Page 44 of Cursed Shadows 4

Rune’s face hardens. “Without you, there is no victory—”

“Without Nari, there is no sacrifice. Caius can deliver victory if I cannot. But Nari should be protected before me, above me.”

Rune is silent.

The rest of their shelter hours are slow to drag by, in silence. Impatient, tense—waiting for the moment the sun leaves, the skies dim to grey, and they can continue the hunt.

It gives Daxeel some relief to know that Dare is out there, now, tracking her. His mixed blood eases him in the sun. Better than it does with Eamon, who still feels the light crawl over him,talons grazing the skin, he once said.

Dare feels nothing more than a warm, welcoming breeze.

He doesn’t need to hide.

So perhaps they won’t lose too much time finding her.

Samick, too.

He won’t take shelter. Because the mountain’s sun, so small and distant, so dim, won’t harm him.

He is dark fae. But he is something else, too.

Different.

And that works to their advantage on this mountain.

Daxeel just hopes that the advantages reach Nari before the light ones do.

13

††††††

There is an eerie silence to the frosty forest this far down the mountain.

Beyond the crackle of the modest fire, the roast of the fish on the flames, I hear nothing else. Not the chirps of birds, the slither of snakes, the growls of beasts, not even the groans of the trees or rustles of leaves.

Once, I thought it pleasant. Now, the quiet is a pressure against my ears, the kind of sensation that has me out of sorts, ill at ease.

It’s unnatural—and yet, I am in the birthplace of nature.

It feels as though I am not in any place that is real. That this is an in-between, hollow and dead. But of course that is not true, because my belly is filled with the fish the river provided—and so there is life here.

Still, the pressing quiet of it all has my flesh pebbling and my arms wrapping tight around myself.

I hug myself too long.

I sit here too long.

Slumped on a mossy boulder, I lean closer to the small fire I constructed. I let the flames warm me to the bone and dry mysweater to its last thread, until the whitish grey of the skies starts to darken to the colour of stone.

With this sky’s muted version of night my signal to move, I kick dirt onto the flames and stomp on the gleaming embers.

I find my way back to the river.

I follow its roaring song.

If I wanted to reach the summit, then I would follow the river upstream. But that would only lead me to warriors, to death, and to Daxeel.

So when I reach the trees that fringe the tallgrass, I turn my back on the rise of the mountain and follow downstream.

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