Abolisher
37.

Faolin awoke in a forest.

Her head throbbed with a hollow pain. But when she opened her eyes, her breath caught.

The forest—the trees, the grass, the countless flowers—glowed. The sky atop was pooled with stars brighter than she’d ever seen. Such beauty …

The daggers were already in her hands as she lifted to her feet.

The more captivating the beauty, the deadlier the danger.

But the swift movement earned her a headrush. It took a moment for her sight to adjust again.

“You never relax, do you?”

She whirled, all her senses edging—

But Ferouzeh was only marveling at the flowers standing taller than her. Her silken night-dark hair reflected all the lights around them. The hazel eyes seemed to glow with awe. Her lips quirked in a sweet smile.

Saqa, she’d forgotten how beautiful the healer could look.

She would never forget how deadly she was though.

Faolin didn’t loosen her grip on the daggers. “Where are we?” She looked around, remembering she’d been at her own apartment, tired of Vur’s and Levsenn’s constant jabbering. Then—

A ripple.

And then endless blackness.

Now Ferouzeh chuckled. “How sure are you that this is even real?”

“Feels real enough.”

Ferouzeh sauntered towards her. Faolin stiffened. “Don’t dreams feel real to you?” the healer asked.

Faolin didn’t reply and continued looking around. What was this place—

“Even the dream version of you is sullen today.” Ferouzeh scowled. “It isn’t usually.”

Faolin didn’t know whether she should be flattered that Ferouzeh dreamt of her or offended that she thought her sullen. She only stepped towards what looked like an opening. “Let’s go.”

She felt the healer rolling her eyes at her back. “There are no dangers here, Faolin, I can assure you that.”

“And how do you know that for certain?”

“It’s my dream, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a dream.”

“Like such a place could exist in real world.”

“Apparently it does.”

“So what? Are you saying we teleported here?”

“There could be another explanation.”

Ferouzeh let out a long-suffering sigh. “Faolin.”

Exasperated, she turned. “What?”

“Can you stop being so …” She searched for the word.

Faolin lifted a brow. “Careful? Willing to live?”

“Evasive.”

Faolin crossed her arms. “Evasive?”

Ferouzeh mirrored her movement. “Mhm.” She nodded.

“Whatever, Ferouzeh.” She turned back to the trees.

She took a step but Ferouzeh gripped her wrist. Faolin acted on her first instinct. The dagger was immediately at Ferouzeh’s throat.

The healer smiled. “You do this quite a lot in my dreams, too.”

“Really,” Faolin breathed, savoring Ferouzeh’s quickening breaths across her face. “What else do I do?”

Her gaze dropped to her lips. “Things you would never do in real world.”

Faolin retreated from her. “Glad we cleared out that this is no dream.”

✰✰✰✰✰

Vendrik was still trying to make sense of the glowing forest when he heard the bickering.

A flash of light to his right had him whirling, his hand reaching for the sword at his side.

“I beat you once, I can definitely do it again.”

The feminine voice was coming from behind the cover of trees and leaves. Cautiously, Vendrik stepped towards it.

“You never beat me.” A male voice.

And Vendrik recognized that one—a deep voice always tinged with a bit of flirtation. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Maycusen.

He knew he’d be at Maycusen’s back before Vendrik cleared the trees. The woman’s gaze flicked to him, the dagger raising as caution came over her. Vendrik recognized her too.

Syrene’s friend—Renavy.

Following her gaze, Maycusen’s own hand went for the sword across his back as he twisted around.

The Jaguar’s face paled when he looked at him. At the burns.

Vendrik had gotten that look a lot ever since he’d awoken. As much as he wanted to ignore it, as much as he wanted to not care, he couldn’t help the self-consciousness it triggered. He wanted to meld a mask to his face if only it’d spare him those pitiful looks.

Maycusen didn’t seem to breathe for moments. His amber—twin of Vendrik’s own—eyes remained wide. Until Renavy appeared beside him and nudged his shoulder with her own. “You’re staring, douchebag.”

Vendrik caught the bob of Maycusen’s throat as he looked at Renavy. He opened his mouth, but then clamped it shut. He looked back to Vendrik and settled for nodding a greeting.

It’d been a while since he and Maycusen had had a proper conversation—the Jaguar was always running errands for Felset, roaming about the world—but Vendrik had never seen him short on words. Always had a comment to pass, a taunt to throw.

