Reign of Shadows (Reign of Shadows, #1)(61)

I reached her in two strides and leaned down to her hunkered and bent frame, speaking in a low voice. “Mirelya, what is it? Where is—”

“She’s gone,” she whispered for my ears alone.

“She left the village?” I went cold. Had she left without me? Was she heading to Relhok City?

A memory assailed me. I’d fought so hard to forget it, but suddenly it was upon me.

Two years ago, after leaving Relhok, I’d gone south, knowing that I wouldn’t be looked for there. The dwellers had ravaged the south. It was rumored no town or city stood intact. My father wouldn’t think to hunt for me there.

I had no purpose then. I had not yet decided to go to Allu. That had been Bethan’s dream. It could not be mine.

I found a village. There wasn’t much left of Edmon. Just a few cottages that surrounded a stone mill at the edge of a loch. The remaining villagers lived inside its stone walls, sleeping on straw pallets, waiting listlessly in the dark for death to come.

Not living, merely surviving. Foraging during midlight for scraps. Eating bugs and vermin. There had been a boy. Only nine years old. Donnan always wanted to join me, but I made him stay behind when I left to hunt or forage. One day he followed me.

I turned back when I heard his screams, but I was too late. By the time I caught up to him, there was nothing left that resembled the boy. I failed him like I had Bethan. Like I was failing Luna.

No. Not again.

“A man came . . . carried a reeking bag of heads.” Mirelya’s fingers dug like claws into my arm. “He was looking for you both. He knew she was there. He knew she wasn’t a boy.”

My voice shook out of me. “He took her?”

“No. She fled. He chased her through the village.” She pointed to the trees that crowded the edge of the lift. “She made her way down. She’s out there—”

The words had barely left her mouth before I was back in the lift, catching it before it descended to pick up the rest of the men. I paced the small lift space, scanning the countryside as I traveled back down, craning my neck and peering into the cloudy midlight air.

I was halfway down when I spotted movement in the trees. My hands slammed against the caged wall, staring hard at that one spot. A person was running. It wasn’t Luna. This was a man. I recognized his gait from the other day in the orchard. My gaze skipped ahead of him, searching for a glimpse of Luna, but trees blocked my view, and then I was too low, almost to the ground again.

I yanked the door open with a rattle. Others crowded me, ready to hop on.

“Hey, where you going?” the boy from the boat called as I shoved past him and took off.

I ran. Legs pumping, blood roaring in a rush in my ears. I flew, weaving through trees, jumping over fallen logs and debris as if I hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours swimming and fighting in that lake.

My breath crashed with the rhythm of my pounding feet.

I heard a sound and pulled to a hard stop, swallowing my breath so I could listen. I jerked to the right and followed the noise. I spotted Anselm’s tall, thin frame through the trees and just beyond him . . . Luna. He was strides from her, a hatchet in his hand. He swung down. Missed.

I roared, arms pumping as savagely as my legs ran. I closed in. Anselm whirled around, shock crossing his gaunt features as I jumped through the air and collided with him. I pinned him down, sending his hatchet flying. I choked him at the throat with one hand, bringing my sword down and pushing it straight through his chest.

He choked, and shuddered under me. Glassy eyes stared straight through me. An expression of shock fixed itself to his harsh features.

I gasped, laboring for breath as I fell back. The sword remained buried in his chest. My back hit the ground as I stared up, my gaze lost in the canopy of thick, swaying branches.

“Fowler!” Luna scrambled to my side. She took my hand, her warm fingers closing around my blood-slicked fingers.

“Luna.” My stare slid over her face, drinking in her every feature. The cuts and bloody scrapes and scratches made me wince. I stroked her pale cheek with my other hand, cringing at the smear of blood I left on her. “Are you hurt? Did he harm you?”

“No, I’m fine.” She bowed her head, resting her forehead against mine, her sweet breath fanning my cheek. “You made it back.”

I smiled. “I told you I would.” Sucking in another breath, I rose, pulling her up after me. “Come. We need to hurry and get back.” The dull glow of midlight was fading on the air.

I pulled my sword free of Anselm’s body, wiped it clean in the dirt and leaves, and then started back toward the lift. She walked close beside me, and I couldn’t stop myself.

I reached for her hand, folding her warm fingers into mine as I pulled her closer.





TWENTY-SEVEN


Luna


THE SCENTS OF Mirelya’s cottage surrounded me, at once familiar and comforting. I inhaled the aroma of dried herbs and bread as I stretched my aching muscles. I was going to be sore for a good while. Sore, but alive.

Tears burned in my eyes, and I feverishly blinked them back. The coals crumbled and popped in the small stove in my room, warming the air, but I still couldn’t chase away the cold. Cleaned up, with a sticky salve that smelled of mint and nisan root applied to my wounds, I inhaled raggedly. I was safe and out of immediate danger, but that didn’t stop me from shivering. I couldn’t relax. Tension knotted my shoulders, refusing to loosen.