Page 58 of The Onyx Covenant

After I grab his backpack, we start a long walk of slow progress. I spot a dark opening in the rock face near a wall of stone close to the water’s edge.

“There,” I say, adjusting my grip on Theron. “That might be a cave.”

We make our way toward it. The entrance is narrow but tall enough to enter without stooping. I pause at the entrance, sniffing carefully.

“No recent scents,” I announce after a moment. “Nothing’s been living here.”

Theron nods, leaning heavily against the stone wall. “Good. We can rest and regroup. My head’s spinning.”

The cave opens into a small chamber, dry and protected from the wind. Moonlight filters in through the entrance, casting everything in silver and shadow. I guide Theron to a relatively flat spot inside the cave and ease him to sit against the stone floor.

“Let me check what we have left.” I open my bag, searching its contents beneath my wet clothes. The firerod survived, protected in its waxed case. The thin emergency blanket is protected in a waterproof case as well. There’s a small waterskin and some other survival items.

“We should count ourselves lucky,” I say, holding up the firerod. “At least we can have warmth. And we have two blankets,” I note. “Let me spread yours out on the ground. You need to lie down before you fall over.”

“I can help,” he insists, stumbling to his feet.

“You can barely stand,” I counter, rushing to steady him as he sways.

Once I lay both blankets next to each other, easily offering a double-sized bed in seating, I help Theron get off his feet. He’s heavier than he looks. By the time he’s settled, I’m already thinking about what else needs to be done.

“We need water,” I murmur, grabbing both waterskins and heading back outside. The cool night air brushes against my skin, carrying the distant scent of damp earth and pine.

The mountains loom closer than I expected, their twin peaks silhouetted against the night sky. The Darkbone Valley lies directly between them, our intended destination. From here, I can see why it has its name. The peaks look like massive dark bones jutting from the earth, sharp and unyielding. I frown, tilting my head as a chill creeps down my spine. Did we take a shortcut? The mountains feel too close.

Shaking the unease from my mind, I glance up at Elios’s moon, her veiled face just visible through a thin layer of mist.

“Guide us safely through the darkness,” I whisper, the prayer coming automatically. “Light our path with your hidden wisdom.”

Then I make my way toward the stream, kneeling at the edge and dipping the waterskins into the cool, crystal-clear water. As I wait for the skins to fill, something catches my eye—a cluster of bright green leaves with deep purple buds just on the shore.

My brows lift in surprise. Sweetclover. Small delicate herbs that help with dizziness. Their sweetness lingers, making them a favorite for keeping breath fresh, too, and Theron said he tasted the powder I gave him to drink.

I pluck a handful, cradling them gently in my palm as I head back to the cave with the water.

When I return, he’s sitting up, looking marginally more alert but still dangerously pale. He’s completely naked, with his bag on the stone floor in front of him as he paws through it, his jaw tight with frustration.

“No food in the bags,” he mutters. His head tilts back against the stone wall. “I’d kill for some jerky right now.”

“I brought you something else,” I say softly, stepping inside and holding out the handful of sweetclover leaves.

He lifts a brow, his expression flat and unimpressed.

“Grass?” he deadpans, lips curling slightly. “You brought me grass?”

I kneel beside him. “They’re sweetclover,” I correct, nudging his hand until he takes them. “They’ll help with the dizziness… and take that dusty taste out of your mouth.” A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “They’re used to freshen breath, too, did you know?”

He stares at me for a moment, then lets out a low grunt. “Huh.”

But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he pops a few leaves into his mouth, chewing slowly. After a beat, his expression softens just a fraction as the sweetness kicks in.

“Not bad,” he murmurs.

I hand him one of the full waterskins, watching as he takes a long, grateful drink. Some color returns to his cheeks, but the exhaustion on his face remains.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, standing and brushing the dirt from my hands. “I need to gather some sticks and dry leaves for the fire.”

He doesn’t respond, too focused on chewing through the rest of the sweetclover.

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