Page 36 of Ties of Death

Daenn’s holding his own, using his smaller size to weave around the monster and hack at its limbs when he has the openings. The creature is fast, though, and succeeds in landing a slice against Daenn’s armor. My heart nearly stops at the sight, but while Daenn stumbles a bit from the force of it, I can’t tell if it penetrated down to his skin.

Storm leaps onto the monster’s back when it turns away from him, toward Daenn, making quick work of it from such an undefended angle.

The silence is sharp as the monster falls. No more clacking or shrieks. Only Daenn’s hard breathing and the rustle of Storm’s feathers as he picks his way off the monster’s body.

He nudges one of the legs with his beak, almost contemplatively, as if he’s considering eating it. Fortunately for us, he turns away in disdain.

Daenn lowers his sword and looks over at me. He’s breathing hard. “Are you all right?”

The question triggers my instincts to take stock of my own body. I’ve scraped my arm a bit from where I dropped onto the jungle floor, but it’s not bleeding, so I don’t bother mentioning it.

“Are you?” I counter.

He takes a moment to clean his blade before sheathing it again. “I’m fine,” he says, but he’s scanning the edges of theclearing, and I’m not entirely sure he even bothered to take stock before answering, so I look him over as I stand.

His armor has a scratch along it where the beast hit him but otherwise looks untouched. Before I can do a more thorough examination, Daenn is moving toward Storm.

“Let’s go. I want to cover as much ground as possible before we make camp.”

I don’t point out that we’ve seen evidence of these monsters since we’ve entered the jungle, and moving won’t mean we’re safe from them. But I also have no desire to camp next to two giant carcasses. So I don’t say anything at all, just follow Daenn to the gryphon, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder for eyes among the foliage.

21

Trapped by His Side

The spot we find to camp is hours from where we were attacked, but it looks exactly the same. Cursed jungle. I try to pretend it’s different enough that we’re somewhere new entirely, that we won’t encounter any more monsters.

It’s not really working. Especially when Storm shrieks and stomps at a slithering emerald body as thick as Daenn’s thigh and as long as one of the towering tree trunks as it disappears into the brush, quickly hidden by the huge green fronds rimming the small clearing.

I shudder and try to focus on setting up the charms Elium gave us and starting a fire.

Daenn tends to Storm. I expect the gryphon to disappear to hunt as he has previous nights, but he must be on edge from the earlier attack too, because he doesn’t stray more than a little way into the jungle.

I prepare a simple dinner from the supplies the monks gave us, setting the wrapped leaves on a stone along the fire’s edge to warm. When it has sizzled long enough, I tug it off gingerly. I hiss at the sharp heat in my fingertips and drop it on the waiting plate more abruptly than intended.

A soft huff of laughter draws my attention to Daenn. He drops to a crouch beside me, reaching his gloved fingers out and snagging the second bundle of food with ease.

“You’re cheating,” I mutter. “I don’t have gloves on like you.”

His mouth ticks up on one side. My heart squeezes at the sight, so familiar frombefore. I feel like more and more of him is slipping into the Daenn I knew before. I don’t know if being out here is softening him somehow, sanding away the wall he’s erected around himself… or if it’s all my own wishful thinking, my desire making me see what I want to see.

I pull my gaze away from his face, from that teasing smirk that makes me want to lean closer—and my eyes snag on his arm. He’s taken off his armor, and there’s a long tear in his brown tunic. Red rims the ragged edges.

I scramble toward him. “Daenn, you’re hurt!” I grab his arm and examine the wound. It’s a narrow jagged burn, red and blistering, that stretches over his forearm at an angle. I’ve never seen anything like it.

He’s stiff under my arm, and a thread of panic from him reaches me over our bond. His muscles are taut under my touch.

He tugs away before I can release him. “It’s not bad. I barely even feel it.”

I want to grab him again, but instead I turn to my pack and start rummaging. “You can’t leave it untreated. What if it’s poisoned or something?”

“Emi, it’s fine. I’ll tend to it after dinner.”

Maybe he thinks using my old nickname will dissuade me from my course of action, but he is sorely wrong. It only makes me want to take care of his wound more. I pull out the healing kit and flip it open. “We tend to it now.”

“Please…” He trails off at my quelling look. “You can’t touch me.”

I pause at that, frustration surging. It’s one thing to insist on that when we’re talking, but this—taking care of his injury should supersede that. He’s being paranoid; his magic can’t hurt me. But he’s pale and no doubt in pain. I won’t force the issue now.

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