Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(34)

That was nothing like Verald. The idea of sharing—I sucked in a deep breath and realized I was gripping Tyrrik’s aketon. I forced myself to relax my hold as I thought of the rationale of that type of society. Was that worse than what I’d seen growing up? With the ratios of men to women, maybe not.

“But you’re referencing their eating habits, I assume.”

Eating habits? “That’s putting cannibalism mildly.”

“As I understand it,” he said, ignoring my quip, “In a bid to keep his people fed and his kingdom viable, King Zuli decreed women over the age of fifty and men over the age of seventy would have to leave the kingdom proper. Only those who can reproduce are kept fed by the kingdom; the rest are escorted into the depths of the Gemond Mountains to live out their remaining days as best they can.”

My mouth dropped open. “That’s horrible. He throws out the old people? How could he do such a thing? How can their families bear it?”

“I don’t know, Rynnie,” Dyter said softly. “King Zuli was the first king to institute the practice, and he left when he turned seventy, just like the others. His son, Zakai, is the king now.”

Obviously the king of Gemond was a monster, and his son was equally insane. Just as ours had been, a power-hungry tyrant who cared for no one.

As I sat simmering in anger, Kamoi called back to us, “Another two hours, and we shall reach the heart of Zivost and our people.”

Our people. The two words pulled me from my darkening thoughts. I was going to meet my people and learn Phaetyn ways. Maybe Kamoi could teach me how to make things grow without my spit or blood. That would be handy when I went back to Verald . . . or maybe while I was here by Gemond. “Will you teach me how to do the plant stuff?” I called ahead. “Like how can I make things grow, and how do we replenish the land? Oh, and can you explain the healing mojo, how that works?”

The two Phaetyn winced though the prince turned to me. With his features settled into a weary expression, he replied, “Yes, Ryn. Power like yours could do much good if properly honed. We will teach you all we can.”

All we can. “Can’t you teach me everything?”

Kamoi shifted in his saddle, facing back to the front, but not before I caught sight of his frown.

“Can’t you?” I pressed.

His voice was tight as his words floated back to me. “I’m afraid only time will tell us that.”



The air in the middle of the Zivost forest smelled of mint, pine, and citrus; the scent calming and clean. The clearing looked like a cross-section of the Market Circuit back in Verald—stalls of produce were interspersed with artisan crafts: ceramic bowls, tapestries, woven baskets, and bolts of fabrics in natural hues.

The Phaetyn varied in size and shape, but none appeared sickly or wan. Their pale skin practically glowed, and their glistening silver hair hung straight and lustrous; most of the men wore their hair pulled back at the napes of their necks while the women wore their locks loose.

As we passed, the murmur of their voices followed. Despite the melodic sound, there was a clipped edge to their whispered conversations. Many violet eyes widened as Kamoi escorted us toward a large tree in the center of the clearing in Zivost, or Phaetynville—as I’d dubbed it.

“What are they saying?” I asked Dyter. As if he would know.

He rolled his eyes at me, and I responded with a one-shouldered shrug. I couldn’t help my instinct to ask him. Until recently, I’d always assumed Dyter knew everything in the realm. In reality, he probably still knew way more than me.

I shifted Tyrrik’s body again. Despite his leanness, the Drae was heavy and his weight was putting my legs to sleep.

I met the gaze of a female Phaetyn around my age, but she broke off our shared stare and walked away. I tried the same thing with another Phaetyn, and another, yet as soon as I caught someone’s eye, they averted their gaze.

“Do I have something on my face, Dyter?” I asked.

Stupid question. I was a mess. My aketon was torn and bloody, both with Tyrrik’s black blood and my blue. I had an unconscious Drae draped across me, who was also a bloody mess, not to mention he was their sworn enemy. Could they tell what he was just by looking at him? To me, he’d never looked ‘of this world,’ too handsome, too world-weary, too fond of black clothing. But could they tell?

“Kamoi spoke with the elders as we neared,” Dyter told me in a whisper.

“How?”

“Through the trees.” The old man shrugged. I had to admire his ability to adapt. The girl he’d known from early childhood was both a Phaetyn and a Drae, and we were walking through a forest of sentient trees, and Dyter looked as calm as if he was serving stew and ale on a Thursday night.

“It’s likely word has spread about what you are. I’m sure they are just as curious about you as you are about them,” he added.

I was a mess and a novelty. Excellent. Great. Best news ever. And why was he whispering if they already knew? Alarm bells rang in my head, and my skin crawled as the Phaetyn’s eyes continued to avert upon landing on me, like I’d stepped in horse turd and no one wanted to tell me. “But we’re safe here, right?”

As if in response, a high-pitched whistle buzzed in my right ear, and I instinctively leaned forward, covering Tyrrik with my body.

A sharp pinch in my side made me gasp. Warmth spread from the area, and with it came a jolt of energy that made my heart race. What the hay?