Page 64 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
We continued this halting exchange as he worked, building a tiny vocabulary of essential words. Fire was thaelon. Rock was karthen. Sky was veridian. His voice was low and gravelly, as if he wasn't accustomed to speaking, but there was a musical quality to the Talfen words that made them beautiful even when I mangled the pronunciation.
When the clothes were as clean as he could make them, he spread them over the sun-warmed rocks to dry. Then, to my complete indignation, he pulled out another length of cord and reached for my hands.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, pulling away from him. "I've been cooperating! I haven't tried to run!"
But cooperation, apparently, wasn't enough. He caught my wrists with implacable gentleness and bound them behind my back, the knots tight enough that I couldn't slip free but not so tight as to cut off circulation. Then he led me to a sturdy pine tree and secured the cord around the trunk, effectively tying me in place.
"This is ridiculous!" I protested as he checked the bonds one final time. "Where exactly do you think I'm going to go? We're in the middle of nowhere!"
He said something in Talfen—probably the equivalent of "stay put"—and then he was gone, disappearing into the forest with that unnatural quiet that made me wonder if shadow magic extended to simple stealth.
I spent the first hour testing my bonds and exploring every possible means of escape. The cord was well-made and expertly tied, with no weak points I could exploit. The tree was too large to work my way around, and the knots were positioned where I couldn't reach them with my teeth. After several attempts that only succeeded in chafing my wrists, I was forced to admit defeat.
The second hour I spent fuming about the indignity of being tied to a tree like a misbehaving horse. By the time he returned, the sun had moved significantly across the sky and my anger had cooled into resignation. He emerged from the forest as silently as he had departed, carrying what looked like two skinned rabbits and a small leather pouch that probably contained berries or other foraged food.
The efficiency with which he built and lit a small fire spoke of long practice living rough in the wilderness. Soon the smell of roasting meat filled the air, making my stomach growl with sudden, fierce hunger. I hadn't eaten since before the battle, and the physical exertion of our morning trek had left me ravenous.
When the meat was cooked, he cut it into small pieces and came to sit beside me. I expected him to untie me so I could feed myself, but instead he held out a morsel of rabbit and waited for me to take it from his fingers.
The intimacy of being hand-fed was almost more than I could bear. Each time his fingers brushed my lips, I felt that same electric connection that had led to our encounter in the cave. Theberries he fed me were sweet and tart, bursting with flavour that made me close my eyes in pleasure, and I saw something kindle in his gaze as he watched my reaction.
"This is torment," I said quietly, not caring that he couldn't understand the words. "Whatever you're doing to me, whatever this is between us, it's going to drive me insane."
He paused in offering me another piece of meat, his storm-grey eyes studying my face with unsettling intensity. Then he spoke a single word in Talfen, soft and questioning.
I didn't know what he was asking, but something in his tone made my chest tighten with emotion I couldn't name. "I don't understand," I whispered. "I don't understand any of this."
When the meal was finished, he packed the remaining food in his satchel and helped me back into my dried clothes. My undergarments were still damp in places, but they were clean and warm from the sun. The familiar weight of proper clothing should have been comforting, but instead I found myself missing the soft embrace of his feathered cloak.
More disturbingly, I missed his scent—woodsmoke and pine and something wild that was purely him. When he took the cloak back and fastened it around his own shoulders, I had to resist the urge to bury my face in the feathers one last time.
What was wrong with me? This man was my captor, my enemy. He had used magic to kidnap me, had tied me up like an animal, was leading me gods knew where for gods knew what purpose. I should be plotting escape, not mourning the loss of his scent on my skin.
But as we set off again into the deepening forest, the leather cord once more connecting us, I couldn't deny the traitorous warmth that spread through my chest every time he glanced back to check on me. Whatever madness had taken hold of my heart, it was growing stronger with every passing hour.
And that terrified me more than any amount of shadow magic ever could.
24
The cave entrance was little more than a crack in the mountainside, easily missed if you weren't looking for it. Two days of following scattered tracks and broken branches through increasingly dense forest had led us here, to this unremarkable opening that barely looked large enough for a person to squeeze through.
"This is it," Tarshi said quietly, running his fingers along the stone at the entrance. His sharp eyes caught details the rest of us would miss—scuff marks on the rock, a thread of fabric caught on a protruding stone. "Recent passage, definitely human-sized."
The three of us had to duck to follow the narrow passage deeper into the cave. The space opened up after a few yards, revealing a chamber large enough for several people. "No signs of struggle in here either," he called back, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
I squeezed through the entrance behind him and immediately spotted what had drawn Tarshi's attention—the remains of a fire ring near the entrance of the cave, carefully constructed fromstones that had been gathered and arranged with obvious care. The ashes were cold and scattered, but not so old that they had been completely dispersed by the air currents moving through the chamber.
"They stayed here at least one night," I confirmed, crouching beside the fire ring.
Jalend pushed past Sirrax into the cave with barely contained panic, his breathing harsh and rapid. "Livia! Are you—" His voice cut off abruptly, and I saw his face go white in the dim light filtering through the entrance.
I followed his gaze and felt my own blood turn to ice. Scattered across the cave floor were pieces of Livia's armour—a bent breastplate, torn leather straps, metal fittings that had been deliberately removed rather than ripped away. And there, dark against the pale stone, were stains that could only be blood.
"She's dead," Jalend whispered, sinking to his knees beside the largest stain. "Gods above, she's dead and it's my fault. I should have—"
"No corpse," Sirrax's voice cut through Jalend's rising hysteria like a blade through silk. The dragon had squeezed his massive frame partway into the cave entrance, his golden eyes reflecting what little light there was. "No drag marks. No scent of decay. She walked out. Stop whimpering like hatchlings."
The blunt assessment hit like a slap, shocking Jalend into silence. I found myself studying the scene with new eyes, looking for what I had missed in my initial horror. Sirrax was right—there was blood, yes, but not enough for a mortal wound. The armour had been carefully removed, not torn from a corpse. And now that I looked more closely, I could see two sets of footprints leading away from the cave, not just one.
