Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(29)

I climbed up the side of the hill a short way, and a few boulder mounds later, about a quarter of the way up, I crouched by a thin stream squeezing out from between two bulky rocks. My eyes followed the filter of water where it continued down the slope, branching and twisting toward the wall of death. I squinted, focusing on where the water ran down, disappearing into the spiked rocks, in the direction of the forest.

I filled the water skin and guzzled the contents before re-filling it. The water wouldn’t sate my hunger for long, but it was all I had for now.

After taking care of my other business—that a woman didn’t want to do in close range of a man with heightened senses—I made my way back to Tyrrik.

The morning rays lit the sky, even though the sun still hid among the Gemond mountains. More light painted the horror of yesterday, vividly displaying the dried evidence all around the Drae.

“Hey,” I said, approaching him with forced cheeriness. “I found water.”

He didn’t reply, but his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, my only reassurance he wasn’t dead. I sighed as I sat down next to him and mumbled, “Guess I’m making nectar on my own.”

I uncorked the water skin and stuck my forefinger in the hole, wiggling the digit around and thinking of nectar and Tyrrik being better as I hummed. Removing my finger, I sniffed at the contents. Still water, delicious water . . . Did its mouth-watering scent have something to do with the forest?

This nectar thing wasn’t as clear cut as I’d thought. I cracked my neck while I contemplated how I might get the water to change. Clearing my throat, I chanted, “Water, water, in the skin, turn to nectar and I’ll . . .” I paused, thinking hard for a suitable rhyming word. “Grin, win, thin . . . din?”

“What are you doing?” Tyrrik asked.

I yelped and threw the skin in the air. The liquid, still water, spilled over the rocks. Face burning, I scurried to pick the water skin up, taking my time re-corking it before turning back toward the Drae.

“Umm . . . Making nectar?” I squeaked.

The silence behind me was suspicious. Had he fallen asleep again?

I glanced over my shoulder to find Tyrrik wide awake, his expression smooth like when we were in the Quota Fields. Except his lip twitched and his eyes were watering.

“Are you okay?” I asked, crossing to him. Was he going delirious? Was that even possible?

“Fine,” he wheezed, and his hand twitched.

He didn’t sound fine, more like he’d lose consciousness any moment. I waggled the water skin over him. “Any pointers on making Drae juice? You said that would help.”

Tyrrik shut his eyes, shifting on the flat rock. “Yes. Put your finger in—”

“Tried that.”

Several moments passed before he continued. “And think of how much you want to help me. Remember you just need to will it.”

“I did,” I growled and then scrunched my nose at my own hypocrisy. Sure, I’d saved Tyrrik’s life. And yeah, in the moment, with blood everywhere and his sputtering breathing, I’d been frantic to save him. But most of the time, I didn’t want his help; I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be near him, yet part of me felt like I may need him. This Drae business was serious, what with turning into a Drae and making nectar. And, the sparkly object obsession . . . I absently patted my pocket to make sure I still had my trinkets. So, to sit under the sun now, when the danger was past, and to not only say I wanted to, but truly feel a sincere desire to . . . help Tyrrik? He’d callously broken my heart, and I wasn’t sure I could ever forgive him.

Did I want to help him?

With a sigh, I uncorked the flagon and dipped my pinky inside. I want to help Tyrrik; I want to help Tyrrik. I sniffed the flagon and sighed again.

“Maybe you could try another poem?” Tyrrik murmured, his eyes still closed.

“You did hear,” I said, aghast. How mortifying.

He didn’t answer.

I scowled because there was no way he’d been sleep-talking just now. I was beginning to understand that the Lord Drae possessed a wicked sense of humor, one which reminded me of . . . my dungeon buddy, Ty.

My heart gave a sharp pang. His humor reminded me of Ty because Ty’s humor had come from Tyrrik. Admitting that the characteristics of Ty and Tyr were real parts of the Drae scraped at a barely-healed wound. After just a few days in the Drae’s company, the gaping wound had begun to heal. I sat dumbfounded with my finger in the flagon as my heart told my head what it hadn’t yet acknowledged. I knew why he did those things; I mean, I knew why on a surface level. If I had been in his shoes, how far would I have gone to break the blood oath with Irdelron? But I wanted to know why the Drae manipulated me in the way he had. Why get me to fall in love with Tyr when Ty would’ve sufficed?

Until I had an actual explanation and apology from him, there would always be something between us. But did that mean I wanted him hurt? I took a deep breath and let my heart answer. No. Not anymore.

“That’s it,” Tyrrik croaked.

I frowned at the waterskin. “Really?”

“It will just smell like water to you, but I can smell the difference, just as you can smell the vy?iva I make for you.”

“Nectar!” I announced, bounding to my feet, taking his word for it. If all it took was me wanting to heal him, I’d probably created the most potent nectar ever. “I have glorious nectar for you. Ryn the Fearless has provided for the incredibly weak, once again!”