Crown of ash and light, p.29
Crown of Ash and Light, page 29
Elias glanced between us, his brow furrowed. "You’re going back? It’s not far, but—"
"It’s just the medical bag," I interjected quickly. "We’ll catch up. You all go ahead."
Thyreanna and Stravos exchanged glances, a subtle understanding passing between them. Neither of them questioned us. Thyreanna just nodded, giving Elias a reassuring smile. "They’ll be fine. We’ll catch up with them soon."
"But—" Elias started, still uncertain. He looked between me and Dravon, hesitating. "I could go back with you. I’ll make sure you don’t—"
"No need," Dravon cut in smoothly, flashing a charming smile. "We’ve got it. You don’t need to worry about us."
Stravos gave Elias a friendly clap on the back, steering him away. "They’ll be fine. It’s a short detour. They’ll catch up in no time." His tone was convincing enough, and Elias seemed to settle, albeit reluctantly.
"You two better not get lost," Elias warned, his concern still evident in his voice.
"We won’t," I assured him, offering a warm smile. "Go on ahead. We’ll catch up soon."
The moment Dravon and I slipped away from the clearing, the façade of unfamiliarity fell away. Our movements became faster, more fluid, as though the forest itself was guiding our steps. The oppressive stillness didn’t feel threatening—it felt like home. My feet danced over gnarled roots and mossy patches with ease, each step an echo of countless times we had done this before. Dravon moved ahead of me, his hand brushing aside low-hanging branches as if on instinct.
The wolves were there. I could feel their presence in the shadows, watching, waiting. But they didn’t approach. Their silence was their acknowledgment.
“Thank God,” I muttered under my breath, glancing toward the shifting shadows just beyond the trees. “They haven’t forgotten us.”
Dravon snorted softly, though the anger from earlier still lingered in his voice. “They shouldn’t,” he said, his tone clipped. “But I wouldn’t count on it lasting forever.”
I nodded, keeping pace with him as we pushed deeper into the forest. The trees became denser, their branches knitting together above us like a canopy of intertwined fingers. It wasn’t long before the faint silhouette of our home came into view, nestled in the familiar hollow where the forest seemed to hold its breath.
The forest gradually gave way to a vast, open field, the canopy of branches parting to reveal a clear expanse bathed in soft, golden light. The grasses swayed gently in the wind, rippling like waves under the touch of an unseen current. And there, standing alone in the middle of it all, was the cottage.
It looked smaller than I remembered, though that might have been a distortion of my memory. Its pale stone walls were weathered but strong, the thatched roof patched in places with care. Smoke no longer curled from the chimney, and the windows, once glowing with light and warmth, reflected only the open sky above.
To the right of the cottage, the river meandered lazily through the field, its crystal-clear waters catching the sunlight and turning it into a sparkling ribbon of light. The sound of the gentle current reached my ears, a soothing melody that clashed painfully with the ache in my chest.
Dravon slowed his pace, and I knew he was feeling the same weight as I was. The sight of the cottage brought memories crashing down on me, raw and unrelenting. This had been our sanctuary, our mother’s haven. She had found us, saved us, and brought us here to this place where we had laughed, cried, and grown together. Now, it felt like a shadow of itself, empty and lifeless.
“She’s not here,” Dravon said quietly, his voice rough with emotion.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “No,” I whispered. “She’s not.”
The air seemed to be still as we approached. The familiar creak of the wooden door as we pushed it open sent a fresh stab of pain through my chest. Inside, the cottage was just as we had left it—tidy, quiet, and cold. The hearth sat empty, its ashes long since faded to gray. The faint scent of wildflowers lingered, a ghost of her presence that clung stubbornly to the air.
I hesitated in the doorway, my feet unwilling to cross the threshold. Dravon stepped inside first. He ran a hand over the worn table in the center of the room, his fingers brushing over the grooves and scratches that told a story of shared meals, study sessions and late-night talks. His shoulders tensed, and I could see the pain etched into his face.
“We don’t have time for this,” I said softly, though my voice trembled. “We need to find her books.”
Dravon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He moved to the shelves along the far wall, his hand hovering over the spines of the books that had been our mother’s treasures. I joined him, my fingers trembling as I reached for the volumes she had spent her life collecting.
The scent of aged parchment filled the air as we pulled book after book from the shelves, setting them on the table until it was covered. The familiar weight of the tomes brought a sense of purpose, but it couldn’t drown out the ache in my chest.
“This one,” I said, sliding a book toward Dravon. “It mentions a black dragon. Can you translate it?”
He leaned over the book, his fingers tracing the faded script. “It’s old,” he murmured. “The language is... different.”
I nodded, watching as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration. The faint sound of the river drifted through the open window, a soothing counterpoint to the tension in the room.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Dravon looked up, his eyes locking with mine. “Azura,” he said, his tone careful. “Do you like Elias?”
