Warrior of the Wild(36)

A clink to my right—the sound of his power striking against the rocks beside me in a very near-miss.

“Hold still,” he commands, in a tone that still sounds almost bored.

I will do no such thing. I fling myself backward as his hand snaps from side to side unleashing … something at me. But I’m too quick, too unwilling to submit to his power.

But then my back collides with something behind me, and I dare a glance over my shoulder from my seated position.

The invisible barrier to the god’s home. I’m trapped.

“Which village sent you after me?” he asks. “I will unleash my wrath upon them.”

I don’t answer, looking around for anything that might save me.

“You’ll die here, regardless, but surely you’d like revenge on the village that sealed your fate?”

Revenge against the entire village? Because a handful of people betrayed me? I don’t think so.

Peruxolo steps closer. “Speak now. I won’t ask again.”

My right hand curls against a fist-sized rock beside me. I remember the first time I came to find the god’s lair, how I flung a rock, and it sailed right into the seam of the mountain when I myself could not enter.

I hurl the rock with as much strength as I have at Peruxolo. I watch as it sails through the air, hitting its mark with an audible crunch. Peruxolo raises a hand up to his cheek. When he lowers it, the sun glints off of red.

I made him bleed.

He stares dumbstruck at his hand for a few seconds, as though he’d forgotten what it was to bleed.

But then his eyes find me.

I realize now that the reason he lowered his hood is because he never intended to let me leave here alive. Why should he care if I see his face?

His hand darts inside his cloak, to his side. When it resurfaces, a long blade comes with it, the sun shimmering off a bright metal.

A silver dagger.

I barely process this as my gaze is still focused on the droplet of blood sliding down the god’s cheek. By the time I realize his dagger somersaults through the air toward me, it is too late.

Then I’m staring at the hilt protruding from my gut.

Wretched agony shoots through me.

Torn flesh. A pulsing, sharp, burning pain spreads from the wound. Blood darkens my shirt.

I lower a hand, my fingers trembling over the handle of the silver blade. It split right through my armor. Left side of my abdomen. Below the heart, but I know there are other important organs within the human body. Irrenia would know what to do if she were here. I don’t know if I should pull it out or—

I fall to my knees, my limbs suddenly going weak. Only then do I remember the god is still about ten feet in front of me.

“You have two choices,” Peruxolo says as my eyes meet his. “You can pull out that dagger and bleed to death. Or you can wait for the ziken to smell the wound and come to devour you. Either way, you will die a painful death, and the world won’t be disgraced by your presence any longer.”

He gives me a disgusted scowl before making the walk back to his domain.

I fall onto my back, my breathing ragged. I don’t think he punctured a lung. It’s just that every time I breathe, the dagger is jostled, and it sends a fiercer wave of pain through me.

I’d rather die from blood loss than see the ziken have at me. But just placing a finger against the dagger’s handle is—

A sharp intake of breath.

I can’t do this.

The rocks below me dig into my skin, and my back rests uncomfortably on my pack.

My pack.

Irrenia’s salve.

The muscles in my abdomen scream as I move my arms. I grunt, lower my arms back to the ground. Try again. This time a scream of pain rips from my throat as I try to unhook a strap from one of my shoulders.

My vision grows spotty. I might pass out if I try again.

And then I might never wake up.

Tears leak from the sides of my eyes.

This. All of this. Because I was deluded enough to think Torrin cared for me. Because my mother saw an opportunity to be rid of me forever.

I. Don’t. Deserve. This.

My soul has worth, and I won’t let it depart this world just yet.

Quick as I can manage, I shrug a shoulder out of one of the straps.

I gasp. My eyes roll upward.

And I’m out.



* * *



ARMS UNDERNEATH ME.

Rising off the ground.

Movement.



* * *



MURMURING. YELLING. SCREAMING.

“What happened to her?”

“She went after the god again.”

“Did she know you were following her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We have to get the dagger out. Where’s that magical cure she used on you?”

“In her pack.”

“On the count of three, I’m going to pull. You ready? One, two, three!”

My voice leaps out of my throat as fire rips through my middle.



* * *



BEFORE I EVEN REALIZE I’m awake, there’s pain—throbbing rawness in the upper left corner of my abdomen. All my limbs feel sore. And my back aches from sleeping on it for goddess knows how long.

My eyes are crusty—from dried tears, I realize—and it takes some time to open them, but when I do, I realize I’m in the tree house.