Renavy was assessing them intently. At the silence, she rolled her eyes and turned around. She cupped her mouth. And then, without a warning—

“SYRENE!”

The shout was so loud that the trees rustled, the faeries nestling there jumped off the leaves, their glowing wings unfolded in alarm. Maycusen and Vendrik pressed their palms to their ears.

“SYRENE, ARE YOU HERE?” she blared. “HELP ME OUT—”

Maycusen’s hand was at her mouth to shut her up.

She jabbed her elbow in his stomach. The Jaguar bent double, grunting. Renavy slid out of his hold, more easily than Vendrik would have expected her to.

She picked out an invisible piece of dust from her shirt and casually muttered, “Touch me again and the jab wouldn’t be in your stomach.” She winked, the dagger dancing at her fingers. “And the striker definitely wouldn’t be my elbow.”

✰✰✰✰✰

Syrene heard it—Navy’s call echoing in the woods.

But it was so distant, vanished before she could make sense of its direction.

She sighed in annoyance and continued wandering aimlessly in the woods, trying to make sense of this place. Two faeries came around her, and Syrene realized how deeply she missed Starflame and her constant chatting.

She tried to chat with these faeries following her, ask them about what was this place, but whenever they opened their mouths, only a hissing noise came out.

She’d been itinerant in this bright forest for almost an hour now, yet nothing made sense. It went on and on and on.

She knew she wasn’t alone here, Renavy’s call had indicated as much. But where were other people—

The woods cleared. And her heart plunged into her stomach. She felt as her mouth went dry.

A river.

No, a sparkling river. It was as if stars had been poured into it.

She immediately wanted to strip herself of the clothes and dip into it. And she might have, had it not been for that sense.

That nagging feeling she had whenever she was being followed—or when a vague awareness of an unknown presence hit her.

She threw on her hood, and creeped back into the crowd of trees. She tried to hide—not that it did much with the brightness of this place. Surely, whoever it was would be attracted to that river.

But no one came.

Five minutes—seven—eleven—twenty …

Nothing. That feeling remained. Then—

She didn’t hear them, didn’t feel them, no sense prickled, no instinct spiked. For one minute she was watching the clear area, and the next, there was a dagger at her throat from behind.

It was a he.

He towered over her, she felt his body pressing against her back.

Whoever it was, she gave him the barest moment—the moment in which his breath tickled her ear—before she locked her leg with his. He tried to swipe himself away, but she was fast. She knocked him to the ground.

Syrene whirled, with full intention of lowering her own weapon to his throat, but he was already rolling to his side—

Before she knew it, he swept his leg for hers and then she was ground with him.

And he was straddling her, her hands pinned over her head in a viselike grip.

There was a dagger poised atop her, plunging down, down, down for her head—

Syrene gave all her strength and spiraled down into the abyss of her mejest. She expected lightning to appear at her hands, or even the winds to throw him off, but tiny flames burst at her fingertips.

She willed it to spread to her hands, but—

Too much—she gave too much—

Her whole body burst into fire.

She felt the man stiffen before he threw himself off of her. But not before she caught a glint in the darkness beneath his hood.

The flames were growing hotter every passing second. Syrene’s heart sped when she sat up. Fear twisted her throat. She didn’t know how to stop them—dispel them—

No. She did.

She knew—Kefaas had taught her, given her instructions—

First step: calm yourself. Drothiker synced with her emotions—fear would only have it thinking that she was in danger and needed saving. She had to reassure it that she was in no danger—

But how …? She had to feel safe for that—and this place … this place—

She didn’t feel safe.

Calm yourself.

Syrene attempted to take in a deep breath, to take it all the way to the other end of her lungs. But that was difficult to do when fire had taken over her sight—

“Cub?”

Azryle’s voice sounded from somewhere near her, drowned out by the roaring flames.

She felt something else unlatching within herself. Then again.

Calm.

Nothing.

“Azryle.” Her voice was trembling. “Azryle, I’m scared.”

She hated those words—hated the very sound of them from her lips. And she would have never spoken them had it been anyone else. But she was scared—she tasted the fear on her tongue like sour poison with the metallic taste of fire.

“Syrene,” he called again. “Follow my voice, cub.”

She turned to her right.

“Come on,” he directed. She felt him stepping away from her.

Syrene followed his lead.

Then he began speaking—random things like how she looked like a ball of fire, how the trees were glowing, and the air felt different, freer, and that he’d been here before, a few weeks ago. He’d felt the tug and then world had torn open before him.

