WHY THE LIBRARY?
Aesar’s head whipped up.
Lykor vaguely waved around the atrium. OUT OF ALL THE LOCATIONS YOU COULD CREATE, WHY CHOOSE THIS MISERABLE PLACE?
Aesar frowned at the book in his lap before glancing back at Lykor. I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something important. I don’t know where else to look. His eyes widened, aimed over Lykor’s shoulder.
Twisting around, Lykor watched that damning obsidian prison door flicker in and out of existence—likely concealing the answers Aesar sought.
A thud drew Lykor’s attention back to Aesar, who had shot to his feet, the tome fallen to the floor. What is that? he demanded, storming across the chamber.
Lykor crushed his fist, hurriedly abolishing thoughts of that room. IT’S NOTHING, he said, shoving the memories deep into a recess in his space of their mind. Lykor’s heartbeat thrashed in his ears, his fatigue obvious since his control was slipping its leash.
Aesar placed a hand on his hip, flapping his other wrist at the now empty atrium. That was more than “nothing.” He scrutinized Lykor, jade eyes sweeping over him. Analyzing him. Seeing through him.
Relenting, Lykor bared his fangs. IT’S EVERYTHING I SUFFERED THROUGH SO THAT YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO. Aesar flinched. YOU DON’T WANT TO GO IN THERE.
Blinking, Aesar wilted. I never thanked you for—
Lykor ripped his awareness away from their mindspace, thinking better of continuing with a conversation he couldn’t care less about.
In front of him, the elf appeared on the verge of crying if the water wasn’t potable. Lykor nodded curtly, withholding that snowmelt fed this particular current. His mouth twitched with devious amusement when she sprinted into the stream, the frantic dash soaking her leathers. She resurfaced, gasping and squealing.
Regardless of the near-freezing temperature, the temptation almost swayed Lykor to submerge himself in the same idiotic fashion. His dry skin itched from the plastered grit, the filth unearthing memories of being soiled in the squalor of Kyansari’s mountainous dungeons.
Collapsing at the edge of the shore, Lykor cupped the water, greedily drinking and then rinsing his hands and face. The agony in his burned palm had him grinding his fangs into his gums.
Clenching his jaw, Lykor inspected the injury. Rock dust crusted the shredded skin in a mangled, bloody mess. Clearing the rubble had only aggravated the wound, now pulsing with searing pain.
Sensing the girl’s attention, he glanced up. Chewing the inside of her cheek, the elf studied his claw—a wraith’s talon-tipped hand.
When she didn’t peel her prying gaze away, Lykor raised a finger out of his fist. She scowled, apparently registering that he’d silently told her to fuck off.
Giving him a pointed sniff—like that did anything—the girl spun around. She waded through the current toward dangling luminescent moss on a rocky shelf. Idly tracing the leaves on the dagger sheathed at his belt, Lykor considered her shaman powers.
Aside from her peculiar connection to the Heart of Stars, surely there’d be an advantage for the wraith if she could manipulate the frozen elements of the Wastes. And he had just the trifling task in mind to determine her capabilities. Kal had telepathically informed Aesar that one of the volcano’s surface lifts was jammed with snow from the quake.
Before Lykor could assign the girl to the chore, he needed to find someone to supervise her—he certainly wasn’t inclined to burden himself with this dreadful elf. After gaining knowledge of the wraith, the girl seemed agreeable enough with Aesar that Lykor doubted she’d pose any type of threat. But he couldn’t say his people—especially the reavers—would take well to this half-elf in their midst.
You could appoint Fenn as her guard.
With reluctance washing over him, Lykor scrubbed more water over his face. Granting the overeager lieutenant yet another assignment he’d interpret as a special privilege already had exhaustion dragging on his limbs. Keeping Kal’s enthusiastic son at arm’s length required nearly as much energy as dealing with the captain himself, but the pool of reliable options was shallow.
A fragment of intrigue distracted Lykor from his deliberation when the elf pulled down a strand of glowing moss. “What are you doing?” he asked before thinking better of it.
The girl aggressively wrung out the plant. The sharp look suggested she wished she could wring his neck in the same manner.
A mutual feeling.
“That wound will get infected if you don’t treat it,” she said, words snappy. “This moss will help prevent that. Since I doubt you’ll untether me so I can regenerate and mend you.” The elf approached him, water swirling around her knees. “Not that I care about your well-being since you’re the one who rended me, stole portaling, and then forced—”
Slapping the water, Lykor splashed her, irritation from this whole fucking situation driving him to juvenile actions. “I didn’t ask for this accursed connection or to be governed by coercion. And I certainly had no desire for you to appear.”
She flicked the water off her face, eyes flashing. “Can’t we reject the bond?”
“Yes,” Lykor growled, disgusted. “And I plan to when I no longer have a use for your magic.” Exasperation had him fusing his teeth. “But until then, you’re staying tethered.”
“I figured my ‘thimbleful’ of power wouldn’t be worth the inconvenience,” she said, tossing drenched hair over her shoulder.
“It’s really not.” Lykor unfolded his legs and rose, ready to move on—both with this conversation and to find a reprieve from this vexing girl.
“Give me your hand,” she demanded, extending the moss between hers. When he did nothing beyond narrowing his eyes, she shook the plant at him. “Do you want to lose that claw? Your skin is nearly flayed to the bone and needs to be treated.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Lykor’s lip curled into a sneer. “Does being a half-breed also render you a half-wit?” The agitation knotting in Lykor’s shoulders had him cracking his neck. “What do you intend to do with that pile of seaweed?”
The elf scowled. “Like I said, this ‘seaweed’ will fight infection.” She added defensively, “I learned about plants from my friend Jassyn—he’s a healer.”
Heart thumping in his throat, Lykor cleared his features. “And explain to me how that’s relevant?”
“I’ve watched how you can’t keep your fingers away from his knife.” An angry color flushed up the girl’s cheeks as she bit the words off of her remark. “I thought you’d want to know more about him.”
Lykor yanked his hand off the dagger as if burned again. Jaw screwed tight, he pivoted and stalked away before he witlessly revealed anything else.
Water sloshed behind him. The elf grabbed his wrist, the contact lifting every one of his hairs in alarm.
“Don’t touch me,” Lykor snarled, ripping out of her grip.
The girl flinched when he raised his arm, as if expecting a backhand blow. Eying a wild motion of her hands, Lykor realized with an unwelcome jolt that she instinctively attempted to fabricate a shield. Between the tether and her empty Well, the gesture was pointless.
