Page 72 of Oracle of Ruin

All it takes is one look for Amír to whirl in my direction, her fingers tapping the holster at her side. “What did you do?”

“Amír.”

“No. What did shedo?” the gunslinger spits, her hands running along Kya’s shoulders and arms, her fingertips dancing over the thick tunic she wears.

Kya shrugs out of her grasp and begins the trek homeward. “Let’s just get going before any worse monsters arrive,” she murmurs under her breath.

Blaine shoots me a worried glance as my breathing hitches, but says nothing as he follows after her. Even Rowan shifts away. The movement is brief, and to anyone else, unnoticeable, but I feel the absence of his warmth immediately.

My heart rises in my throat, but I follow behind them obediently, the pouch hanging at my hip heavy in more ways than one.

Chapter30

Verosa

Monster. The word is clearly written across each of their faces as the Nightwalkers stare at the soiled pouch at my hip. Given the new stain on the cloth and the horror on Kya’s face, it doesn’t take long for them to put the pieces together. Despite it, Rowan returns to my side, his heat a constant blanket of comfort beside me.

We walk in silence under the cover of darkness.Monster. The word reverberates in my bones. With each heavy step, I can feel it settling deeper into my soul.

Monster.

Another thudding step.

Monster.

The darkness forces its way up my throat and wraps around my heart. The stars do little to light our path and even Rowan’s reassuring weight pressing against my side isn’t enough to assuage my growing panic.

The brush rustles to my left—the side unguarded by the blond mercenary. I fling my dagger out, gripping it with sure fingers and nearly cutting him in the process. My heels grind into the muddy ground, slick but surefooted.

“There’s nothing there,” Amír snaps.

Rowan draws his sword and stands with his back to mine. “Wait.”

Amír glares at him but makes no move to disobey his command. Then a distant whistle.

I hardly have time to dodge the arrow before it strikes the tree behind me. The wood splinters, the shards embedding themselves into my skin. I can hardly feel it as my feet are moving and my grip on my dagger adjusts.

“Everybody get down!” Rowan calls out.

Our ambushers take this as their sign to spring from the trees. Their forms are pale and gangly, but they are men, not Kijova or any other beast. Some faces I recognize, others I cannot beneath the cover of grime and darkness. They are the other nobles Gadsden allied with, those who chose to side with the king in exchange for their lives. Their numbers are small but they are heavily armed and in better physical condition than we are.

I duck behind a tree just as another arrow rings out and slices through my tunic. Warmth spreads down my arm and I grit my teeth against the flaring pain. Rowan throws a look of concern my way in the dark, but I am already moving. Gripping a finger ripped from my pouch, I summon a dark flame and force it into the shape of a spear.

But the darkness does not hold its form. It rages from my palms, shapeless and relentless as it seeks out our enemies on its own. The dark flame consumes their forms, leaving only their scream on the wind before their ashes scatter in the snow.

The remaining assailants blanch and shout for a retreat, but are met only with a flying dagger or a bullet.

Yet even as the last of our enemies fall, the darkness still forces its way out from me, sucking on my blood and strength. I offer two more sacrifices in hopes of satiating its hunger, but it does nothing to weaken the steady thrum as it drains my energy. I fall to my knees, the melting snow biting through my trousers. My own name rings in my ears, a voice like Rowan’s or Blaine’s calling it.

My shoulders begin to sag, the ground pulling me towards it. With the last of my strength, I close my fists and picture the darkness surrendering. I shove it into a box in the back of my mind and call it all back into my body or force it into the air.

The darkness begrudgingly listens and I fall to the ground, my back barking with pain upon impact. The hand I split open throbs, any injury I’ve sustained since meeting Mavis suddenly reappearing in the form of phantom pains.

My eyes burn and squeeze shut as sweat trickles into them. Strong hands are shaking me, an equally stern voice commanding me to open my eyes. I blink and force them open to find Amír looking over me. Her red hair falls over my face, the white streak dancing just above my brow. Her marbled skin pinches as she glowers, but nonetheless, the gunslinger hoists me to my feet and allows me to lean on her. Rowan stands near the tree line with Kya and the others, his face the palest I’ve seen it.

I hardly remember the rest of the walk back, my memory foggy. Darkness claims me for a few moments as I slip in and out of consciousness. The only sure memory I have is of Amír’s hands holding the brunt of my weight.

My mind only clears once we reach the inn and the gunslinger unceremoniously dumps me on the couch. She hisses something under her breath to Rowan that leaves the man uncharacteristically silent.

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