“None!” Nyriah screamed. Tears appeared in her eyes as she slumped against the ground, suddenly limp. “None,” she whispered, scrunching her eyes closed. “If there is punishment to be had, let it fall on me.”
No, Adonis grated, struggling to rise, to force Maya to hear his words.
Her mind remained closed to him, but he saw her eyes flicker in his direction. A frown creased her forehead as she looked from him to the Anaheran woman.
“So this is the source of your treachery,” she whispered, tilting her head as she examined Nyriah. “I am disappointed, my mate.”
No! Adonis tried again. No, I told it true. There is a half-blood who leads the humans, one of Anaheran and human descent.
This time, finally, his words penetrated the barrier Maya had erected about her mind. Her frown deepened as she paused, seeming to consider his words.
“If this is true,” she said finally, “then the humans pose a greater danger than even I had thought. My plans must be advance immediately.”
Still crouched in the mud, Adonis bowed his head. As you will, my Matriarch, he murmured. My people will follow where you lead us.
Silent answered his words—followed by a mad laughter. His head jerked up at the sound, only to find Maya leering down at him.
“Your people?” she murmured. “Oh my dear, Adonis, after this failure, what makes you think yourself worthy to stand at my side, let alone lead this army?” She shook her head. “No, after this, all will know of your humiliation at the hands of the human. They will spurn your authority.” The smile faded from her lips as she turned to regard Nyriah, still lying motionless beneath her boot. “You are as worthless to me as an Anahera who refuses to bow.”
With those words, Maya surged forward. Adonis lifted a hand to cry out a warning—but he was far too slow. With all the strength of her kind, Maya brought her boot down on Nyriah’s neck.
A terrible crack echoed through the night.
Followed by a haunting silence.
And Nyriah lay still upon the mud.
No! A scream tore from Adonis as the rage finally split within him, shoving aside sanity, lifting him from the dirt to stand against his partner.
But she was still an Old One, and her power was greater than any he could imagine. With a backhanded blow, she sent Adonis crumbling back to the dirt. A groan hissed from his lips as his anger slipped away, despair replacing it, leaving him alone with the pain, with the guilt of another life lost.
I should kill you, Maya’s voice whispered in his mind, taunting, terrible. But your blood flows in the runts I carry. For that, I shall spare your life, though from this day forth your people will curse the name of the cowardly Adonis.
With that, the Old One turned and walked away.
17
The Fugitive
Crouching in the long grass, Erika eyed the horse standing several yards away. It hadn’t noticed her yet, though its soft snorts in the night revealed its nerves. Flames had scorched its saddle, probably the same ones still burning along the banks of the Illmoor behind her, but there was no sign of its rider.
She held her breath, watching the darkness, waiting to see if this was some trick, a trap set by Amina to ensnare her missing Archivist. It had to be. Surely it could not be that Erika’s luck had finally changed. Fate had long ago decided it would not favour her. She couldn’t believe she would be so fortunate now, to find a horse here on this burning night.
As the minutes passed and no movement came from the long grass, Erika finally allowed herself to hope. But still she waited, watching, shivering as the cold wind cut through her damp clothes. Though…at least she had not been burned in their flight.
Slumped beside her in the grass, the Goddess had not been so fortunate. Erika could not tell the extent of Cara’s burns until daylight, but half the Anahera’s hair had been devoured before they’d struck the water. Flames had kissed her auburn feathers too and Erika felt a pang of guilt—it had been Cara’s wings that had protected her from the fires, even as her friend suffered the brunt of the inferno.
The gauntlet still glinted on the Goddess’s arm, and Erika felt a stirring of jealousy, that another wielded her power. She shoved it down—they were both too exhausted to even consider its magic now. They needed to get clear of the river, where even now the distant screams of men told of the battle being waged between the Tangata and Amina’s land-based forces.
Whatever the outcome of that battle, the victor would soon turn north towards Mildeth. They needed to be long gone by then, and the horse was their only hope.
Swallowing the last of her doubts, Erika rose from the grass, taking care not to startle the gelding. Cara remained on the ground, the last of her strength consumed by their escape. She’d barely managed to pull them from the river before collapsing on the muddy shore.
The horse swung in Erika’s direction at her appearance, nickering nervously in the dark.
“Hey there, greatness,” she murmured, extending an empty hand, praying to the Gods she’d long ago discovered to be false that it would not flee. “Are you alone? Do you need a rider?”
The horse snickered again and for one horrible moment Erika thought it would bolt. Heart in her throat, she stood frozen in place as the gelding hooved the ground, but finally it seemed to settle. Abruptly it wandered forward and pressed its nose into her outstretched palm.
Erika stood, stunned, as the wet of its tongue licked her palm, blinking in the moonlight. Soft