He’d seen her like a towering star in the dark night.

She recalled the way he’d looked like a night taken shape.

Azryle spoke more than she’d ever heard him speak, and the sound soothed her bones. She felt the temperature of fire reducing every passing second, and then she watched as the flames reduced. Reduced—not vanished. They remained burning, but only at her arms.

In fact, the power in her had begun churning—a lot had come free. But it was all calm, thanks to the prince.

Minutes later, Azryle paused.

The area was clear—there was a cliff at their back. And below it, the sparkling water spread until it connected with the star-lined horizon.

The water might as well had been the sky’s reflection.

Azryle moved to the line of trees across the cliff. She followed.

“Here.” He turned and leaned against a tree. “There are no fairies here. No life except us. I awoke here, and scouted about.”

She waited.

“Come on, cub, show me what all the fuss is about.”

“What—”

“Throw out whatever you have, Syrene. This place is not real—not our world at least.”

“I will kill you—”

He smiled, silver eyes full of anticipation. “Is that a threat, cub?”

“Azryle—”

“I have built thick barriers around you. And around myself. You can’t hurt me.”

Syrene only stared at him.

“Wanna give it a shot?”

She sized it up before she kicked the air around herself. And pain erupted in her toe when her foot struck his invisible barrier. “Son of a—” she swore, instantly gripping her shin.

Azryle was shaking his head. When Syrene regained herself, she crossed her arms and scowled. “I remember the way you’d looked in pain when Deisn had broken past your barrier. Otsatyas know what Drothiker would do to you.”

“Hers was the power of Darkness, cub.” His face went solemn. “Besides, I can endure eternal pain if it’s coming from you—or for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You keep that mindset and you’re going to be bestowed more pain than you can imagine.”

He only crossed his arms—as if she’d challenged him.

The flames had already winked out of her fingers. Her hand lifted to the barrier. “I’m serious, Azryle. You cannot keep that approach, considering we’re against Felset. Whose hobby is to use your … people against you.”

“Syrene, I can survive Felset alright.”

“Erauth is worse,” she breathed. “He’s managed to leash Felset.”

Azryle tensed. He scanned her face. “Are you afraid?”

She considered. Was she afraid? Of Erauth—Felset? Then shook her head. “Fear is another beast, and I won’t be its puppet,” she quoted.

His lips quirked in a knowing smile. And nodded. “Good.”

“I’m not doing this, Ryle,” she sighed. “I know this could kill you. If Drothiker can bring down the world—it can definitely break past your barrier. It could crack your mejest. I will not be the cause of your pain.”

He sighed.

“I can, however, discharge it in bits.”

This time, Syrene felt as the barriers scaled down around them. Felt the change in the air.

She stretched her hand, and jerked her head. “Come on.”

He arched a brow, amusement and curiosity reaching his eyes. Then he took her outstretched hand, familiar warmth wrapped her skin.

Syrene led him to the cliff. She lowered herself to it, her legs dangling from the edge. She pulled Azryle’s hand, and brought him beside herself.

“Watch.”

✰✰✰✰✰

So he watched.

The gusts of wind snapped her hair behind her head, baring her face wholly—by now, he remembered the lines of it. Her brunette dye was fading—the honey shade returning slowly, as if uncovering her of the mask of Cerys Omdrial. She was smiling widely, azure eyes full of light.

A happy Syrene was absolutely breathtaking.

Azryle watched, as she called her mejest, her excitement fluttering his heart. He watched—and listened—as the vein at her neck pulsed quicker every passing moment. Watched as her face developed a serious look when she focused on her mejest—her eyes shut.

Her hand moved, fingers dancing as if she were playing an invisible piano. The rise and fall of her chest calmed, her breaths slowed. Then—

Her eyes flew open, and she pointed. “Look!”

Azryle reluctantly tore his gaze from her and looked to where she pointed.

There was nothing.

He looked back at her, but her eyes were on the water.

There was nothing there.

Syrene glared daggers at him. “Look closely, prick.”

He dragged his gaze back to the water. “Did you … calm it?”

She slapped his leg. “It was already calm!”

He sighed. “I don’t see it, cub.”

Her fingers moved again. “Do you see it, now?”

Azryle squinted. There was …

There was drop of water dashing towards him—

It burst against his forehead.

