Chapter 54

Massaging my temples, I step over fallen fronds and fat, velvety vines that have woven paths through the soggy underbrush.

It began as a faint, insistent pecking between all the folds of my brain, a different kind of headache than the ones I’ve become accustomed to. Now it feels like a hammerbeak’s making little holes in my skull to store its winter treats.

The clouds crackle overhead, strings of rain weaving through the canopy and pattering upon leaves that are round as dinner plates. They face the sky, seeking even the tiniest shaft of light that filters down through the oppressive foliage.

The rain’s dribbled symphony is a welcome respite from the silence sitting heavily between us.

I peek over my shoulder, seeing Rhordyn four steps behind—sword in hand, his body a tower of rippling brawn.

Sooty gaze nailed to me.

I whip my head back around, cheeks heating, unable to stop my mind from tumbling toward images of his mouth on my skin. Planting a tender trail of love that both lit me up and burned my blackened soul.

Clearing my throat, I brush a vine to the side as I step over a fallen log.

I tripped on a rock this morning and now Rhordyn refuses to take the lead—following with near-silent steps, unspeaking but for the odd stern instruction.

A broody shadow tethered to my wake.

Perhaps I should welcome the silence, but with his frosty gaze constantly pinned between my shoulder blades, and with the memory of his mouth on mine as our souls brushed against each other, the heavy patter of rain couldn’t be more of a relief.

We reach a wall of vines, and he sets his hand on my shoulder, slashing a path through the squiggle of gnarly drapes in a few powerful strikes.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping through the severed gash into yet another bushy, humid, tightly packed segment of the jungle.

Fantastic.

I readjust the sheath bound across my chest, the holster down my spine stuffed with the sword I took from the cabin. I stretch my shoulders, then my neck.

Get back to massaging my temples.

My foot hooks on a stone, and I lurch forward. Rhordyn’s hand snakes around my middle so fast I don’t register what’s happening until I’m tugged against his hard chest—heaving breath, heart pounding. A flock of moths the size of my head launch off the surrounding tree trunks in a waggle of blue tones, swarming toward the jungle’s canopy to resettle amongst the lofty trees.

“Brakenmoth,” Rhordyn rumbles so close to my ear I feel the brush of his chilled lips devastating my nerves.

I swallow, loosening my grip on the dagger at my thigh. “Pretty.”

“When threatened, they birth a stinger longer than your thumb, their venom potent enough to kill a child.”

My blood chills. “I … take back what I said.”

“There are beasts that live in the gloom that have learned to hide from the Irilak,” he mutters as the death moths shimmy their wings against their new resting spots, shifting their colors the slightest amount until they’re one with the trees, vanishing before my eyes. “They’re masters of camouflage and masking their scents.” He looks at me, frowning. “The jungle is unpredictable, and your footsteps are getting sloppier by the second. Trip again and I’ll carry you.”

This headache has its claws dug so far into my skull that the thought of being carried is actually kind of nice, though I’ll never admit that to him. There’s not enough space in this dense jungle to escape the crippling tension strung between us as it is.

“Message received,” I murmur, trying to wriggle out of his arm.

He tightens his grip, reaching up to grab one of the cupped leaves above my head. He eases it down until it’s at my eye level, and I see the puddle of rain sitting in its deep hollow.

“Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

In fact, my throat kind of aches, and the banana Rhordyn climbed a tree for a few hours ago isn’t sitting too well inside me, despite being the best banana I’ve ever tasted—sweet like taffy threaded with notes of pineapple and melon.

“I can stand here all day,” he says blandly, and I groan, lifting my hands to cradle his so I can gauge how much he tips the leaf.

Despite my reluctance, I welcome the crisp, luscious rainwater as it cools me from the inside out, nudging his hands when I’ve had my fill.

“Happy?” I ask, wiping my mouth.

He grunts, escorting the leaf back to its spot in our cramped confines.

Easing out of his hold, I continue forward, weaving around trees and an endless crumble of big, blue boulders threaded with veins of gold. So when I spot a black slab of stone peeking through a gap in the foliage, my heart stops.

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper, a bubble of hope swelling in my chest, the backs of my eyes burning as I dash through the trees.

Are we almost at the border?

Is blue stone, humid heat, and slate foliage about to become fluffy grass, black rock, and ancient, gnarled trees with leaves the color of emeralds?

I burst past the large dark slab into a blessed clearing four times the size of my room in Stony Stem. I count twelve flat stone spires punched through the circular perimeter, some clothed in silver vines of grayslades poking their heads toward the unsettled sky. There’s a small, simple dwelling in the circle’s center made from a bunch of logs all leaning against each other, meeting in the middle with a bind of vines keeping them in place—big enough to provide a night’s shelter from the rain but not much else.

And the rain … it’s a treasure I swirl beneath, arms outstretched, face tipped to the sky. Drawing on air that’s light and crisp.

For the first time since we set off this morning, I can breathe.

I stop, crouch, and thread my fingers into the thick, fluffy grass as Rhordyn stalks past me, poking his head inside the hut.

