Page 10 of Bound In Stone, Claimed In Fire

“We should rest,” he declares, though his voice lacks any warmth. “No sense pushing ourselves to collapse.”

“Agreed,” I say, grateful for the reprieve. The dryness in my throat suggests we’re both running low on energy. We scout around until we find a shallow depression behind a large rock cluster—enough cover to shield us from the wind and prying eyes.

I settle onto a flat stone, massaging my calves. Kaelith stands a short distance away, gaze constantly roving. He looks like a coiled spring, ready to pounce at any flicker of movement. The bond hums faintly, a reminder of our forced closeness.Too much distance and we’re crippled. Lovely.I groan, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead.

He notices, crossing the space between us with quiet steps. “You’re in pain.” It’s not quite a question, but there’s a sliver of concern beneath the gruffness.

“Exhaustion,” I correct, trying not to snap. “I’ve been running for days, and you’re not exactly a gentle traveling companion.”

An exasperated growl leaves him. “I’m not here to coddle you. But if you collapse, we both suffer.” He tilts his chin in the direction of my cloak. “We should eat something. There might be small game in these mountains, or perhaps fruit if we find lower altitudes.” He sounds less than thrilled by the prospect of foraging. Gargoyles, from the stories, prefer meat and are indifferent to foraging. But hunger is hunger.

I nod, rummaging in my cloak’s pocket for the last of the dried rations I grabbed before fleeing. It’s a pitiful handful—some jerked meat and a stale biscuit that’s more crumb than bread. I chew slowly, wincing at how bland it tastes. Kaelith eyes me, probably verifying I’m not about to pass out.

He steps around the large rock formation, scanning the horizon once more. The midday sun highlights the interplay of obsidian and red-gold in his skin. Despite my wariness, I can’t deny he’s extraordinary, a testament to gargoyle resilience and raw power. My gaze flickers over the runes etched into his torso, noticing how they pulse softly, as though in rhythm with his heartbeat. A subtle glow emanates from the lines, reminiscent of magma hidden beneath the surface.

Focus, Sariah.I push the last crumb into my mouth, ignoring a pang of curiosity about those runes. They must be part of the seal he created to imprison himself with Nerezza. The fact that they remain even after the seal is broken hints at residual power or deep scarring of his own magic.

Eventually, he returns, his expression somber. “No immediate sign of Drayveth,” he reports, “but we can’t be complacent. We should keep moving soon, at least until we find a decent place to set camp for the night.”

“Agreed,” I murmur, rising to my feet. A wave of weariness passes through me, but I grit my teeth. The tether might ensure we don’t stray far, but it doesn’t promise us any relief from endless trekking.

Before I can suggest we continue, Kaelith steps closer, lowering his voice. “I propose we keep watch in turns once evening falls. If Drayveth is tracking you, he could attempt an ambush under darkness.”

“I’ve done it before—kept watch, I mean,” I say quietly. “I’m not helpless.”

He arches what might be a brow. “I’ve noticed you’re not helpless, but exhaustion can make even the strong vulnerable. Last night, you almost?—”

“I was fine,” I interrupt, though we both recall how quickly I drifted off. We were lucky Drayveth didn’t find us. My shoulders slump. “All right, fine. We’ll split watch. We’re apparently joined at the hip anyway.”

A flicker of amusement ghosts across his features, gone so quickly I almost miss it. Then he glances past me, scanning the rocks beyond. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, voice tense once more. “We’ll cover as much ground as we can before sunset.”

We resume our slow journey downward. The rocky terrain gives way to patches of gnarled shrubs, some tough grasses, and the occasional cluster of stunted conifers. My boots crunch over frost-laced ground, and each step sends a dull ache through my ankles. I keep expecting Drayveth’s voice to slice the hush, or dark shapes to crest a ridge and block our path, but the afternoon stretches onward without incident.

At one point, we pause by a narrow rivulet of meltwater trickling down a slope. I kneel, scooping a handful to drink. It’s so cold it stings my throat, but it’s fresh and revives me somewhat. Kaelith stands watch, scanning the surrounding hillside. The tether tugs faintly whenever I shift out of range, a subtle reminder we share a link I still don’t fully understand.

As dusk creeps in, the light softens, painting the mountainsides in shades of amber and violet. I can’t help a tiny pang of awe at Prazh’s savage beauty. Even in this bleak environment, there’s a strange splendor. Perhaps my coven, fixated on controlling magic and shaping the world to suit them, never taught me to appreciate it.Or maybe I just never listened.

Kaelith, for his part, maintains a relentless vigilance. His wings shift occasionally, as though testing the night wind. I can sense his discomfort, like an animal pacing the confines of a cage. The tether is no boon to him either. More than once, I catch him scowling if I move too far, the shared pain or weakness flickering in his eyes.

When the sun finally tips behind a ridge, we find a shallow cave tucked into a slope. It’s barely more than a rocky overhang, but at least it’s some shelter. I gratefully collapse onto a patch of moss near the entrance, dropping my meager belongings. Kaelith inspects the interior, claws scraping over stone. Satisfied that nothing lurks within, he settles near the mouth, scanning the darkening horizon.

A heavy sigh escapes me. The day’s exhaustion weighs on my body like an anchor. “I’ll gather wood for a small fire,” I say, pushing back to my feet.

He grunts an acknowledgment, glancing at the sky. “Quickly. Don’t go far.”

The bond flares in mild protest when I wander outside the cave’s immediate vicinity. I keep Kaelith in sight, rummaging for dead branches and any kindling. After a while, I return, arms brimming with enough scraps to start a modest blaze. Soon, sparks leap into flame, casting dancing light across the worn stone. The warmth soothes my aching limbs, though a part of me remains on edge, half expecting Drayveth to appear from the shadows.

We settle around the fire, the tension between us a near-constant presence. Despite that friction, there’s a strange comfort in not being alone. I recall the countless nights I spent shivering under the stars, terrified that Drayveth or the coven’s hunters would corner me. Now, at least, I have a fearsome gargoyle who might stand with me if it comes to a fight—albeit grudgingly. My gaze drifts to the stone arcs of his wings. If he chose to, he could protect me from multiple pursuers. The notion unsettles me almost as much as it reassures.

He notices my stare and rolls his shoulders. “What?” he demands, voice rough.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, tossing a twig into the flames. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitate, then force the words out. “All this time, I thought the greatest threat was my own coven. Drayveth. Now, apparently, we have an ancient Nyxari on the cusp of returning. I’m trying to process it.”

Kaelith’s expression darkens. “Nerezza is beyond anything your mentor could conceive. If she wakes fully, all of Protheka will pay a price.”

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