The question caught me off guard, and I blinked at him, unsure how to respond. “What?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
“You heard me,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Do you like him?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My chest tightened, the weight of everything we were and everything Elias wasn’t pressing down on me. Finally, I sighed, looking down at the book in front of me.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quietly. “It would never work.”
“Why not?” Dravon pressed, his voice softer now. “If you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “For what we are, for what he is... it would never work.”
Dravon studied me for a long moment, his expression softening just slightly. He didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the book in front of him.
The words I didn’t say hung heavily in the air. Elias was kind and brave in his own way, but he didn’t belong here. This place, this life—it had shaped us into something other, something wild. Elias didn’t understand what that meant. He couldn’t. And no matter how much he might try, he never would.
I turned back to the pile of books, forcing myself to focus. Somewhere in these pages was the answer we needed, the key to understanding the black dragon and the relic Elias carried. The pain of being in this cottage again, of feeling her absence so acutely, was a price I had to pay. We couldn’t leave without the knowledge she had left behind.
Outside, the river continued its gentle flow, its melody weaving through the air like a lullaby. But inside, the silence pressed against us, a reminder of everything we had lost—and everything we still had to fight for.
The weight of the book’s revelations still pressed heavily on us as we hurriedly put everything back in its place. Each book returned to the shelf felt like a futile attempt to cover up the storm we had just uncovered. My hands trembled slightly as I set the last tome in its place, but I forced myself to stay composed.
“We need to get moving,” Dravon said, his voice low but urgent. “The others are waiting.”
I nodded, but something tugged at the edge of my mind. On our way out the door, the sight of the river caught my eye. Its clear waters sparkled under the faint light filtering through the trees, a calm, steady flow that seemed to call to me. Without thinking, I stepped toward it, my feet moving of their own accord.
“Azura?” Dravon's voice was cautious as he followed me to the door. “What is it?”
“Come here,” I said, my voice softer now, a sense of purpose settling over me.
He hesitated but followed, his footsteps crunching against the grass as we approached the river’s edge. The water was impossibly clear, the smooth stones beneath glinting like polished glass. A faint ripple moved across the surface, subtle but deliberate. I knelt, my fingers brushing the cool surface, and reached for the bracelet on my wrist.
“What are you doing?” Dravon asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I unlatched the delicate silver clasp, and as the bracelet slipped free, my hair tumbled loose around my shoulders, its stark white strands catching the light. The moment it did, the water rippled again—this time stronger, more purposeful.
And then, they appeared.
From beneath the surface, shapes began to form, rising slowly into the light. Their sleek, wet bodies shimmered with an unearthly glow, and their eyes, like liquid pools of black, locked onto me with an unsettling intelligence. The kelpies. Water horses straight out of nightmares, their sharp teeth gleaming as they emerged fully from the river. Their powerful legs, covered in strands of algae, clung to the edges of the water as if testing the boundaries of their domain.
A chill ran down my spine, but I forced myself to stay calm. I had known these creatures since I was a child. They had been our mother’s friends—and later, mine. Yet their appearance was always unnerving.
“Azura, what the hell are you doing?” Dravon hissed, stepping back instinctively as one of the kelpies snorted, its breath misting in the cool air.
“They need a story,” I said simply, my voice calm despite the tension crackling between us. “We’ve been gone for hours. We need to act like we ran into trouble.”
Dravon's eyes narrowed. “And that means what?”
I stepped closer to him, lowering my voice. “I need one of them to mark you,” I said. “Just a little blood. Enough for them to see.”
His expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. “No,” he said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Dravon,” I said, meeting his glare with a steady gaze.
“Please,” I said softly, my voice carrying a note of pleading. “It’s just a small mark.”
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping closer to the water. “But if this goes south, you’re explaining it to everyone.”
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you.”
One of the kelpies stepped forward, its sleek body gleaming as it moved closer to the shore. I whispered a few words in a language they understood, and the creature tilted its head, regarding Dravon with an unsettling curiosity. It opened its mouth, sharp teeth glinting in the light, and stepped closer.
“Just a little,” I said, placing a hand on Dravon's arm to steady him.
The kelpie moved swiftly, its teeth grazing Dravon's shoulder. He hissed in pain, his hand reflexively going to the wound as a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm. The kelpie backed away, its eyes gleaming as it lowered its head to the water. Another stepped forward, nudging Dravon gently with its nose.
“There,” I said softly, pulling a small cloth from my belt and pressing it to Dravon's shoulder. “It’s done.”
“Fantastic,” Dravon muttered, wincing as I tied the makeshift bandage. “Remind me never to let you talk me into something like this again.”
I smiled despite myself, the tension in my chest easing slightly as the kelpies receded into the water. “You did good.”
The river sparkled faintly in the dimming light, its soft current flowing steadily past us as though untouched by time. The kelpies had slipped back into the depths, their sleek forms barely visible beneath the surface, but I could still feel their presence. Their sharp, watchful eyes lingered on us, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that tethered them to this place—and, by extension, to us.