“How close are we to the border?” I ask, drawing a whiff of the sodden soil, digging my fingers deeper.

“Two days if we pick up our pace.”

I groan into the grass.

Not happening until I sleep this headache off.

I lift my head, peeking at him from beneath my lashes. “Can we sleep here tonight?”

“There’s still an hour before the sun goes down, and we haven’t covered a lot of ground today. “ He sweeps his gaze around the clearing, then looks at me over his shoulder, mouth a thin line as he slides his sword into his sheath and nods.

Thank the Gods.

My attention drifts past him to a huge, ancient-looking trumpet tree just beyond the ring of stones. It’s in full bloom—little blue bell-shaped flowers littering the knobbly branches that stretch far and wide. A flush of tall, pale mushrooms sprout from one of the gnarled limbs about twelve feet off the ground.

Mushrooms I’m boastfully familiar with.

Dogwarth usually grows on shit, but it must thrive in this humid environment, and right now, it’s the answer to all my brain-pecking, temple-aching problems.

I clamber up and sprint past Rhordyn, weaving between the stones as I unbuckle my sword and lean it against the base of the thick, wet trunk. I grip hold of a knot, set one foot against the sturdy surface, and haul myself up, moving from branch to branch.

Reaching a spot that’s webbed in a shock of glassy veins, I frown, dragging my finger up the smooth lines, tracing them until they taper off …

Interesting.

“One minute you want to stop for the night and the next you’re climbing a tree?”

Rhordyn’s baritone almost shocks me out of my skin.

“There’s a patch of dogwarth up there,” I say, stealing a peek of him at the tree’s base. “Don’t stand there, I might land on you.”

He holds firm, folding his arms across his chest.

Don’t know why I bother sometimes.

“If I fall—”

“We’ve spoken about this,” he rumbles, and I pause, cutting him another glance.

I won’t determine your steps, Milaje. I’ll even let you trip. But I refuse to let you fall.

My cheeks heat, and I spear my attention back to the tree. Reaching a split in the trunk, I haul myself topside of the branch sprouting the patch of dogwarth. I push to a stand, and the branch wobbles beneath me, shaking some of the blue flowers loose and littering them upon Rhordyn’s head.

I smile.

The line between his brow smooths.

I ease farther along the branch, past tufts of flowers, dropping onto my belly as I draw nearer to the mushrooms—a bigger, thicker branch arched over top of me like a doorframe.

I stretch my arm out and pluck one of the lofty stalks, pinch its root ball free, and give it a sniff, brows almost jumping off my face. I flick it away and hold the fleshy cup beneath a dribble of rain. “Well, that makes more sense,” I murmur, stuffing the mushroom top in my mouth and chewing, moaning at the instant wash of relief. Like I just reached inside my skull and set a cool, numbing blanket over the bulge of pain.

Sweet, sweet mercy.

I narrow my attention on the remaining flush. On the smear of gooey black stuff that appears to have dripped down from above, saddling the branch like a streak of tar.

“What makes sense?”

I pluck another cap, rinse it off, and stuff it in my mouth, chewing through the dense, earthy flesh. “This stuff usually grows on crap,” I say, swallowing. “I thought it was spawning up here due to the humidity, but no. It is, in fact, sprouting from a smear of shit.”

Snapping off another large cup, I scope Rhordyn from my lofty perch, eyeing up my frowning target. “Catch.”

I let go, certain it’s going to hit him in the face, but his hand whips up in a blur, snatching it split seconds before it can pelt him in the eye. Lips straight, he gives me a stony look that tells me exactly how little he appreciates me throwing shit-spawned mushrooms at his face.

“Got it,” he bites out, waving it at me. “Now get down.”

“You’re being very bossy for somebody twelve feet below me.”

I look back to the cluster, eyeing up my next target. Doesn’t hurt to have a healthy stockpile in my pocket for later. A few moments ago, my skull felt like a hammerbeak’s cage, and I have no interest in feeling that way again while we’re trundling through this muggy hell.

“Orlaith, I need you to come back down. Now.”

I grasp another fat stem and snap it free. “What you need and what I need are two entirely different things,” I say, dangling my ammunition over his head, aiming for my growling target.

I drop the mushroom, frowning when he steps to the side. Peering past me, he lets it fall to the ground rather than catch my shit-shroom like a gentleman.

I tsk. “That’s not very nice. Let’s try that again.”

I’m plucking another stalk when a blow of wind shakes the branch, and I reach up to the one arched above me to steady myself.

It moves beneath my hand …

I jerk back as a shrill hiss ignites my nerves. Stilling, skin tingling, my gaze slides up the thick, smooth branch.

Except it’s not a branch at all.

A massive snake shudders, its brown and blue scales morphing into skin as black as the darkness coiled within my shadowy chasm. Faster than a flicked whip, its big, boxy head snaps around, red eyes blinking open, slitted pupils narrowed on me.

Heart hammering, I suck a sharp breath as the snake’s long forked tongue slithers out, tasting the air.

My skin.