He looked at Syrene, wiping away the drop, and gave her a dull look.

“It’s not much, but it’s all I can do,” she said, throwing herself back on the ground, her gaze finding the stars. “I’ve been trying hard—but there’s no way to Drothiker. The power comes when it wants to.” She angled her head, as if speaking to the stars. “Don’t you think we should be looking for others and try to find a way out of this place?”

He lay down beside her. “Don’t you think we’re safer here?”

She looked at him.

“If you’re here—whatever this is—you’re out of Felset’s clutches. That means she is missing a Kaerion. She cannot proceed with her plan without you.”

“Or Navy.” At his questioning look, “Navy is here, too.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you’re not worried about her?”

She shook her head, moving her gaze back to the stars. “Navy is the safest in forests. She learned her way to survive in one.”

Silence fell and he watched her watching the stars again.

“Azryle?” she said.

“Hm?”

Her eyes drifted to him. She opened her mouth—shut it. Then back again. At last she exhaled. “Nothing.”

Now he was curious, because he knew she’d been wanting to ask something for a while now, but every time chose not to. “What is it?” He lifted himself to his side so he was facing her, pressing the elbow in the grass, his hand holding his head.

Syrene sat up. She hugged her legs to her chest. “What was the making place like?”

Azryle paused.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Her words were quick, nervous. “It’s just that—if you want to talk about it—”

“Syrene.” Slowly, he dragged himself into a sitting position too, and wheeled himself so he was facing her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand,” she immediately said. No disappointment or annoyance on her face. Only that. Understanding.

He didn’t want to recall it. None of it.

If he did, he might break.

If he did, he doubted he would ever return.

✰✰✰✰✰

Syrene regretted asking it.

She hated the despair now taking over his scent—hated the slightest panic his eyes tattled about—that he was trying to bury.

Her arms twitched to reach out to him. Hold him. She looked back to the water, but then …

Azryle took off his shirt.

His fingers went for the bandage across his chest. She opened her mouth to stop him, but he was already tearing it open.

His lips tightened at the pain.

He looked at Syrene and repeated, “I don’t want to talk about it.” His eyes shut tight. Her throat tightened at the vulnerability naked on his face. His hands … they were shaking. He fisted them quickly.

“Azryle, you don’t have to—”

Her words stuck in her throat.

She could have sworn her heart stilled. Everything—the water, the trees, the very air just … paused.

Syrene’s fingers went to her mouth when he released the glamour casted across his entire body.

Everything changed.

There were scars of stitches across his arms, his midriff. There was a burn scar on his shoulder. The tips of his fingers, his toes, were charred. There were scars she couldn’t even possibly describe.

Absolute horror gripped Syrene. She felt numb.

“You should know this,” he rasped, eyes still shut. “Felset’s only purpose wasn’t to break me.” He took a shuddering breath, opening his eyes to meet her gaze. “My whole life I thought that it was, but it wasn’t. Syrene, she wanted power—enough to open the portal. Rippers gain power by killing baeselk, they steal that dark mejest. For the first century, Felset made me kill countless baeselk, and once it was enough, she threw me in the dungeons.

“Yes, she did want to break me so she could use me. But that was never her main purpose. She wanted a key to open the portal. She was preparing me. She imbued all the power in me. That’s why she didn’t turn me into what she’s doing to those Vegreka in the cells. She didn’t want me as a host to some baeselk. She wanted me as an asset.”

“But she failed,” Syrene managed, her eyes burning. But she kept her tears at bay, kept any horror from her face—pity was last thing he needed right now.

Azryle shook his head, his lips thinning—a ruthless smile curving. “She didn’t.”

He lifted his hand. And winced—

Dark fog looped his fingers.

Syrene paused. Watched. She felt blood draining from her face as his wound turned black.

Blacker than anything she’d ever seen.

“Felset never failed. But she doesn’t know that. Saqa, even I didn’t know that. I knew of this Darkness, I hid it from Felset, but I wasn’t aware what it was. Not until that night in the staride. When you … offered me your mejest, you might have awoken something. This past year, I’ve felt this Darkness more than ever.” He swallowed before informing, “Delaya Fairdust was at your apartment earlier, she was about to kill Renavy—”

Shock reverberated through Syrene.

“—but something happened and I …” His lips thinned. “I might have opened a portal. To here. The only thing I knew in that moment was that I had to escape. And if something had happened to Renavy …” He took in a long breath. “It would have broken you.”

