Page 35 of Lera of Lunos
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Our first sevendays pass in a quiet blur, each of us lost in our own thoughts and worries, the only comfort coming with sleep, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. Or, when too cold, the tiger’s fur. I find myself pressing my ear to Tye’s heartbeat each night, letting it stand in for each of my males, willing them to stay alive until we can reach them.
The landscape morphs more with each day we travel, the land’s magic affecting the soil and vegetation in the Light and Gloom both. In place of the neutral lands’ dizzying peaks and Slait’s lush forests, Blaze stretches into wide savannahs, with trees far enough apart to keep the canopy from closing. On the ground, the brittle grass rises in shades of yellow and brown, often with patches of orange-tinged soil showing through the strands. The sun’s power grows, slowing me down as we move deeper into the heart of Blaze, reminding me of the trial arena. Only the bright-blue moss growing in the Gloom remains a constant.
“How long have you been away from Blaze?” I ask Tye as we slide back into the Gloom on the morning of our eighth day. The drab colors and sounds chill my core as always.
“Not counting the recent excursion to Karnish?” Tye turns to look over his shoulder at me, his dapple stallion bristling unhappily as grass crunches underfoot with a dull crackle. “About three hundred years, since I joined the quint. No, wait, I think I was arrested in Slait before that. So, a long time.”
A tinge of sadness spiders over my skin. “And you’ve not talked to your family since?”
“No.” Drawing the sword strapped across his back, Tye hacks a thick clump of moss off a low-hanging branch. “Damn parasite. I swear it’s spreading more each time we step here.”
“This?” Reaching out to another patch of moss, I brush my fingers through the bright, almost glowing, strands. They feel as thick as a tiger’s fur, warm and velvety.
Tye cringes. “Don’t touch it.”
“Why not? It’s pretty. The only thing with any color here.”
“Pretty?” Tye snorts. “You knowwhyit’s colorful and bright?” Tye plucks off a piece, hissing as he holds the blue tuft on his bare palm for a few seconds. When he finally drops it, the skin blisters with red burns. “The moss feeds off magic. The only native to the Gloom, and it preys on everyone who enters.” Reclaiming his sword, Tye hacks off another blue clump, this one as big as a sunflower. “Coal says the qoru are battling it constantly too. The one and only thing Lunos and Mors have in common.”
“Maybe it just doesn’t know what to do with me, since I’ve no magic of my own.” I pull my hand away, feeling the loss of the moss’s warmth. “Still, it feels like the friendliest thing out here. As if it’s keeping us company.”
The words hang in the air between us, underscoring the others’ absence. I swallow, turning away. A few moments later, Tye rides up close enough to put a strong hand on my knee. “Let’s take a few hours in the Light, Lilac Girl,” he says with a cheerfulness I know he doesn’t feel. “Dead rescuers are not nearly as effective as living ones, and I think the horses could use a bit of fresh air. Plus, I’ve something better than moss to show you.”
The something better turns out to be the horizon of civilization, the distant peak of the Blaze Royal Palace beckoning from far-off plains. Its gilded, spindly towers rise into the air like twisting flames, catching the sunlight. “It looks like we are almost there.” I stretch my lower back. “Ahead of schedule.”
Tye snorts. “We are neither. It’s all much farther than it looks.”
Despite my inclination to not believe him, the male turns out to be right. With little by way of reference, moving through the savannah and a slowly growing density of small villages—clusters of low earthen huts and wide-eyed fae children—feels like a great deal of forward motion without much to show for it. By the time we finally enter the populated area at the outskirts of Blaze’s capital city, Ferno, it’s early evening.
Only two days until Samhain remain and decorations adorn almost every door and fence. Every post and window is strung with garlands and lights, and many walls show off chalked sketches of animal skeletons, tormented spirits, and nose-less, sharp-toothed... “Are those qoru?” I point to one of the better drawings, this one covering the wall of a busy pub. Here, bright lines of chalk depict a pair of qoru sitting cross-legged at a small, round table, each creature nursing a mug of bubbling brew.
“Aye.” Tye’s usually amused voice is tight, as if braced for a blow. “My people take Samhain to its proper absurdity. When the fires are lit the night after next, the whole city will look like a flaming river—with enough colts standing so close to the flames to prove their courage that the healers will be busy for the next month.”
I give Tye a sidelong glance, wondering whether he realizes how closely Blaze’s Samhain spirit fits with his own flex mastery. “Ferno is a great deal busier than Slait, isn’t it?” I say instead, taking in the chaotic streets. The place feels more like a huge, overcrowded village from the mortal lands than Slait’s stately capital. The closely packed sandstone and orange-clay buildings seem to tumble over each other like a natural organism, reaching multiple stories into the air so they almost lean over our narrow stone street. Fae bustle in every direction, some overhead on walkways that crisscross the road, some brushing right past us on feet and horseback—all so busy with their own errands that at first we seem to be anonymous. A feeling that lasts all of about one minute. As we ride, a turned head or two morphs into hushed whispers, which soon give way to hordes of children running into the street to see the novelties for themselves. All are dressed in loose, billowing fabrics of white and red and orange, long-sleeved tunics and pants that billow in the wind like a tribute to the fire magic Blaze is known for.
“Slait sprawls,” Tye says finally, a smile in his voice. “Blaze—Ferno City, especially—is more of an anthill. It’s had to grow up and down and over itself instead of out, by virtue of being situated over the only source of abundant groundwater for hundreds of miles in any direction.” Tye sighs. “And by the time we are halfway through, with how densely populated it is, the whole damn place is going to know we’re here. Are you hungry, lass? We might as well get this over with.”
“Get what—” I cut off as a beautiful pointy-featured female piling wood on a future bonfire drops her bundle and gasps, one hand pointed at Tye.
“Tyelor? Stars. Youarehim, aren’t you?” Rushing over, she all but knocks into Tye’s stallion, who dances disapprovingly. The female wipes her hands on her apron. “TheTyelor? Flex champion?”
Swinging down from the saddle, Tye bows hastily. “Aye, lass.” His coy smile and sparkling eyes are such a perfect mask that I doubt anyone but me sees the heart-tearing pain beneath. “And an awfully hungry one. Can you point my mate and me to a decent dinner?”
Mate. The word rolls through me with a possessive warmth, even as it brings weighing stares.
“That’s a mortal.” The female makes a face.
In my dusty black riding tights, billowing white shirt, and black leather vest, I suddenly go from feeling strong to feeling like a bug under this random female’s shoes. It’s a harsh reminder of what humans are to fae in most of Lunos—nothing. Or worse than nothing.
“She is?” Tye blinks, helping me down from Sprite’s back while a boy runs forward with an offer to take the horses. “I’d not noticed.”
“Enough gabbing.” An older female comes out of what looks like an inn, her wrinkled face spreading into a smile. “Welcome home, Master Tyelor. We’ve never stopped cheering for you, you know. One of our own colts rising up to challenge the prince himself. Whatever happened at the end, we all tell our youngsters of you. Come, bring your guest in and we’ll set you up with some supper.”
The tips of Tye’s ears darken, but he covers the blush with a bow, straightening just in time to catch a tripping boy who clutches a wooden mug in one hand and a sharp knife in the other.
“Master Tyelor! Master Tyelor!” the boy says, extending both items to Tye as the male sets him back on his feet. “I’m training in flex too. Would you carve your name for me? My coach says—ow!” He yelps, protesting loudly as the previously simpering female grabs his ear and escorts him away.