I clasped my bracelet back around my wrist, the familiar weight of the silver chains grounding me as my white hair fell back into its veil of secrecy. The wildness that the kelpies had stirred within me ebbed slightly, replaced by the steady focus we would need to face the others.
Dravon was quiet, his gaze fixed on the blood slowly trickling down his arm from the kelpie’s bite. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was vivid, the stark crimson against his skin a reminder of the choice we had made.
“Do you want to keep that bite?” I asked, studying him carefully.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “They’ll expect to see it,” he muttered. “It’s part of the story, right?”
I nodded, though a pang of guilt tightened in my chest. “It’ll heal,” I said softly. “Just... try not to move it too much.”
Dravon gave me a sidelong glance, his expression half-annoyed, half-resigned. “You know,” he said dryly, “most people don’t ask their siblings to let nightmare horses bite them for the sake of a story.”
I couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Good thing we’re not most people.”
His lips twitched in the ghost of a grin, but he shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he adjusted his sleeve to leave the wound partially visible. “Let’s go,” he said finally. “The others are probably thinking we drowned.”
We moved quickly through the forest, our footsteps light and practiced as we navigated the familiar terrain. Though we hadn’t run these paths in quite some time, the instincts were still there, guiding us like echoes of our childhood. By the time we reached the clearing with the old oak, the rest of the group was already on edge.
Stravos was leaning against the massive tree, his scythe balanced casually over one shoulder, though his posture radiated tension. Therynna stood nearby, her arms crossed and her expression as sharp as ever. Elias paced nervously, clutching the book tightly to his chest, his wide eyes darting toward every sound that broke the forest’s uneasy silence.
“There you are!” Stravos called out as we stepped into view, his tone laced with impatience. “Thought you two got eaten or something.”
Therynna’s gaze narrowed as she looked us over, her sharp eyes locking onto the blood on Dravon's arm. “You’ve been gone for hours,” she said flatly, her voice carrying the weight of a dozen unspoken questions. “What happened?”
Elias froze mid-step, his grip on the book tightening. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice trembling as he stared at Dravon's arm.
Dravon stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. “We’re fine,” he said, glancing at me before continuing. “We ran into something. Something from the water.”
“The water?” Stravos echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What, like a fish?”
Dravon's lips pressed into a thin line. “Not a fish,” he said tersely. “Something bigger. It caught me before we could get away.”
I stepped in then, adding to the story before anyone could press further. “It was fast,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “And its teeth... I’ve never seen anything like it. We were lucky to get out when we did.”
Elias’s face paled as he stared at Dravon. “You’re sure it’s gone?” he asked, his voice rising slightly with anxiety as he held tightly onto the relic.
“It’s gone,” Dravon said firmly, though his hand rested on the hilt of his weapon as if to underscore the point.
Stravos let out a low whistle. “First a dragon, now water monsters. What’s next? Unicorns?” His grin was wide, effortless—but while Elias turned his gaze toward Dravon’s injury, I slipped two fingers to my shoulder and tapped twice, just above the collarbone. The signal was simple, old, instinctual. We need to talk.
Stravos didn’t miss it. His eyes flicked to mine for the briefest second before his hand moved casually to his temple. He scratched once, then let it fall—a quiet gesture, but one we’d used for years. Later.
Therynna stepped closer, her sharp gaze flickering between the two of us. “You’re sure you’re both alright?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less probing.
“Fine,” I said quickly, though I could feel the weight of her suspicion pressing against me. “But we shouldn’t stay here too long. It’s not safe.”
Elias hesitated, his gaze darting nervously toward the trees. “Should we... keep moving?” he asked, his voice small.
Dravon nodded, his voice firm. “We’ll rest for a bit, then move. Staying in one place too long isn’t smart.”
As the others settled down, I let out a slow breath, letting the tension in my chest easing slightly. The kelpies had marked Dravon, and the story would hold for now. But as I caught his eye, I knew the cost of keeping these secrets would only grow heavier with time.
Outside the clearing, the forest was dark and silent, its ancient presence watching over us like a patient predator. The river’s soft current carried on in the distance, a subtle reminder of what we had left behind—and what still lay ahead.
The clearing was alive with subtle movements—Therynna sharpening her blade, Stravos pacing in slow circles, and Elias hovering near the edge of the group, clutching the book as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. But for me, the weight of his gaze was more unbearable than any noise.
Elias hadn’t stopped trying to catch my attention since we’d regrouped. I knew what he wanted to talk about, and I wasn’t about to give him the chance. My chest tightened every time his voice called my name, soft and pleading, the memory of his lips on mine flashing in my mind like a warning sign I couldn’t ignore.
I needed a way to avoid him—a task, an excuse, anything to keep myself busy. My eyes landed on Dravon, leaning casually against the old oak with his wounded arm resting in his lap. The dried blood on his bandages gave me the perfect reason to stay occupied.
I grabbed the clean bandages and water flask from my pack and walked briskly to him. He raised an eyebrow as I knelt beside him, his expression a mix of amusement and mild confusion.
“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as I pulled the old bandage loose.