Syrene didn’t have words in herself. She felt so … lightheaded.

“I think I tugged at the bond which brought you here.”

Silence.

Then Syrene spoke. She told him about Delaya’s involvement with Felset and … Kefaas. She remembered Kefaas’ shock, so she doubted he was working with Felset.

Or at least she hoped he wasn’t.

She’d grown fond of this odd man, as much of a pain in the ass he was.

Azryle’s first reaction was, “Kefaas?” he asked. “Kefaas Petsov?”

Syrene nodded. “Do you know him?”

Her heart dared beat when the despair from his face began ebbing. “Well, considering Ferouzeh and I have been looking for him for over a year, I’d say I’ve heard of him.”

“Searching for him? Why?”

He scratched at his neck. “To learn more about Drothiker. He wrote an article about it—which mentioned the possibility of scion of Grinon Alpenstride might be capable of running the device through her veins.”

Syrene nodded. She’d read that article—had led her to Silvervale.

“How did you find him?” he asked.

“My mother had known Kefaas. She’d once asked me to travel to Silvervale and train with him.” She shrugged. “I was supposed to come here all those years ago, before Deisn’s assassins attacked and I cursed myself.” She sighed. “But when I met Kefaas … I got scared and ran from him.”

Silence descended. And involuntarily, her eyes went to his naked scars. Her heart twisted. “No one ever tried to save you from her?” She did all to keep the shakiness from her voice.

“Vendrik would have, had he not been oathed to her. I didn’t have anyone else.” He reached out and grasped her fingers. “You did. In every way that truly matters.”

Syrene shook her head, silently cursing herself for the bead of tear that was now skittering down her cheek. “But I was too late.”

“It would’ve never been too late, cub.” He slid closer, and wiped the tear from her cheek. “She would have never stopped.”

Syrene felt her mejest coming alive as an intense desire shred through her.

His hand dropped from her cheek when Syrene lifted to her knees before him. His eyes followed up to her face.

Syrene sat between his legs, her legs twined around his waist. Azryle’s arms instinctively came around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, her nose poking the curve of his neck, as her hand lifted to his chest—the wound.

Azryle inhaled a sharp breath when her mejest seeped into his skin.

Heal.

✰✰✰✰✰

Faolin and Ferouzeh were lost.

The healer was singing and whistling the entire time they were lost in the woods, fully convinced that this was some dream.

There was not a hint of exhaustion on her, which only annoyed Faolin further. Even after a whole century, the woman had energy leaking off of her. She sometimes talked to Faolin—Faolin grumbled her short answers.

“Tell me, Ferouzeh,” she said now, still finding her way through the woods. “If I smash your head against a tree, would this dream of yours end?”

“Dream?” Ferouzeh snorted. “Anything involving you is a nightmare.”

Faolin paused, and whirled to face the healer. “Really?”

Before Ferouzeh could so much as breathe, Faolin gripped her wrist and whirled her; Ferouzeh’s back pressed against her, and Faolin’s dagger met her throat.

“You must really want this nightmare to end, right?” Faolin crooned in her ear.

“It’s always weapons with you, isn’t it?” Ferouzeh’s throat bobbed against her hand—unsure whether she would actually try it. Faolin smiled. “And no, I do not want this nightmare to end.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I like nightmares when they involve you.” She turned her face to look at Faolin. “And this one feels the realest.”

Faolin’s heart began to race when the healer lowered her gaze to her lips. And then lifted it to her eyes.

She did not see it coming.

Faolin only glimpsed Ferouzeh’s smirk before she gripped her hand and had her pinned against a tree. Her hand at her throat.

“And enough with daggers on my throat,” the healer whispered in a lover-soft voice.

Faolin smirked. She straightened off the tree and moved closer to the healer. With each inch closer, Ferouzeh’s grip tightened around her neck, but Faolin didn’t halt.

She was close enough that she felt Ferouzeh tensing against herself, felt her breath on her chin.

Just to see her reaction, she lowered her gaze to Ferouzeh’s rosebud lips. And immediately regretted doing so. For desire seized her when she remembered the taste of that mouth, remembered the way Ferouzeh’s tongue worked.

Faolin found herself tipping her head forward—moving her lips closer to the Ferouzeh’s.

Ferouzeh mirrored her movement. “You don’t want to do that.”

She didn’t. Her senses screamed against it. Each beat of her racing heart protested against it—that it’d barely healed, that it did not wish to be shattered that brutally again.

