The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens #7)(8)

I looked at him and he at me. I was taller than Petra by a hand, roughly four inches, and weighed more than him by several stone. But there was something very stout about my companion. Perhaps it was in how he looked at me, as though we were equals.

Without either of us speaking a word, we turned toward the east and ran. Few creatures in Kingdom had the endurance centaurs had. I’d been quite surprised to discover in the games that Petra could, in fact, keep up with me. I had four legs to his two, but he was naturally swift and agile, able to squeeze through smaller areas than I could. He tired sooner than me, but that was only after several miles of extreme exertion.

We ran, stopping every two hours for drink. I rarely ate when on the hunt, and though I suspected he’d eat, he did not complain.

By the time we finally stopped running, we’d gone a solid eight hours and traveled nearly forty miles. My heart raced in my chest, beating steadily but forcefully. I was coated in a fine sheen of sweat and dust. Even my withers ached. I’d not pushed myself so hard in years. I was a scholar, not a traveler, and yet the urgency of time had impressed itself upon me in a mighty way the further we’d traveled through the realms.

The lands had shifted so greatly. The great valleys and chasms were now not so great. Bodies of water that had seemed to stretch toward infinity were oftentimes little more than puddles. I’d seen creatures slithering and slinking in the woods I’d never seen before. And I sensed that the loss of Wonderland had caused all of this to happen.

Wonderland was a madcap realm within Kingdom. Its strange magic was usually contained within its borders, but the unraveling of magic had released its wildness into other parts of Kingdom.

Petra plopped onto a large gray boulder sticking up out of the ground, breath sawing through his lungs like a bellows as he looked around.

We’d entered a clearing surrounded by a bed of thorny bushes and brambles. Not a particularly appealing a place to tramp through for either predator or prey. This would be as good a place as any to bed down for the night. The sun was less than an hour away from setting, giving me enough time to hunt for meat. I desperately needed protein after the exertion of the past few hours. Nearby, I could hear the gentle gurgle of a brook.

“We can wash the dirt off us here,” Petra said, obviously having heard it for himself.

“Yes. But first we must build a shelter and forage. I will hunt tonight. You and I both need the energy.”

He didn’t fight me on that, which let me know he was more exhausted than he was letting on. His eyes were shaded with weariness, and there were tired lines pinching around the corners of his mouth as he nodded. My companion had grown far too quiet as of late. The moment we’d been dropped from the games, he’d become a different man. It was really none of my concern, and yet I felt a pressing need to see some of the old light back in him once again.

We split up, he to go forage and I to suss out any game I could find. What I found were two rabbits and a vole. It wasn’t much meat, but something was better than nothing.

Whipping my hunting knife from my pouch, I set about skinning and cleaning the meat. Not knowing when we would next acquire meat, I wanted to smoke some overnight to see us through the next two days of our journey.

By the time I returned to camp almost an hour later, Petra was already back and had started a fire. There was a large bundle of seeds and five dark-brown, misshapen lumps sitting on a broad leaf before the campfire. My heart tripped in my chest at the sight and my mouth watered instantly. It couldn’t possibly be. I gasped when I drew near, because somehow he’d accomplished the impossible.

“By the gods.” I grinned. “How in all of Kingdom did you manage to scrounge up truffles at this time of year?” Truffles were an absolute weakness of mine. Their season was pitifully short, but I always made sure to gorge whenever they came around.

A whisper of a grin tugged at the corner of his full lips. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “I found a moist, dank spot of forest floor that seemed ideal. I looked, and there they were.”

I knew that was not at all the case. Truffles were near impossible to find and usually done only by the keenest of noses and with an innate knowledge of just where to dig. Flicking a glance down at his grime-and dirt-encrusted nails, I knew he’d put in quite some effort to make it happen. Warmth speared through my chest.

“Why did you go looking for truffles?” I asked, unable, it seemed, to leave well enough alone.

Brushing a hand over the still-matted ends of his hair, he looked to be in debate with himself. I thought he might not answer, but finally he said, “I knew you liked them.”

When he looked at me, his moss-green eyes seemed to glow in the gathering darkness. Soon the sun would set for the night.

“Hm,” was all I could say back, not sure why his answer pleased me so.

“Anyhow.” He shrugged after hastily clearing his throat. “I wove a basket of waxy leaves together to make a stew of this, if you’d like.”

I’d been dreaming of roasted meat, but stewing what we’d found together would stretch our meager finds. “Okay. Stew it is.”

“Then I’ll head toward the river, fill up our makeshift pot, and return in a bit.”

He stood, stretching his arms above his head, and for just a moment, I was riveted by the steely, ropey strength of his arms and abdominals. From the waist up, he really was almost was like a centaur, save for the tiny horns resting upon the crown of his head that was mostly covered by the thick curls of his shaggy hair. I’d been put off by them when I’d first seen them, but now I barely remembered he had them at all. I’d always wondered at why his horns were nothing but stumps when most satyrs tended to have very large, very regal curving horns. But I’d felt it too rude to just come out and ask.