Page 49 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘Is this the part where you want me to offer some platitude about how it’s only in the dark of night that we can see the stars?’
‘Poetic. Is that what I should tell myself when I need comfort against the shadows?’
‘Tell yourself whatever you want.’
‘Why? Because there’s no saving me?’
‘No,’ Drue reprimanded. ‘If you need words of comfort, perhaps remember this: there are all kinds of darkness in this world. Some good, some bad, and some with no agenda at all. It’s what that darkness means to you and what you do with it yourself that matters most.’
Talemir’s throat constricted, and he blinked rapidly up at the stars. He hadn’t realised just how badly he’d needed to hear something like that.
‘You’re rather wise for a ranger,’ he managed, choking back the emotion.
‘So I’ve been told.’
They leftat dawn the next day. Whatever moment they had shared in the hot springs had passed and Talemir was still fighting the loss of it.
Am I the monster or the man to her?he wondered, stealing glances at Drue when she wasn’t looking. He drank deeply from his tonic, deciding he would settle for her company, or so he told himself as they continued their ride south, Terrence flying overhead.
‘There’s no sign of Gus or the others this way,’ she was saying, scanning the surrounding lands.
‘Did you expect there to be?’ he asked.
‘Not really. I wondered if Dratos might have found a means to leave clues in their wake, but it was a fool’s hope. What do you sense?’
The wraiths left no tracks in the earth, no trail of darkness in the sky. Not even the nauseating scent of burnt hair lingered in the air. A part of him was relieved, but he had promised Drue he would help her find her friends, find the lair… And that meant reaching into the part of himself that he tried so hard to bury deep.
Talemir straightened in his saddle and centred himself, breathing in, trying to discern the distinct scents and energies around them. When he concentrated, he could feel them – in the far distance, but they were there: the wraiths. They had a presence about them. They left a mark on the realm, a stain he could sense even from a great range. He hated it, hated that he knew that about them.
It made him undeniably one of them.
‘We keep heading south,’ he told Drue, gripping his reins tighter than he meant to.
‘You’re sure?’
He didn’t want to admit it, but he did. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you think… Do you think they’re alive? Gus and the others?’ she asked.
He saw the terror in her eyes, and wished with all his heart that he could soothe her, reassure her. But it was not in his nature to lie, not after he had become living proof of the horrors the wraiths inflicted upon humankind. And he was aWarsword. What hope did a young boy have? Or even a grown ranger of Naarva? Though it had crossed his mind that there might be others like him, he knew the folk from the watchtower didn’t fit the bill. But those thoughts wouldn’t help Drue.
‘I don’t know,’ he said instead. ‘The wraiths I have dealt with in the past aren’t known for taking prisoners.’
‘You think they’re lost to the darkness, then?’
‘I couldn’t say. I hope not. And I will help you find them, one way or another.’
Drue seemed to gather herself before giving him a stiff nod. ‘Thank you.’
‘Onwards, then?’ he asked gently.
‘Onwards,’ she agreed.
Days passed.Both the conversation and the silence between Warsword and ranger were comfortable, companionable, but Talemir did not seek her touch, as much as he longed for it. Especially as the further south they travelled, the more Talemir’s skin crawled. He didn’t know if it was because they were drawing nearer to the supposed wraith lair, or because, slowly but surely, the darkest night of the month crept closer – and with it, his uncontrollable change. Judging by the position of the moon, it was only a short matter of time before it was upon him and he tore apart whatever fragile friendship and trust he’d built with Drue.
He made several attempts to tell her what would occur when the moon failed to show, but he couldn’t get the words out, no matter how many times he reminded himself that she’d called his wings beautiful. She hadn’t so much as touched him since, so despite her reassurances, he knew she was holding back, knew there was some lingering fear or horror that kept her at bay.
And yet, she made him laugh. She teased him and then got riled up when he teased her back, which often resulted in her spluttering some nonsensical insult before she burst out laughing. The sound was a melody to him, full of vibrant notes he wished he could take with him whenever the darkness truly claimed him.