“I don’t,” she breathed. “But …”

But.

Her body wanted something else entirely. Her hands wished to be in Ferouzeh’s hair. Her lips wished to be against her mouth, her neck. Her entire body missed her—the taste of her, the feel of her.

So in the conflict between heart and body, who dared win?

Her mind … her mind screamed to step back.

But then it reminded her of all the things Ferouzeh had made her feel.

All the things she wanted to feel.

Their lips were parted by a fraction.

“But what, Faolin?” Ferouzeh asked, her voice rough.

But Raoden.

Her dead brother.

Faolin blew out a long breath and tore her gaze. Ferouzeh’s disappointment flickered across her face when Faolin stepped back. A shadow took over her eyes—no doubt realizing just what whizzed past Faolin’s mind.

Ferouzeh shrugged, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Better not worsen the nightmare. Let’s go.” She turned her back to Faolin and continued walking.

She was silent rest of the way.

✰✰✰✰✰

The night was unending.

Vendrik, Maycusen, and Renavy had been walking for hours and nothing changed in the surroundings. Neither the night deepened, nor the plants dimed.

Vendrik kept marching, barely able to keep up with Maycusen’s and Renavy’s constant bickering.

Renavy had tried to speak with the faeries, but they only scowled at her and flew away. And ever since that, Maycusen hadn’t stopped teasing her about how even the Tiny Moons couldn’t stand her.

Vendrik could swear Renavy was close to murdering him.

They found a sparkling river. As soon as it came into view, Maycusen peeled off his shirt and dived into it. Vendrik didn’t blame him—that was how inviting it looked, but he was in no mood to bathe in some strange place. The Jaguar, however, enjoyed the water so much that he groaned.

Renavy had something else planned for him.

The water parted as she walked to the bank, her finger moving, leaving Maycusen soaking in the middle.

His eyes opened, and looked between the two water walls on either side of him in bewilderment.

Then his eyes went to Renavy with death on his face. She was grinning.

She made an innocent face, lower lip jutting out. “Oh, look at that, Jaguar. Even water can’t stand you.”

Vendrik couldn’t help his laugh.

Maycusen’s glare shifted to him. But he could have sworn his face softened slightly.

“What are you laughing at.” He prowled towards the bank. “You puff out the moment water touches you, firebreather.”

“At least it isn’t repulsed by me,” Vendrik retorted.

Renavy snorted, releasing her hold on the water as soon as Maycusen was out, and took off her own sweater-shirt. “Well if you don’t mind, gentlemen, you may find somewhere else to be.” She tossed the shirt to the grass and began shucking off her pants.

Maycusen fetched his shirt from the ground, was muttering death threats under his breath as he turned to the trees with Vendrik. But—

Renavy screamed.

Vendrik’s fire instantly emerged in his hand as he turned. A flash of light and the jaguar swapped with Maycusen.

Renavy was retreating quickly from the water, her face deathly pale.

Vendrik and Maycusen were already flanking her, both scanning the river. Then—

His breath caught.

It was only a shadow, but he could make out the wiggling tale of a siren.

“Step back!” Vendrik yelled, just as the aquakin tore the surface of the water and lunged for the bank, snarling.

Vendrik, Renavy and Maycusen immediately recoiled. Despite the scales pasted to its arms, the breasts, despite the shark-like teeth, her eyes were what took him off guard.

The pupils almost took over the sockets—the whiteness remained only at the corners.

Maycusen shifted back to his human form. “Ablaze Kosas.”

“Wait,” Renavy was breathing hard, but her face was shaped in confusion as she scanned the siren. “Isn’t that—”

“Ah—oh.”

They all turned as one, ready to attack—

But Vur—Vurian Alpenstride—was already shielding himself with nothing but two arms.

“Harmless.”

Again, as one, they turned at the voice. And flinched.

Another Vurian stood on the other side of the river, somehow communicating with the siren, doing hand gestures.

Vendrik glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch the first Vurian fading into thin air. He felt Renavy and Maycusen stiffening in the same shock clanging through him.

The siren seemed to actually understand Syrene’s cousin as he repeated with a practiced calm, “Harmless.”

It seemed to relax slightly, slowly retreating from the bank, eyes still pinned at them.

Then the aquakin vanished somewhere into the river.

“Sorry.” Vurian exhaled. “I was distracted by the Tiny Moons.”

