Page 15 of Duskbound

My memories of the lawn, of the night in Emeraal when I was taken, had been a jumble of events I could never quite tie together. I had remembered Osta, Laryk, the entirety of the Guard staring at me with widened eyes as the shadows lifted my body.

However, the events that transpired before that had been nothing but a blur. Some empty corner of my mind that wasn’t exactly missing, but couldn’t be pieced together either.

When I let the shadows in, that night had come back in roaring force, and even more so in the days that followed. The feeling of them running through my veins had been immediately familiar, like something that happened once in a dream. But as I racked my mind for whatever part of me they had unlocked, I remembered it all.

The nothingness, whispers of a void. The darkness that overwhelmed me until I nearly lost myself.

I knew I couldn’t run from the truth any longer, but I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with this newfound acceptance. Perhaps Vexa was right about everything, perhaps this was where I belonged, but I was a stranger to this world. To those who lived here. In Sídhe, I had finally started figuring out who I was, what I stood for, and what I wanted to do with it. Was I ready to challenge all of that again?

Despite everything I was attempting to explain, to justify, I couldn’t help that speck in the back of my mind that had begun a dark chain of questioning. It clawed at me from the tiniest of places, like a sliver of wood embedded in the skin.

If what Vexa said was true, if this realm was being drained of its power, if the ashen landscape and the stale food were truly ramifications of this drought… I didn’t know what I would do with that truth. If Sídhe was behind it, there had to be a reason. Didn’t there? There had to be acatalyst. Something.

Sídhe had attacked Riftdremar after the uprising. I knew the Isle was capable of great tragedies—I had never forgotten that. But it had maintained such an idyllic era of peace since the war, at least for the majority of those who lived there. Why would they want to disturb that?

Could I even take Vexa and Aether’s word for it? They would certainly have a reason to lie to me. To manipulate me enough so that I joined their cause. They wanted me as a weapon, I felt it in my bones. And I would never be their weapon. Not for an army I didn’t know. A realm I was a stranger to.

I needed proof. If people were truly suffering, I would need to see it with my own eyes.

A gentle brush against my hand snapped me back to reality, back to the dimly-lit stables. I scratched under Tryggar’s chin, and he nudged me once again, sending a soft hiss of air through hisnose. I gave him a few more scratches, chuckling under my breath.

“You really never stop, do you?” I muttered, feeling his soft press again. His dark eyes gleamed, and I couldn’t help but think he looked pleased with himself.

I sighed, giving in to his demand and running my hand along his neck. He nudged me again, this time flicking his gaze toward a nearby basket. It was full of twisted, brittle pieces—dark and rough to the touch. Dried meat that looked like bark. The smell hit me before I even got close. Rusty and sour, like something that had been left out far too long.

He nudged me again, more urgently this time, his eyes fixed on the basket.

I raised an eyebrow. “You want that?”

Tryggar stomped a hoof, narrowing his eyes at the basket, then back at me.

I hesitated. There was something unsettling about it, but I reached for one of the pieces anyway. It felt cold and rough in my hand, like it had once been alive but now only a husk. I handed it to him, unsure of what else to do.

Tryggar snapped it from my hand faster than I could blink. He chewed it with a viciousness that almost startled me, tearing through it with a speed that made my stomach tighten. His jaw worked, muscles tensing as he swallowed in quick, unsettling gulps. The sound of it wasn’t right—like bones breaking too loudly.

“Well, that’s only mildly terrifying,” I muttered, but Tryggar didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked pleased with himself, nudging me for more attention.

Suddenly, he stretched his wings out, sending a gust of air that knocked over a few baskets and sent hay scattering across the ground. I jumped back, watching as his wings unfurled, stretching wide. They were massive—silver and smoky in the dim light.

He looked at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re pretty, you know that?”

Tryggar lifted his head, spreading his wings wider, almost like he was showing off. The playful glint in his eyes was unmistakable, like he knew exactly what I’d said.

I laughed. “You’re a real show-off, huh?”

Tryggar seemed content, healthy. Although his diet was questionable by most standards, maybe that made sense. The beast looked like he could devour a whole chicken, though I doubted he’d eat it fresh.

A flash of black caught my attention near the stable opening. Tryggar reacted instantly, spinning around so his back was to me, tail going still. He lowered his head as Raskr tried to enter. Tryggar hissed loudly through his nostrils and stomped, scraping his hoof against the dirt.

“It’s just Raskr,” I called, but Tryggar let out a low growl.

Raskr backed off, eyes falling on me almost fearfully before stomping back off into the lawn.

“Are you the only Vördr allowed in here?” I laughed.

Tryggar turned back to me, settling his nose into my palm once more, his eyes soft, falling onto the gates along the stone wall.

“Have you ever been out there?” I asked, nodding toward the city. “Beyond the walls? In the streets?” I paused, thinking about what Aether and Vexa had implied about the living conditions. “Is it really as bad as they say?”

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