Page 101 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“You messed with their minds,”I project my thoughts to Styx.
He turns to me and flashes a mouth full of sharp, monstrous fangs. The glimpse is so brief that I almost think I imagined it.
“You didn’t imagine it,”Styx purrs into my mind, eyes gleaming. The more I’m learning about him, the more I see he’s the sort to get a thrill dancing on a razor’s edge.
Puck mumbles something I miss.
Legion turns back from his retreat and gives him a withering glare. “I expected better from you. You were a good soldier once. But now look at you. What a waste.”
“Be careful, Knight Commander,” Puck warns. “I control the Shining Host now.”
“I know. I’m the one who put you there, remember?”
“You didn’t—” Outrage mottles Puck’s expression. Something dark swims beneath his chalky skin. “Regardless ofwho voted me in, I have the controlling vote. All I need to do is?—”
“You control nothing,” Legion states, “if there is no Shining Host to cast a vote.”
“Are you threatening me—us?”
Everyone is looking now. He’s making a spectacle of himself in a very bad, un-faerie way. On the other hand, not a hair seems out of place on Legion’s head.
“I’m simply pointing out,” Legion drawls, “that every dragon-bonded Radiant has already agreed to this expedition.”
“But I didn’t!”
Legion simply stares at him until Puck reads between the lines. No one counts Puck as one of them, not really. The veiled insult only riles Puck up.
“Why the sudden interest in the curriculum?” he asks, his voice dripping with suspicion.
“What are you afraid of?” Legion flicks chalky sand from Puck’s shoulders. “That we’ll head out there and find your leadership is lacking? Or that everyone will soon know the truth behind your dragon acquisition.”
“Fine, leave the Nexus,” Puck grinds out, stepping back to avoid another patronizing sweep of Legion’s hand. “You won’t find evidence to support a state of Martial Law. The exhibition will go on.”
Chapter 41
Willow
We set off for Heliodor in mid-afternoon, heading west following the Abhainn River beside the woods. We aim to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall and find a good place to camp. Fresh snow crunches beneath our feet, but the sky is a brilliant cerulean blue, and I’m still filled with barely-contained excitement at finally being outside Avorlorna.
How can I not marvel at the winter wonderland? It reminds me of home, of the mountainous terrain surrounding my father’s cabin. Icicles hanging from tree branches sparkle with an inner light. The snow seems to shimmer with a rainbow when the sunlight hits it just right. In the distance, I swear I hear the faint tinkling of bells, though there’s no one else in sight. I half expect to see snow sprites flurrying around, proving me wrong about the lack of magic here.
I can’t say my mortal companions feel the same thrill I do. I doubt half of them are used to trekking through the wilderness, but whether there is snow or grass, the wild is home to a wolf. This is where I feel most at peace. My eyes flutter closed, and Iinhale deeply, the crisp winter air filling my lungs. The scent of pine and frost mingles with something distinctly magical.
When I was little, I used to go on runs in the wild during a full moon with my father and older brother, Thorne. I smile fondly at the memories. Even though I couldn’t shift all the way into a wolf—just my fangs, ears, and claws—it didn’t stop me from tagging along. After returning to Elphyne as an adult and the twins were born, I envied their ability to become wolves. Even hated them for it. But now I’m here, I only feel joy at knowing they’ll get to immerse themselves in that experience fully. They’ll feel this exhilaration, too.
A melancholy takes control of my heart for a moment . . . but only for a moment, because I remember where I am and who is with me. I’m nowhere near done with Avorlorna. In Elphyne, I floundered for purpose. Here, I’m building it.
The snow crunches behind me, and I turn to see Bodin approaching. The white landscape sets off his dark form. His sleek, black military uniform accentuates broad shoulders and cuts an imposing figure. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold or fear.
“Everything alright?” he asks, deep voice rumbling.
I nod, offering him a small smile. “Just remembering . . . and looking forward.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze intense.
“Stay alert,” he says finally. “We don’t know what we might encounter out here.”
As if to emphasize his point, a distant howl echoes through the trees—too wild to be a normal wolf, too haunting to be anything but magical. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me. The Fever Hunt screeches and dives, a black streak against the sky. He crashes through the trees, and we lose sight of him. A fewseconds later, he returns and drops a smoking carcass up ahead near Ignarius’s troop.
