Page 40 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
“You use it well, shadewalker. Do not worry, your secret is safe with me. I do not fear the night and moon like these desert-dwellers. In the West, they are seen as a gift.”
Tylei extended a hand to Therat. Her fingers brushed the side of his arm before falling away. He recoiled on instinct, skin crawling where her touch strayed. In the back of his mind, a voice wondered,would you recoil from the raven-haired Mireithren?
“Don’t,” Therat muttered, gaze fixed on Tylei’s offending hand. She took a step back, studying the troubled gray eyes watching her like prey.
“Is it me you fear, or the ever-hungry void? You cannot survive alone; none of us can. I hear the discord growing in your soulsong. I only want to he—”
“I’ve had enough of strange women offering me help today, if it’s all the same to you.” Therat snarled as he spoke, flashes of hot anger pricking him.
Tylei paused and smiled, taking off without a word. She spun around Therat and danced back across the empty square. Therat looked at the woman with hungry eyes, trying in vain toignore the voices in his head, to wrest his eyes away from her supple form. The unquenchable bloodthirst could not be denied. A tangle of screams assaulted his senses.
She is alone. All alone. The world cannot hear, cannot help. Wouldn’t it be a wonder to hear her dying screams as she twitches at your feet? She knows too much. Do you think the blood of a waveweaver smells different? Now you can find out… Blood. Blood. Blood…
His vision dimmed. A chill settled over his skin as the writhing Shadow-weave freed itself from his wretched heart. The Song of the Night embraced him. Instinct took over. Therat reached a trembling hand toward the silver-haired woman, humming to herself by the Maidens.
A small voice begged him to stop, unheard as the cacophony of voices told him all the ways he could kill Tylei with ease.
Therat sprinted toward Tylei, closing the distance between them before she had time to react. A strangled scream escaped her throat as he grabbed her by the hair and swung her to the ground.
Her head slammed against the stones of the fountain. A sickeningCRACK!reverberated in the air. He lunged forward, grabbing Tylei’s hands as they fumbled to reach her necklace.
Therat begged himself to stop. He saw his hands moving, fighting with the woman, but the Shadow-weave controlled all. She screamed, and for a moment, Therat swore he heard his mother screaming, too.
Stronger than she looked, Tylei fought to free a wrist from Therat’s shadowy grasp. Blood gushed from her head. The warm, sticky liquid coated the two. Tylei twisted a hand free, fingers grasping the stone at her throat. A flickering blue light lit up her face, growing stronger with each passing moment. Tylei’s mouth moved, but before she could utter a sound, Therat’s hand slammed against the side of her head and again acrossher cheek. Tendrils of Shadow-weave coiled around the woman’s throat, wrapping tighter until her hand fell away from the stone.
Blood and tears mixed in a wet smear across Therat’s knuckles. Tylei whimpered, then fell limp. With a raspy gasp, she leaned up and raked a hand across Therat’s face. Her nails scraped at his skin, a thick drop of crimson blood falling on her throat.
Tylei slurred something under her breath. A blinding flash of golden light pierced Therat’s vision, eyes exploding in searing pain. He yelped and loosened his grip long enough for the woman to squirm away, kicking feet wildly at his groin. She landed a kick; a jolt of lightning surged through his abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs with a pathetic wheezing groan. Tylei pushed herself backwards and scrambled away on all fours out of sight.
Therat collapsed on the sand, mind reeling with white-hot pain. He heard the woman sob not far away, her breathing uneasy, growing fainter with each wheezing gasp. The black shadows faded from Therat’s eyes, but still he could not move, paralyzed as the brutality of his attack played on a loop.
After a time—perhaps minutes or hours, he could not tell—Therat stood. Not far, in a pool of blood, lay the crumpled body of Tylei.
I did it again, fuck, I did it again!
Therat gulped and ran in a panic, trying to escape Tylei and the voices that murdered her. They took over his body, making him witness a crime he could not stop. Therat ran until his lungs burned, screaming for air as he sucked in rapid breaths. Saliva pooled in his mouth, tumbling out when he finally forced down a breath of cool air. His hands shook as silent sobs wracked his body. His face stung as the tears washed over the cuts from Tylei’s nails.
What have I done? No, no, oh gods, she’s dead, dead! I killed her, like I killed the others. Why can’t I stop this? I didn’t want to, I never did. Please, please, end this and kill me already. These are a curse, a curse! Did Mama ever know or ever think this could happen?
A wail ripped from Therat’s body, drawing out all his energy as it forced its way out from the scared little boy he kept locked away from the world. The city slept, oblivious to his pain. Hollow and spent, Therat collapsed.
The night swallowed Therat as he let go, loosening his control over the knot of rage and grief choking his heart. The Shadow-weave reached up and out of his body, cloaking him with its cool embrace. Therat held his breath until the blood pounded in his ears. He wished it could be his last breath, could end it all and face Death Herself. The scar across his chest burned, a reminder his life was at the mercy of the gods, and oh, how little did they care?
He told himself she touched him, knew his secret. Then the Shadow-weave awoke, angry and protective. It did not make his crime any easier to witness, a look of terror frozen on Tylei’s face.
The moon shone bright, its roundness filling the sky. Therat looked up, eyes gleaming with hatred.
“This blood is on your hands, you raven-haired siren. I deny your claim over me, Mireithren! You will lead me to ruin, not the other way around. I see that now. Take your accursed shadows, I do not want you! I cannot… I cannot.”
twenty-one
Another Life
The four days sinceThe Winged Serpentleft port at Sere Aesli felt like the longest of Apattar’s life. The ship bucked with each crashing wave, the sea a cruel mistress sure to take their lives. Yet, each morning, Apattar woke up alive—if not running to the porthole to expel the contents of her queasy stomach. The woman swore to herself she would never step foot on a ship again. Not even a small one. A canoe, a raft, or anythingfloating on the water. She could not fathom why Ninann chose such an antiquated form of transportation.
Brushing long black braids out of her face, Apattar stood from the uncomfortable wicker chair, wincing as her back cracked in complaint. Ninann gave such little notice of their journey via ship, and the captain failed to provide accommodations befitting the Named Houses. Apattar sniffed, wishing to be back in the desert. Where had Ninann even found these people?
“Sister,” Apattar said with a scratchy voice. “You may wish to sit here and languish all day, but I cannot stand one more minute of this. I’m going to open a portal and meet you at Isneha. Take care of Saiya and Myris for me until we reunite, please?”
