Page 90 of Blood of the Stars

Riveran laughed. “Lenda would be lying on the bedrolls moaning about how miserable she was. I would have put valerian root and winter cherry in her soup tonight.”

Gaeren couldn’t help grinning, remembering all the times they’d used the herbs’ mild sedative properties to knock out Enla so she wouldn’t follow them on their night excursions. Fed by emotion, the images grew stronger in his mind. Enla’s frustration as Gaeren distracted her with a long, boring tale. Riveran’s panic as the herbs got stuck in his pouch and wouldn’t shake free. Enla’s rage when she finally caught them. It was probably the real reason she employed a food taster.

“Do you actually have some out here?” The plants grew in drier areas farther north and east, but they could come in handy if he wanted to slip away from camp.

Riveran hesitated. “I’ve been taking it nightly ever since…”

Ever since Enla.

Gaeren frowned, different images flooding his mind. Enla’s tears, the fresh scar on her palm, Gaeren’s outrage. And then Enla’s pleas, pleas for Gaeren to spare Riveran’s life.

He probably would have killed Riveran that night if it weren’t for Enla’s request. And he would have hated himself for it the next day. He hated himself even now, knowing he’d wanted Riveran dead. And yet he still felt it would have been deserved.

He left Riveran to tend the fire by himself.

Orra had disappeared, so Gaeren took his time rubbing down his horse. The gelding nipped him again, but this time it didn’t hold any urgency, and Gaeren felt like he’d earned some of the animal’s favor. He ran a hand over the smooth white hair that stood out from the rest of the beast’s black. “You smell like a skunk, too, so Skunk it is.”

The horse whinnied, and Gaeren took it as acceptance of the name.

As the Sun finally slipped behind the trees, he rubbed down Orra’s mare, figuring Riveran could take care of Maw. Orra returned, surprising them all with half a dozen fish.

“We’ll need our energy for the tasks ahead.” She set to work cleaning and cooking the fish, and if Riveran noticed that she gave double portions to Gaeren, he didn’t say anything.

The evening stretched out long for Gaeren as he waited for the others to fall asleep. Finally, near the height of the moon’s reign, he crept away from camp, following the creek as it widened, drawing him toward the deepening sound of rushing water.

He shivered, pausing to tune in to his surroundings at every rustle in the trees, every plunk from a fish in the creek. When he rounded the last corner and the waterfall came into view, he couldn’t help stopping to admire it. A fine mist shrouded the base, and the drop had to be at least the height of two Sungazers, maybe three.

But where were the sprites?

Another rustle from the woods beside him automatically brought his hand to his sword. He tuned in to the noise, sensing a shape expanding until he recognized it as?—

“Riveran?”

The other man stumbled out of the woods, taking in Gaeren’s sword with a crease in his brow.

Gaeren sheathed his sword with a growl muffled by the roar of the water. “What are you doing here?”

Riveran shrugged, glancing back the way he’d come. “Orra woke me. Said I needed to come help you.”

“That woman.” Gaeren frowned, but it was Enla’s face that came to his mind, Enla’s words that returned to haunt him. Trust Riveran to have your back. And stay away from Lovers’ Falls. Was there any point in following the first half of her advice if he was already ignoring the second? “Not a word, do you understand? Not to me or the sprites. Not to Orra when we return.”

Riveran nodded, but his face had a sickly pale look under the moonlight. It contrasted the X on his forehead, which drew Gaeren’s gaze.

“Come on,” Gaeren mumbled, turning back to the path. Footprints led the way, small boots that probably belonged to a woman. His chest tightened with fear even though Orra swore Daisy was still alive, maybe even improving. What if Orra was wrong? What if she didn’t actually know everything?

Because Gaeren only saw footprints leading up, not back.

Even if Riveran spoke, Gaeren wasn’t sure he’d hear him over the water. When the path diverged, Gaeren hesitated, peering over the cliff’s edge. One path seemed to lead straight to the waterfall. The other might have wound farther up to the waterfall’s source. He wiped at the sweat running down his neck, but it was immediately replaced by warm mist from the falls.

He tuned in to the heat of his surroundings, but nothing stood out besides the critters and plants inhabiting the small caves and crevices on the cliff’s wall. Riveran nudged Gaeren’s elbow, pointing at a muddy boot track just beyond, on the path leading to the waterfall.

What if there was only a set of tracks leading this way because Daisy was still here? What if Orra had been willing to stop because she knew?

The fear in Gaeren’s chest crawled up his throat, leaving it tight with worry. He rushed along the path, watching for more tracks, both terrified and relieved when they continued. When the path stopped at the water’s edge, wet rocks hid any more signs of Daisy’s steps, but scattered on the liana vines and dry portions of rock were sprinklings of dried blood.

Gaeren placed his fingers over the blood without hesitation. The images that came were blurry and rushed. Scratches on his face here, a shove in his back there. Pain and anguish. Betrayal. Despite the memories being incomplete, two things were clear to Gaeren: there was a cave beyond the vines, and the sprites had pushed Daisy off the cliff.

Gaeren unsheathed his sword, then slashed at the vines with unbridled fury, as if the vines were the sprites and not merely the door to their lair. Moonlight poured through the opening, revealing two skeletons so tightly wrapped it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

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