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“He’s an awfully handsome brat.” Quincy laughed, leaning back in her seat. That was simply a fact. Yet, Meira thought it would take quite the effort to be ugly when you’d grown up in such wealth. His body was well nourished, his hair artfully done at the hand of a professional, not to mention the cost of the clothes that fit his toned body.
Meira hummed, not quite sure how to respond. So instead, she asked, “Are you tired?”
“Does it matter?”
“Go sleep, I’ll finish your shift.”
She didn’t have to tell Quincy twice. The woman smiled and guided her Bold Wing down toward the dots of black amongst the trees where their camp waited. Silence took over in her absence. The world was easier up here, simpler when you looked at it from a bird’s eye view.
Tensing her thighs against her Bold Wing, she pulled her leather gloves off. The huntress mark was still a garish pink, raised from her flesh. She stared down at it and it stared back. When she tried to imagine the man on the other side of the mark, all she saw was a bland gray color. He must have wrapped his hand.
Clever.
She should have been able to get a view of his surroundings using the eye on his hand, but he’d stopped her from gaining any further clues as to where he was. All there was to guide her was the tug in her chest and that only seemed to work well in proximity. Still, she took hope in the fact that they were fated. Their destinies were intertwined by this curse. She’d find him again. And this time, she wouldn’t let him go.
16
Remis
What had been peaceful, now only felt exhausting and slightly creepy, Remis thought. His concentration slipped for probably the millionth time and their small raft slowed to match the natural pace of the current.
The day had come to an end and the moon hid behind several large clouds. There was hardly any light to calm the stress of not being able to see where they were going. Water splashed against rocks along the river banks and the occasional sound of something leaping in and out of the water had become their music. He tried not to let his attention drift to the trees, where often he found the glowing eyes of animals watching them as they went.
As far as he knew, they’d made good ground following this river, but he’d never spent this long holding onto his connection to the magic of this world. Now every time he envisioned it, his palms grew slick, and his grip on it weakened further.
For a while, Percy and Merritt had taken turns napping. Now that it was night and the dragonis would be active, they both stared up at the stars overhead. They’d built the raft large enough that the three of them could lay side by side on their backs. Every curve of the tree limbs underneath them was painfully noticeable, and no matter how he tried to move he couldn’t find a comfortable spot. He sighed and let them drift, not caring that he wasn't pushing them as quickly as they could go.
“Quit moving,” Percy whisper-shouted. “You won’t stop rocking the boat.”
Remis forced himself still. The numbness of the salve was beginning to wear off on his shoulder and though they’d made sure to cut the knots and smaller branches from the wood, a lump in the log was digging into the wound. He’d continued with Percy’s help, to treat it as the physician had, and it was healing at a remarkable pace. He tried his best not to think about it because every time he did it sent him on a spiral.
It all started with the fear of the dragonis. How absolutely terrifying it had been to be speared on its talon and lifted off the ground. His body gave an involuntary shudder as he remembered with stark clarity how quickly he’d been torn away from his friends and how gravity stretched his body out and tore muscles in his shoulder.
Thinking about the dragonis only led him to think about the warlord and his physician. All the strange things she’d kept in her room had made them all uneasy. Jars of fingers and eyes. He specifically avoided the image in his memories of the glass filled with entrails. She’d treated them quickly enough. He’d assumed she was tired, annoyed, and wanted to be back in bed. Yet the timing had been…coincidental. No sooner had she wrapped up Remis’ wound than he felt the hot warning forcing him into action. While Percy’s accusation of her being a witch was perhaps uncouth, it sounded entirely accurate. And if she wasn’t the witch hunting him, perhaps she had known the witch and tipped her off.
His body had moved on its own accord. He’d had enough sense to make sure his friends came with him, but it had been the curse itself that had shot him into action. He traced a finger over the fabric that covered the eye. What an odd thing it was to be connected to someone he didn’t know with no clue as to why.
These thoughts were a spinning vortex within his head; eventually they started over and again he’d go down the same hole. All of it starting with the dragonis and ending with her.
The witch had only been a dark shape at a distance. One that wasn’t even easily distinguishable with the thick cloak around her body, but her long hair had caught on the wind. He wanted so badly to know her face. When she finally caught up with him, would he have time to ask her his questions? He couldn’t fathom dying without reason.
Would she make it quick?
Would she drag it out?
Who was she?
Who was she to him?
He’d already thought of all the terrible things he’d done. Most of which started and ended with never taking his lovers seriously. Once he’d forgotten to tip the help. Another time he’d tripped a stranger who’d been dragging their child along like a piece of luggage rather than a human boy. None of that sounded like reason enough.
Time was going on and on and there was nothing he could do but think. This was perhaps worse than death. At least death was supposed to be peaceful. He’d no longer exist, his body would be given back to the earth, and that would be the end of it. Depending on how long it took for the witch to catch up to him, he wondered what the chances were of him losing his sanity.
The flow of water under them picked up speed. Remis opened his eyes, entirely too aware that he’d had nothing to do with it. The river was naturally speeding up. Water splashed over the edges of the raft, rocking them with the movement. Remis’ fingers curled against the logs under him as he tried to sit up.
Remis heard a shushing sound. It reminded him of the noise his mother would make if he was being too loud at the market, except this sound never ended. It continued in one long unbroken note that grew louder the farther they traveled. After several hours they’d grown used to the noise of the river, the rushing sound of water, but this sound was different. It was more.
“What is that?” Merritt sat up. “What are you doing?”
