He pressedhis hand to the earth, “Come home to me, yourtruegod—the one who has never abandoned you—so I might finally be set free.”

Rage rose up her neck as she spat, “Why would Ievercome back to you?”

“Because,” he whispered as he rushed to her, too fast for her to react. He gripped her face with one hand, his eyes flashing between yellow and black. “You aremine.”

Everything spun, her screams echoing as darkness melded with golden light; a ring that turned into blood and a bird crushed by branches. The bird’s warning rang through her mind over and over and over again…

For life there is a price, and only in pain is it made whole. Your choice has been made, and so your consequence is set in blood and stone.

“Sylzenya.”

She bolted upright, her hands sweating and chest heaving. Darkness surrounded her on all sides. Terror speared her insides. She tried to shuffle away from whomever was holding her, but her body ached in ways that had her fall back into their arms.

“We escaped,” Elnok’s familiar voice echoed, his warm calloused hands gripping her arms. “We’re in Lhaal Forest now.”

Worry and uncertainty filled her as she opened her eyes. The dim, familiar outline of Elnok’s broad shoulders and sharp face came into focus, accompanied by his scent. She relaxed her shoulders.

“Your scars,” Sylzenya whispered as she slowly cupped his jaw in her hand, remembering how Distrathrus had pressed the sword into his scarred back, the hissing of his flesh still echoing in her ears. “Are you alright?”

“Not nearly as painful as my brother’s methods, although he did give it a worthy try, didn’t he?” he replied, sarcasm biting at the end of each word.

Before she could reply, he withdrew from her, the absence of his skin sending an icy shiver up her arms. The compass’ golden glow dimly lit his face, casting sharp shadows across his features and against the cave walls. His eyes were puffy, the skin underneath them a deeper color than usual.

“You don’t have to pretend like that,” Sylzenya said, reaching out to touch his arm, “If you have your salve on you, I can apply some to your scars.”

He flinched at her touch. “I’m fine.”

Gulping, she tucked her hand into her chest. “It’s clear that you aren’t fine.”

“Sylzenya, please, just…” He took a deep breath, his thumb spinning something—a ring, by the looks of it—on his pinky finger, “I’m relieved you’re awake, but we need to focus on finding Aretta’s Willow.”

Vision blurring, she held herself together. Now wasn’t the time to cry, nor was it the time to try and recover everything Distrathrus had torn from them. Surely these were his desired outcomes, that Elnok would lose trust in her, and that she might lose all faith in herself as well.

“How long was I out for?” she asked, sitting up straight and blinking back the tears until she could see clearly.

“Over an hour.”

She cursed. “Has the compass changed direction at all?”

He nodded. “It’s pointing east.”

“Shit,” she whispered, “any monster sightings?”

“Not yet.”

Sylzenya took a deep breath. “I don’t know much about Lhaal, but I do know that’s not normal, not when we don’t have a Dynami with us. The monsters can sense their power and are more apt to avoid than attack, but you and I…”

She trailed off, observing her hands, remembering what it’d felt like to touch her willow tree she’d created while they weretrapped in the grove. It’d burned her with life, a song she’d never heard rushing through her veins. It wasn’t just the roots and leaves opening up for her, but it was her own blood and skin. It was everything in her veins and under the earth, flowing through her body like glittering streams of water populated by buzzing dragonflies.

The orodyte serum.

Everything had fallen away, desperation taking hold of her as she called on the roots and vines of the ancient forest floor to obey her every whim, calling them to rise, to come to life—to fight.

But the “cure” she’d been given—Distrathrus’ blood—had fought against her at every moment.

Never in her life had her cut bled so much.

Surprise found her as she gently ran a finger along her scar, the wound had already scabbed over.

---