Page 33 of Ties of Death

Daenn shrugs. “You made the choice I would have. If protecting you means killing someone, I will make that choice without any hesitation as many times as necessary.”

The words are spoken casually, despite the dark undercurrent to his emotions, too faceted for me to really decipher what it is. I know with crystalline certainty that he means every word, though. It soothes something in me, but it also makes me feel like I should fear for anyone who dares look at me wrong.

“It’s still heavy.”

“It will never stop being heavy. But sometimes we must do the heavy, hard things to protect those under our care. Better us than them.”

The words sound like something the Daenn I used to know would have said.

No, not quite. My Daenn was young, not yet acquainted with the burden of ruling. But it sounds like something my Daenn would say, given a few years of experience. Maybe the man before me is not so entirely different as I originally thought.

While the thought is comforting in terms of my hopes regarding him, it doesn’t make it any easier to face whatIhave done.

I sigh—and it turns into a yawn. My body is protesting being awake now that the adrenaline from the nightmare is fading.

“You should get back to sleep.” Daenn begins to pull his hand from my knee and rise.

“Wait—” I grab it, but when he freezes at my touch, I release him just as quickly. “Please. I—don’t want to be alone with my nightmares.” Maybe it’s silly, but I imagine them lurking at the edges of the room, merely waiting for Daenn to leave my side to pounce again.

I can’t read his expression. The predominant emotion over the bond feels like… protectiveness, I think, which is far better than annoyance, so I’ll take it.

He sits back down and shifts to a more comfortable position. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay until you do.”

I steep my words in my gratitude. “Thank you.”

He nods, and I wriggle back down under my covers. It doesn’t take me long to fall back asleep, not with Daenn’ssteady presence on the edge of my bed, his strong grip on my hand, keeping the nightmares at bay.

19

A Curl of Ash

We leave first thing in the morning.

The monks advise us to wait until after the sun has fully risen, and they give us small portable wards—Elium calls them charms—to place around our camp at night, with strict instructions to have them in place before nightfall. A large part of me worries my magic will interfere with them, but maybe it won’t—my magicusedto do such things, but it’s not just my magic anymore, and in this instance, that’s a blessing.

As we fly, I test the bond between Daenn and me, not prodding at it, simply being aware of it, noticing the subtle shifts in Daenn’s mood at any given time. Mostly, there’s not much to feel. I think I can only sense the strongest of emotions from him, and as we fly, he’s focused on the task at hand: directing Storm, watching the jungle below for anything different from the ominous green swath that covers the land as far as I can see.

Occasionally, we’ll catch the sun reflecting off something below, blue or green threads of water, but otherwise there’s nothing to see. As we’ve left the temple behind, green has consumed the ground in every direction, and the canopy is too thick to make out individual trees.

When we land for lunch though, Daenn seems slower, tired. We’ve found a small stream, and I immediately kneel by the water where it’s flowing the swiftest over a tumble of rocks and take a long drink. It was cool up in the air, but descending into the jungle itself is hot and muggy. I’m already sweating.

I lift my hair off my neck and splash water over my skin. It cools me for all of a second before it just adds to the sticky wet feeling. I sigh and rise, turning back to Daenn. He stands beyond Storm, studying something on the ground. Concern flickers through our link. It has me hurrying to see what he’s found.

Strange slashing burn marks are scattered around on the ground and on the trees, like someone took a fire-imbued sword and hacked at everything in sight.

“What is this from?”

Daenn only shakes his head.

I shift warily. “Should we get back up in the air? Head somewhere else for lunch?”

Wry amusement ghosts through him. “Somewhere else will still be in the jungle,” he points out. “These are old.” He presses his fingers to one of them. He’s not wearing his gloves, I notice, and something about that small detail pleases me. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to be quite so guarded while wearing the bracer. “Whatever made them moved on a while ago.” His gaze rises and roves over the jungle.

I look too. It’s dense. I can’t see much farther than the few trees surrounding this little clearing by the stream. Everything is green. Dark green, light green, a multitude of shades, but all green. Even the tree trunks are coated in green moss.

The color has never felt ominous before. But now, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. It’s been running up anddown my spine since we reached the jungle, a new permanent companion I could happily do without.

“We’ll stay here,” Daenn says after a moment of perusal, “but let’s eat quickly.”

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