Renavy glanced over her shoulder again. “Are there any more of you?”

The man chuckled, his eyes glinting. “Well, there can be.” Then—

All around the area, a crowd of Vurians gathered. Vendrik, Maycusen, and Renavy moved closer, weapons equipped.

“What in Saqa …” the Jaguar muttered.

“Relax.” Vurian waved a hand and his friends disappeared. “They’re only illusions.”

Renavy’s gaze went to the river. She opened her mouth, but Vurian her off. “Oh, she was very real. You’ve met her—Levsenn.”

The water-wielder scowled. “Well, if your little show is done … Have you seen Syrene?”

He shook his head. “Saw something else though. It was very bright. From here, it looked like an enormous flame. I couldn’t follow because …” He jerked his head to the river.

“Did it look dangerous?” Maycusen asked.

Renavy crossed her arms. “A massive flame doesn’t exactly sound like a treat, does it?”

Vendrik shrugged. “It does to me.”

Renavy cut a glare in his direction.

“Vur?”

“Rik?”

Behind Vurian, Faolin Wisflave and Ferouzeh emerged from the trees. Faolin sheathed her weapon as they approached, and threw her hood back from her head, letting the pearl-white hair catch the brightness of this place. Ferouzeh seemed to gleam head-to-toe.

“So the whole party is here?” Renavy lifted an eyebrow. “I’d bet everything Syrene is wandering the place with her prince.”

Ferouzeh snorted. “Let them have their time. There’s only so much they can achieve with those longing glances.”

Faolin shook her head.

Vendrik asked, “How sure are we that they’re even here?”

“Oh, they are,” Maycusen lowered himself to the ground. “Syrene is the one who pulled me here.”

Renavy mused, “Azryle pulled me.”

Vurian’s gaze went to Faolin. “Want to take a wild guess who pulled Levsenn and I?”

Faolin rolled her eyes.

Ferouzeh met Vendrik’s gaze across the river. They’d been in his room when he’d felt as if the world were tilting. He’d quickly gripped her hand right before that skin-peeling pull—

“I’m tired of walking,” Maycusen slurred from the ground.

Ferouzeh sat down to the grass too. “Me too. Find a way to attract them both here. Because I’m sure as Saqa not going anywhere from here.”

Vurian asked, “How?”

Renavy looked to Vendrik and smiled.

✰✰✰✰✰

Azryle’s chest healed in fifteen minutes.

Even after that, they remained like that—her hand to his chest, feeling the beats of his heart, her head on his shoulder, her legs around his waist.

Syrene didn’t want to move. Her eyes were shut. If she wanted, she could doze off here. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to remain awake and feel each second of this closeness of him, pretend it would last forever.

His hold had tightened around her—enough that she could hardly breathe.

Her thumb stroked the new pink scar on his healed chest. It almost felt like a mark left by Felset on his heart.

“Syrene?” he spoke after a long while.

She waited.

“You have to survive.” He swallowed. “Felset—Erauth—whoever we have to fight. You must survive. Ianov—”

“I know.” She lifted her head off his shoulder to meet his gaze. “I know. But I can’t do this alone, Azryle. We must survive. You, me, Faolin, Vendrik, Navy, Vurian. Everyone. And once we do survive …” She looked to the calmness of the water—the serenity beyond. “We will shape our world anew. Too much is wrong, and I will not be a lamb for such world.”

Azryle’s lips quirked in a smile. “What else?”

“Well,” she said. “We will heal. You and I, both. Together.”

His eyes seemed to light up at that. “And?”

“We’ll find lives of our own. I will be doing my duties in the tribe. You can be …” She paused to think. “A teacher, maybe?”

He snorted. “No.”

She scowled. “Military.”

“No.”

“A journalist?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll be with you, cub.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Forever.”

Immediately, she was shaking her head. As much as she wanted that, the very thought was unsettling. “No.”

He flinched. “Why?”

“I will not keep you leashed to myself, Azryle. You’re not a puppet, or an asset, or a pet. You’re a human. You will find your own life; you will be free.”

“Syrene—”

“I know I cannot release the leash, not unless I want you to go on a murder spree. But Azryle …” Her lips pursed. “You said you were looking for Kefaas Petsov for over a year. But you didn’t go looking for him after you arrived, why?”

His brows furrowed. He opened his mouth, but immediately gaining sense of where this was going, he shut it.

