Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(50)

He hadn’t had the chance to think much about the four missing Elves—too much had been going on, and Aryal had consumed most of his attention—but now he did so with a sense of foreboding. He didn’t know two of the names that Ferion had given him: Cemalla and Aralorn, the one female, the other male.

He did know the other two Elves, Linwe and Caerreth. Linwe was a firecracker, a young Elf who had recently dyed the tips of her spiky brown hair blue. She had laughing brown eyes and a propensity to teasing—or at least she had before the tragedy at Lirithriel Wood.

Quentin was quite fond of her. They were not related, either by blood or by marriage, but he still considered her part of his larger family group. Caerreth was a shy young male, bookish and remarkably insensitive to his surroundings. Quentin had met him before on his visits to Lirithriel.

All four of them, Ferion had told him, were younger and less experienced. They were the ones who Ferion could spare. Quentin shook his head. The longer time passed without any explanation for their absence, the higher his concern spiked. He was antsy to get to the coast and start investigating, to see if they could find any sign of the Elves there.

He judged the time by the sun’s position in the sky. When he estimated a couple of hours had passed, he said to Aryal, “Time to wake up, sunshine.”

Her sleep-roughened voice sounded from underneath the jacket. “You need to stop calling me that. I don’t know anyone less filled with sunshine than me.”

“I like the irony,” he told her.

She rolled to a sitting position, her hair all over the place. She raked it back with both hands and groped for the leather tie that had come loose in her sleep.

“Why don’t you cut your hair short if it annoys you?” he asked curiously. He stifled the odd, foolish twinge of regret at his own words. Her hair was another thing about her that was simply beautiful, the long black strands thick, luxurious and gleaming, but more often than not she seemed impatient with it.

It had been wonderful to sink his hands into that soft black mass, to imprison her by clenching a fist into it, and pull her head back and kiss her. He pushed the thought away. Like an irritating gnat, it refused to be swatted and hovered at the back of his consciousness.

“Getting a haircut takes time,” she said. She dragged her pack open and wolfed down breakfast. He noted, with a little amusement, that she didn’t tuck any of the protein bars aside for later but kept eating until the last of her food was gone. Then she looked around with a disgruntled expression. “First item of business is we’ve got to secure more food one way or another.”

“The coast should be just four or five miles away now,” he said. “We’re bound to start seeing some dwellings soon. At the very least, we should be able to find some wayfarer bread.”

Outside of Elven communities, their wayfarer bread was a rare, prized commodity, but within Elven communities, it was a staple of almost every home. Vegetarian, delicate and flavored with honey, the bread was famous for its delicious flavor, healing properties and long shelf life.

However, Aryal didn’t seem impressed. She made a face. “I suppose it’s calories and will do in a pinch,” she said.

“I don’t know why I keep finding this hard to believe, but you actually are contrary in just about every conceivable way,” Quentin told her. When she rose to her feet, indicating she was done with her meal, he scooped up his backpack and shouldered it. “Everybody loves those wafers. Everybody except you.”

She flipped him off, the action casual, even companionable, as she strapped on her pack and grumbled, “I have a sweet tooth. They’re not bad. But I need a lot of calories, and I’m getting really hungry for fresh protein.”

He ran his gaze down her lean, racy frame. She flew with power and speed, and that took a lot of energy. He was feeling the need for fresh protein too. “We’ll get some today, one way or another.” He turned his attention to trekking through the meadow. “I’m not inclined to fight my way through that long grass. I think we should give up the stealthy approach and take the path. We’re leaving a scent trail anyway, and if your anomaly from last night was sentient, something has already become aware of our presence.”

“The direct approach.” She shrugged. “That works for me.” They moved along the tree line until they found the path. It was wider as it cut through the meadow grass, as if this portion had seen more traffic. Aryal said, “Let’s get somewhere, already.”

She sounded impatient, as if her self-imposed grounding was starting to wear on her, and she took off down the path at a jog. Quentin grinned as he followed her down the corridor created by the long grass. The sun beat down on their heads, and the wind caused the grass to ripple in long silvery green waves much like the surface of an ocean.

They could see farther ahead of them now that it was daylight, to a distant patch of white-capped water. He caught glimpses of that blue land or island, and he wondered what was over there.

After jogging for a couple of miles, they reached a slight incline. As they ran upward, they left the grassy meadow-land behind, and when they reached the top, the coast lay spread out in front of them, closer than ever.

The path cut a zigzag down a long steep hill. A few houses with terraced gardens populated the hillside. A cluster of more buildings dotted the area at the bottom, where a dirt road angled toward the city by the sea. Every line of the city in silhouette, every building, was gracious and elegant. The sight pulled at something inside of him.