Its mouth cranks wide, exposing a sinewed cavern, two large, piercing sabers flexing down from its upper jaw.

My hand grips the hilt of my blade …

There’s a whistling sound, and the snake’s head slides off its wiggling body, a spray of blood splattering my face. I hug the tree as the thick, meaty length of its torso plunges past me, thudding to the forest floor in a squirming heap.

I look over my shoulder, and my heart fumbles over a foray of scattered beats.

Rhordyn’s perched on the branch behind me like some fierce, mighty feline—teeth bared, ears sharp, his eyes an inky oblivion that shades the surrounding skin. He’s wielding my plain silver sword that’s slicked in blood, his beautifully barbaric body splashed in shades of red.

“They’re pack basilisks,” he snarls, slamming the sword into my hand. “And they’re very territorial. Once their nest is disturbed, they swarm like a fucking plague.” He leaps, landing so hard upon the ground vibrations travel up the tree.

Through my bones.

He rips his sword from its sheath. “Stay there,” he growls, leering up at me with wild eyes. Something thick and green as the grass slithers out of a nest of nearby shrubs, skin shuddering into a squirm of darkness. The serpent whips up, arching, maw cranked and fangs bared at Rhordyn’s back.

Phantom hands seem to reach down from above and snatch my throat in a vice as he spins, cleaving his sword through the basilisk’s meaty neck so fast the entire motion is a blur of black and silver and richly tanned skin.

Of hissing, snarling might.

Silky plumes of blood spill across the grass.

The entire jungle seems to oscillate, and my surroundings unspool into a swarm of seething, slithering serpents that change color before my eyes, going from blues and browns and steely tones to a tangle of inky death—charging Rhordyn.

Lashing at him.

My throat tightens …

Tightens.

Rhordyn moves too fast for me to trace; slashing, stabbing.

Slaying.

He’s a tower of might, severing hissing heads with every cyclonic swipe of his sword, but the blackness keeps wriggling toward him. Piling around him.

Smothering him.

He’s lost in a coiled knot of squirming bodies, and that invisible hand around my neck tightens so much I can barely catch a whistling breath.

Suddenly, I don’t see snakes at all …

I see my darkness erupting through splits in my skin, lashing out at the man I love. I see him in bits all over the ground, his singed flesh plagued with weeping boils, wide eyes unseeing.

Dead.

I see me standing over him with shadows staining my hands. With my face a twist of anguish as I claw at my chest, trying to delve a hole through my ribs and rip out the pain.

Time slows to a crawl.

That macabre death creature scurries over the edge of my internal chasm and untucks twiggy wings, legs bunched and tail dangling as it flaps my insides into such a rabid stir that every vine and crystal shard and speck of withered remains blows into a storm of toiling rage.

It tips its head and screams.

I drop my hold on the tree and fall toward a basilisk’s head with a throat-blooding roar, impaling my sword into the crown of its skull—right between its eyes. Forcing the sharp tip past layers of leathery skin and bone before giving way to something soft.

The limp creature thuds to the ground, releasing my weapon with a wet squelch.

My sword becomes an extension of my arm as I hack through the throat of an arching beast, snipping its hiss—picturing another inky vine of scalding death decaying inside me.

Dying.

Another snarling whip of my arm, and I slash a creature straight through the head, cutting its face in two.

I turn on the writhing pile of coiled black bodies, certain I’m down in the depths of my internal chasm, stalking up to that sizzling darkness that does nothing but kill.

Kill.

Kill.

I raise my arms and drive the sword down, hacking at already mangled remains with savage blows that rake through my entire body.

Rhordyn punches free from the pile like a bloody ghoul rising from the dead, shoulders heaving, hands clawing, forging a path through the nest of black and blood—tossing chunks of carrion out of the way until he plants his feet on solid ground.

Still, I slash, slash, slash—mulching guts and gore with every frenzied strike, painting my face and arms and body in a lacquer of red.

But red is better than that sizzling black death.

Red is better.

Red is better.

Red is—

A weight settles on my shoulder.

I spin, snarling, the weapon in my hands colliding with Rhordyn’s sword in a clang of clashing metal, the cross so violent I feel the strike rattle my bones, blood splashing off our blades, peppering his hard features.

I look into wide, inky eyes, to the reflection bouncing off their surface, and all I see is the face of a monster staring back.

Everywhere she goes, death follows.

Everything she touches turns to ash.

Suddenly, I don’t see Rhordyn holding his sword at all …

I see me.

My upper lip peels back as that creature continues to flap. Continues to scream up my throat, tilling up shards of emotion that rip me apart from the inside out.

I shake my head and laugh—a wild, untethered sound that kneels to the strings of my tangling insanity. “I hate you,” I snarl.

A smack of lightning ignites the gloom, cleaving across that violet stare—so stark against the dark abyss.

“You do nothing but destroy everything you touch,” I scream through the pummeling rain, blinking away a swell of tears. “Everything you love. The world would be so much better if you just disappeared.”

“Orlaith—”

Yes.

Her.

I bare my teeth and lunge.