Page 73 of The Crown of Moonlight
“Will you two shut up, for Pit’s sake?”a third male snarls.“If you don’t stop circling around the same conversation, I’ll ram moss down your throats so deep you’ll be picking it out of your asses.Now pay attention.We’re getting closer.”
The Shadehounds growl softly as three Evers emerge from the woods above us.The first is the tallest.He’s dark-skinned and russet-haired, his stride sure and soundless.The two others follow immediately behind him, one with dark hair and the other with bronze-gold hair that shines in the dim moonlight that’s beginning to ghost through the thinning clouds.All three wear boots, breeches, and coats like those Chyr and the dead Evers wore when I found them in the Sacred Wood.
They drop to a crouch as they spot the camp along the gully.The blond vanishes so fast he must have cast an illusion to hide himself, but the others stare at the camp a long while, then there’s a whispered conversation I can’t make out.
The tall one moves ahead, bent low but walking fast, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.Runes glow down the back of his neck, revealed when the wind stirs his russet hair.The dark-haired one follows.He’s built less powerfully than the blond, but he moves with a feral, elegant grace as he creeps in the direction of the camp.
Intent on watching the Evers, I don’t notice the fox at first.It’s a large female, nearly the height of the herding dogs.She trails the Evers out of the trees, but pauses when she spots the Shadehounds.Then she sees me and gives a high-pitched yelp before ducking back among the birches.
They reach the camp and find the bodies.Giving up on being stealthy, the blond makes himself visible again.The tall one crouches to examine the Grey and the Ravenhound, while the others check the sentry and the soldier who threw the amulet.Then they separate to check the three shelters where Chyr and I killed the sleeping soldiers.
They emerge, and the clouds part to reveal the moon.Light glints on the blond’s shining hair and a row of runes etched from one side of his jaw to the centre of his chin and down the column of his throat, marks that remind me of the glowing runes in the oathbands around Chyr’s arm.
The dark-haired one hurries to join them.He pulls out a knife from somewhere, and flips it idly across the back of his hands and into his palms like a nervous tic as the three engage in a heated conversation.Runes glimmer on the knuckles of his hands, a couple of them glowing brighter as the knife skips across them.
I’m more surprised by my reaction to the Evers than I am by the knowledge that they are Riders.Or rather, my lack of reaction.
In their own way, each of them has the same fearsome beauty as Chyr.There are differences: a long, lean face compared to a broader one, a sharper chin, hooded eyes versus ones set deeper, darker skin or hair versus lighter.But I’ve spent time with Chyr now.I’ve discovered the danger in that beauty, learned the way Evers can lure you in.
None of these three has the pull I felt almost from the first with Chyr, but I sense the power they all wear as easily as a cloak.Seeing them makes me think of Chyr’s grace, his speed and strength as he killed the Grey, the fire streaming from him as if he was part of it and it was part of him.His pain and weakness hid most of that in the beginning and made him seem less dangerous.
I turn to go back to the cover of the trees.The fox is still there, watching me.She yips another warning.
I glance back towards the camp, and all three Evers are staring straight at me.Then they begin to run.The tall one is only fifteen feet away and approaching fast.
It’s too late for me to escape.
Heart thudding, I palm my dagger and stand up from behind the clump of furze.The tall one stops, watching me as though I’m a deer he’s afraid to spook.
The dark-haired one has no such worry.“Well, now.What have we here?”he drawls, walking to me with a hint of swagger to his step and the knife now held lightly in his hand.“Who are you, sweetness?And where did you come from?”
“Leave it to Chyr to find the only mortal as beautiful as a Siorai,” the blond one says, coming up beside him.“You suppose Chyr brought her with him?”
“She has his smell on her,” the dark-haired one answers, with a dry drawl.
“Shame.I wouldn’t have minded,” the blond one says.
“There’s no one you would mind, Daire,” the dark-haired one says.
“Not you, Lorcan.I havesomestandards.”
“Shut it, both of you,” the tall one snaps.He shifts brown eyes from me to the two growling Shadehounds who have come up behind me to stand like andirons on either side.There’s intelligence in the way he studies me that reminds me of a wildcat on the hunt.And like a cat, his colouring—from his bronze skin to the rust-red hair tied back with a leather cord—is taken from the shades of earth.
The other two seem more reckless.But the power and arrogance make them doubly dangerous.
General Mora’s letter to the rebel king—toChyr—suddenly makes more sense.My teeth clench at the thought of my brothers, the rest of our warriors, having to fight beside Evers so self-important that they talk about us as though we aren’t standing right in front of them.
“Easy, love.We aren’t going to hurt you,” the tall one says, his hand out in a gesture of calm, his voice soothing, speaking to me the way I would speak to a wounded animal.
I turn and run back towards the horses as if I’m the half-feral creature they believe me to be.I’m not even sure why I’m running.Only that I have to.That the earth and air and magic around me need me to run.
The pain in my shoulder flares like it did when I put out the signal fire.My blood thrums in my veins, drums calling me to war.
Footsteps sound—behind me, I think—as someone gives chase.That only makes my legs fly faster.
Chapter 28
Will You Run Again?
