Page 39 of Ties of Death

“Daenn—” I begin, but he’s already turned to look. He whips back and tightens his grip around my waist. Behind my legs, his press hard into Storm’s sides. The gryphon shoots forward like a bolt of lightning, flying faster than I knew he could.

The insect monsters’ sounds are lost to the wind whistling past us, but when I risk another glance back, they’re still there;I’m not sure if they look angry that we’re expanding the gap or if their buggy faces are just permanently terrifying.

Daenn tugs me into place; he’s pressed fully against my back, pinning me between him and Storm as we hurtle through the air.

I don’t know how long we fly at this frantic pace, but we do slowly lose the monsters. Storm’s sides heave and grow damp beneath us. Daenn hasn’t loosened his hold on me, and I can only imagine how his muscles must be protesting from being so taut for so long.

Finally, by some unspoken agreement between gryphon and man that I'm not privy to, we slow. It’s still fairly early, but with how hard Storm pushed, I suspect he can’t go on any longer.

Storm glides to the ground, making for a break in the trees that’s not quite big enough for him and that has him tucking his wings for a moment. He snaps them back out after we clear the top of the canopy, but we land with a slightly harder thump than usual.

Daenn drops to the ground and pulls me with him. By necessity I stay close; this spot they’ve chosen is barely big enough for two people, let alone two people and a giant gryphon. Storm immediately collapses to lie in the dirt. His sides continue to heave, and I can see frothy sweat on his hindquarters now that I’m off him.

I silently help Daenn tend to Storm. I pull out the dried meat rations we keep on hand for when the gryphon can’t hunt and offer them to him. He scarfs them down in one gulp as Daenn rubs down his sides.

“You did well today, Storm,” I murmur, scratching him on the side of his neck as he eats. “Thank you.”

He makes a noise a bit like a grunt. Probably something along the lines of ‘of course I did.’

Once Storm’s cared for, I set out the charms, then I find a tree and lean against its trunk. Daenn continues to fuss over his gryphon and gear, checking the straps on the saddle and speaking to Storm in a low tone I can’t quite make out. He moves with a slow weariness. It may just be from the afternoon’s misadventure, but something tells me it’s not.

I glare at the glint of the bracer on his wrist. If I tune in to my magic, I can sense the tug as the bracer pulls at Daenn’s magic. It’s not strong, but it’s steady.

I can’t banish the worry, and, in the back of my mind, I hope Daenn assumes it’s about the monsters. But it’s not. It’s circling, an echo that won’t leave me alone.

What is the bracer doing to Daenn?

23

A Portent of Death

It’s mid-morning when we reach the second temple the following day. It looks much like the last one—squat, with dark grey stone—but it’s smaller, and it’s surrounded by the jungle like a lone prey fending off a circle of wolves.

But when we draw closer, where there was a magical ward at the last temple, that tightness that washed over us… nothing happens here.

Everything is like the fading of an echo. A memory of inhabitants and normalcy that’s absent now.

We land before the doors, but no one comes out to greet us. The jungle is a tangible presence at our backs, pressing in, watching, waiting. I wish I knew what for.

Daenn helps me down. His gaze roves our surroundings; either he senses my uneasiness or he feels the same things in the air I do, because he is on full alert.

“We should get inside.” I glance at the door. How do we open it from this side?

Daenn grunts in agreement. He leads the way up the steps, and I follow close on his heels; Storm brings up the rear, his feathers puffed.

Daenn quickly finds a recessed handle along one of the stone doors and tugs. It groans as it eases open, seemingalmost reluctant to allow us entrance—almost as reluctant as I am to go in. Only my desirenotto be out here in the open pushes me to step over the threshold into the shadowed hall beyond.

Still no one has come to greet us, but even more concerning is the mild disarray we find. There’s not much in the room, but the torches that should line the walls are unlit, missing, or, in a few cases, fallen to the floor. In itself, that bit of untidiness wouldn’t matter much to me, but there’s also a gathering basket near one of the built-in stone benches. Its contents—some sort of withered flowers—are scattered around it on the floor.

There’s something indescribably wrong about it for some reason, like a portent of death hanging in the air.

“Let’s go this way.” My words echo through the room and into the distance down the halls, and I wince. I drop my voice before continuing. “If the layout is the same as the other temple, it should lead us toward the kitchen.”

Daenn nods, and we head down the suggested hallway. Our steps ring out, a warning bell to anyone around of our presence.

If there evenisanyone around.

My wondering on that count is answered within minutes: the next corner we turn, four men jump out at us. No, not men—not human men, at least. Elyri men. Their pointed ears rise from hair of greens and golds—even some bright reds and oranges—which is braided away from their chiseled, fine-boned features. They all wear strange, matching armor that reminds me of leaves or ropey vines. Their blades—swords and spears—are gleaming wood that looks wickedly sharp in the impossible way only Spring Elyri weapons can.

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