He hadn’t gone looking for Kefaas, because he’d been leashed to her. He waited for her commands to function, for her orders—he wasn’t even doing it consciously. Even without commands, his will was not free. So long as he leashed, he was imprisoned. Only now, with her, the cells were less guarded.

Slowly, she slid out of his hold, and lifted to her knees. For this, she didn’t want him to be looking down at her—she needed him to be at eye-level, needed him to meet her gaze. But now she was looking down at him.

“Azryle,” she started, strengthening her voice.

He began shaking his head, eyes growing pleading. Don’t do this.

“From now onward …” she went on.

“Syrene.” The desperation in his eyes had her heart twisting. He gripped her hand; his chest began heaving. She heard his thundering heart.

“From today onward, you needn’t wait for my commands. You shall do as you please. But in all this you shall not forget your humanity. You shall not become what you fear.”

The sense of the leash grew so hard that Syrene could almost see it connecting two souls.

This was her choice—release him, free him entirely.

But the words didn’t come. They died out in her throat.

Till now she’d only known wanting freedom, seen it as a dessert from Haerven, never considered it might even taste bitter for a few.

And it was poison for Azryle.

If she released the leash, if she let go, the effect of her command would dissipate, her words would not matter. And what if he did become what he feared? What if he did become something worse than baeselk, something she might have to kill or imprison?

A true monster.

What if she lost him like that?

“You needn’t sacrifice yourself for me,” she continued. “You needn’t feel obliged to me.”

I free you.

All she had to do was utter those words.

She heaved out a long breath.

She couldn’t.

Syrene’s hand lifted to his cheek. “I will not go against your will, Azryle. But if a day comes when you wish to be free of the leash, this bond, you’re allowed to snap it. You’re allowed to do whatever you want with it.”

That was as much of freedom she could give him without destroying him. And seeing the way his shoulders sagged in relief, this was as much of freedom he wanted.

With those words, the tautened bond between them rested.

Azryle’s arms came around her waist. He pressed his head against her stomach and held her there as his heart, his breaths against her skin, began calming.

Syrene’s hands reached in his hair.

Long moments later, she spoke. “I need to tell you something.”

Azryle retreated, his arms fell to his sides and he looked up at her. Syrene fell to the ground, her legs beneath her. She swallowed hard.

“When you died in that alley … something happened.”

His brows creased.

“Drothiker spoke to me. When … when my soul … broke”—It felt strange to say that out loud—“the pain … it was more than I’ve ever had—more than I could take. Drothiker offered to dull it, it made a bargain, and I accepted.”

Slowly, Ryle’s face regained its calm expression. His shoulders rose—stiffened, even. “What was it?”

“It … somehow freed itself. It demanded to never be controlled, to be confined.” Syrene stared at the grass. “It wouldn’t come unless it wants to. I’ve tried—so many times—to reach out to it. But I never find anything.” She shook herself. “The only thing Drothiker wants is to destroy Ianov. I’m afraid one of these days, it would burst out of me. Even if it doesn’t, its true wielder is Felset. If she finds a way to wield it when it’s in my veins—”

“Syrene.”

She dared meet his gaze.

“Did it demand to be free of your will?”

“It only asked to never be commanded.”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between the two. If you can’t command it, but still hold its reins, it’s still confined to you. You’re still its master. You just healed me, Syrene. It was your will, wasn’t it? It’s still bound to your will. You’re one—you’re tangled. You are Drothiker. Don’t think about it as something separate from you, because it’s not.”

She angled her head.

“You can’t reach out to it because you’re thinking of it as if it’s something so far from you. Think of it as a part of yourself.”

Syrene opened her mouth to ask if that’s what he did with the Darkness Felset had given him, but—

Immediately, they were both on their feet when something at the corner of her eye caught their attention.

A flare burst in the sky.

No, not a flare.

Azryle stepped forward, silver eyes jammed on it.

Another ball of fire rose higher, higher, higher, and vanished in the sky.

“Rik.”

The prince lifted his shirt from the ground. He threw it on. Then looked at her and smirked. Humor tainted his eyes.

Syrene’s heart unclenched at the sight of it.

He stepped to his side, and dramatically bowed.

“As much as I was thrilled to offer you with my divine company, Czar.” He stretched his hand. “Others are waiting.”

Syrene took his hand. She picked an invisible piece of lint off her shirt. “So long as they don’t bore me.”

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