Aerax’s mother, too. But he would not allow Lizzan to come anywhere near as close to death as his mother had.
“It never snows by the Boiling Sea,” said Kelir. “Though if Vela wished it to, perhaps it would.”
“Or you could just let the coward do it,” came a mutter from the group of Kothan soldiers, still lying in their bedrolls.
Aerax was aware of the tension pulling tight around the fire as he rose to his feet, but he would not become a monster yet. Instead he waited, until the soldiers turned in their beds and saw who he was, still covered in the dirt and blood of his hunt.
“Recall this moment if ever you need saving. Never would Lizzan stand by while you died,” he said softly, dangerously. “And if you wish to test it, I’ll come to you now to rip out your throats—for although you have pissed on her name, though she is tired and hurting, she would fly over here to stop me. The only doubt is whether she’d be fast enough. Do you wish to test it?”
Mutely, the soldiers shook their heads.
“I thought not,” Aerax said.
CHAPTER 19
LIZZAN
The rains came the next morning.
Wind thrashed the jungle canopy, sending broken branches hurtling to the ground while torn leaves swirled as in a blizzard. Beneath the gray light, the jewel-like tones of the jungle were dulled, and Lizzan could not remember a more miserable journey. Not even her first trip along this road, with her face still scabbed and painful, and when tears had soaked her furs nearly every morning.
Now she had no tears. And no sleep. The pelt of the northern falt shed the rain but couldn’t keep away the nightmares that chased her while she lay beneath it. So she only waited until dawn, with head pounding and stomach churning.
On the road, she was glad of the rain. The jungle was as quiet as it had ever been, as everything within it waited out the storm. Those who rode behind her were no different. No one spoke, riding with heads down. Lizzan traveled with her hood up and a dozen paces ahead of the rest of the party, where no one would see the shakes that racked her body or know how fever burned her skin. So much worse the drunkard’s sickness was this time than it had ever been.
She rode alone. Caeb kept pace beside her but offered no affectionate rubs. Instead he watched Lizzan as if to make certain she did not abandon the others and speed ahead to complete her quest.
She might have, if not for that same quest. But she could not protect Aerax if she was running away from him.
And he was truly a stranger to her now. So she didn’t know why he cared to save her. He didn’t speak to her and she saw only hardness in him when his gaze met hers. Only anger. Because he thought her selfish and weak.
. . . and she was. Never before had Lizzan seen it so clearly. Yet as his accusation added to the knives that were her thoughts, all she saw now was the empty road ahead and she only felt the weight of his judgment behind her.
And she only wanted this journey to end.
The road slowly climbed higher, the jungle thinning out into rolling hills. But they did not escape the rain. Mud soon covered her horse’s legs, her boots, the hem of her cloak. The only conversation she had was when asked how far away the next inn stood.
On the fifth day, they reached a village nestled in a green valley. Happy memories Lizzan had of the last time she’d been here, a summer past. Under the sullen gray clouds and dripping with rain, little did the village resemble that warm and welcoming one, yet to Lizzan, there seemed no better place. Her tremors had subsided and her headache had retreated, leaving only fatigue. All she wanted was sleep, but couldn’t bear what awaited her in dreams. There, a coward she truly was. She had faced the wraiths at the King’s Walk, but she’d been running from them ever since.
Though the rain still fell, conversation started up again behind her as they rode toward the inn. She heard talk of warm beds and bread that wasn’t sodden—and she, too, looked forward to the first full meal that her stomach would allow since Vela had begun turning all her drink into water.