Page 146 of The Hunted

Eryx

THE IRONY WAS not lost on Eryx that he found himself back at the same bay where he’d caught Arelle. It seemed like the best place, given the abandoned structures, some of which still stood well and tall, that many people on Atlas assumed were no longer safe to use. They believed the storms had weakened the stone watchtower near the entrance of the bay or compromised the integrity of the scattered houses on the upper rim.

Some were, sure.

But given its easy location to the sea, and the lack of activity from anyone on land, it was the one place he thought would be safest to wait.

After he arrived, unsure of the time or the day because it felt like he’d been traveling for longer than he could comprehend, Eryx let the horse go, knowing he’d no longer need the animal. He removed the reins and the small satchel along with the saddle and gave the horse a slap to its rear thigh to send it running into the forest surrounding the bay.

The animal would be okay.

Nature of the beasts, he knew.

Under the mostly safe covering from the trees, Eryx pulled the few items he’d managed to keep with him over the last few days. A knife. The bit of fresh water in a small ceramic jug with a corked top, and bread that had somehow gotten wet hidden inside the leather satchel. His mother’s journal also.

That, too, was wet.

He let out a sigh and carefully peeled back the front cover to find exactly what he thought he would. He’d not even had the chance to fully read through the journal and now he never would because the ink had bled through the pages and smudged beyond recognition from the rain.

Uncaring when he tore a few delicate, damp pages as he flipped to the very back, he did find one single paragraph that he was able to read. It felt appropriate—a goodbye, of sorts.

I worry, Anthia had written, though he didn’t know what she’d written before those words higher on the page, because he seems so much more like them than us. But I keep hoping it’s inside him like it is us. And if he ever needs it, he’ll know how to use it.

The date written below that final entry was three years before his mother died. One of her final trips to the stable house. Because it was around that point when his father decided Eryx spent just a little too much time with Anthia and made an effort to separate the two.

His mother hoped he was like her. He hoped she’d died knowing he was.

The wind tunneled around Eryx and the items on the ground. Pages from the journal pulled with the force of the wind, tearing at the spine from its fragility because of the wetness. He could have tried to save it, but he didn’t bother.

Everything—up until the moment he’d caught Arelle in this bay—had been for the sake of his mother. From his rage to the loneliness and even the vengeance it attempted to inspire. All of it had been for her. It felt appropriate that he’d come back here to finally let her go, too.

He stood and turned into the wind to listen. It was easier when he closed his eyes to do it, and this time was no exception. The low hum in the back of his throat started, and the scrapes on his palms from the cuts that he’d received both running and fighting over the last few days stung when he clenched his hands and they reopened.

He’d noticed it before, but never told anyone. Not even Arelle.

His blood no longer ran red. It made lines down his palms, snaking over his long fingers and gathering at the tips before dripping to the ground in the same hue that Arelle bled.

The purple color splattered to the green moss covering the rocks and uneven ground.

She needed something else to follow because he was so tired. After everything, his body seemed unwilling to give him anything more. He’d pushed to his breaking point, and then beyond. His body screamed enough now.

I smell you. I hear you.

Her words came with the wind.

He smiled.

“Time to come home, my little mermaid,” he murmured.

• • •

He knew the moment she reached the bay. He couldn’t hear the horse she rode over the thunder clapping high above or the pounding of the rain, but he felt her. Without meaning to, Eryx had found a place to rest at the base of a rather large tree that had given him decent cover from the weather. When he tipped his head down … his eyes just happened to close.

How long was he sleeping?

It didn’t matter.

The shout of his name carrying over the bay had his eyes wide open in a second.