Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,58

ago, wouldn’t the ink have aged by now?

Kira rolled the parchment back up, suddenly feeling invasive. Somehow, looking at this felt more like a breach of Ryon’s privacy than discovering orders from the chieftess in invisible ink.

She squelched the odd feelings that swam in her gut and returned each parchment roll to its small pouch. It was ridiculous for her to feel disappointed that Ryon was off the market. Of course she’d never wanted him anyway.

A loud crack sounded through the trees. Kira jumped and scrambled for the spyglass.

The dark, spider-like form of a d’hakka twitched in her trap. Its spindly legs curled up under itself and stilled.

Kira stared in disbelief. She squinted hard, trying to determine the remains of her trap. She couldn’t quite tell, but it looked like one of her three spikes had pierced the creature’s back.

It worked. Is it dead? It can’t be. The spyglass slipped in her sweaty grip. It really worked!

She took a flaming branch from the fire and hiked downhill, gripping Ryon’s dagger. As she approached the d’hakka, slowly as a bear sloth, she waited for the beast to move.

It didn’t.

Kira bit the inside of her lip. This wasn’t the same d’hakka that had attacked her and Ryon—it still had all of its hairy limbs. She whispered a prayer and reached the flaming stick out, waving it in front of the d’hakka’s face. Still, it didn’t move.

She pulled the fire back and rounded the beast. Sure enough, one of her spikes had slipped under one of the chitin plates and skewered through the d’hakka’s back. Dark blood trailed down the wood and dripped into a pool in the mulch.

Kira kicked a splash of dirt onto the creature’s limp tail that hung near its face. No response.

One of the gods must be real.

Relief and a surge of triumph flooded her. She allowed herself a victory dance before reminding herself that her work wasn’t done. Ryon needed that oil as soon as possible.

Kira impaled her stick upright in the ground, wishing she could use its light but not wanting to torch her miraculous catch. She held her nose against the smell of rotting venison and the d’hakka’s pungent musk as she leaned in, resisting the screaming urge in her mind to run and never lay eyes on any of these horrifying creatures again.

A tiny circle oozed over the base of the d’hakka’s front right leg. And there was another on its left, gleaming in the firelight. That must be where the gland secretes oil.

She gripped the dagger tight and tried to ignore her sloshing stomach. Ryon owes me big.

27

RYON

Ryon awoke to the sound of fluttering parchment and the scents of honey and herbs. The tingle of their embrace on his shoulder had grown more familiar each time he blinked back to hazy consciousness. Morning bled into evening and midnight to afternoon until he’d lost all concept of the passage of Alani’s sun and three moons.

I wonder if Waelyn will let me stay awake this time. The old man had given Ryon fadeleaf more times than he could remember, letting him wake only to swallow another batch of disgusting brew.

But this time, he felt hot. The bedsheets that rose to his neck felt sticky, like a sweaty shirt on a blistering summer day.

Ryon rubbed his eyes and raised his head. Waelyn wasn’t in the plush guest room, but Kira sat on a cloth-draped bench beside the armoire. A collection of scrolls piled beside her, stacked into a neat little triangle. She studied an open stretch of parchment with a crease in her forehead between furrowed brows.

Ryon’s attempt to speak came out like a deep-pitched croak. He cleared his throat as Kira looked up, startled, and shot to his bedside in a flurry of paper.

“Hey!” Her wide eyes darted from his face to his shoulder. Her smile was hung with a mess of hope and worry. “How are you feeling?”

“Awake . . . I think.” Ryon’s voice crackled from sleep. His eyes fought to adjust to the light from the window, which bathed Kira’s dark skin and crystal-blue eyes with an ethereal glow. Was she watching over me?

“Are you in pain?” Kira reached out a tentative hand to his forehead. Her eyebrows rose. “Your fever has broken.”

“Oh. Uh, good.” Ryon swallowed again, willing moisture to his tongue. His mouth felt like a desert. He turned his head to look at the nightstand, wondering if a cup of water stood among its skyline of colored glass bottles, bowls,