Page 159 of The Last Syphon

She commanded Fraener to stay still so she could dismount.

Fraener didn’t want to. He pushed a picture into her mind. An image of them, flying away and fleeing. Not to Arelia—past Arelia. Flying and never stopping. A distressed sound came from the base of his throat. It was almost like a whine.

“Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothed, running a hand over his rough, scaled skin. “I know, I know. Something doesn’t feel right here. I know. I feel it too.” She continued to pat him as she spoke. “That’s why I have to go. Can you imagine this terrible plague spreading any further?” It made her shudder just thinking about it. “I have to find out what’s going on.”

He shook his head, almost violently.

“It’s okay,” she said again. She leant forward, pressing her body flush against his, trying to offer as much comfort as she could possibly give. “I’ll be careful,” she whispered. “You know what I can do. Have faith. I’ll be alright.”

He screamed in her head not to go. Not with words, but with images. Flash after flash after flash of images, showing her dead in all of them. Him, crushed with heartbreak, dying along with her.

It made her feel horrible. Tears stung the backs of her eyes at each one. Not for her. As a Syphon, she’d prepared herself for death long ago. But seeing him die? It just about broke her spirit and soul.

“I promise, if there’s even a hint of danger, I will leave, okay? I would never risk your life.” And she meant it.

Fraener still protested as Inara slowly climbed down the side of his body, but he did not stop her. Her booted feet hit the dirt, and dust wafted up into the air.

Prince Walder was a few feet away, his forehead pressed against Tydus’s snout. They both had their eyes closed, a moment passing between them that was only for them. Inara had no idea what they were communicating to each other, but she had a feeling it was something very similar to what she and Fraener had just been through.

Tydus whined, stamping his feet in protest as Prince Walder stepped away. The prince made his way over to her and stopped at her side. Their eyes locked. A moment passed between them, too. What kind of moment, Inara couldn’t say, but if she had to guess, she would say it was full entirely of foreboding. A sense of impending doom.

They crossed over to the cursed land.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

They’d been walking for miles and had yet to utter a single word to each other. Inara didn’t know if Prince Walder wasn’t speaking to her because he was still angry, or if maybe it was because the situation they were in was so dire that conversation was at a standstill between them.

Her soul-link with Fraener hummed brightly in her chest, and all she could feel was a deep, almost paralysing dread. Inara could have sworn she could still hear him whining behind her.

“Talk about what?”

The ground beneath their feet was black with rot. They had walked past the ruined structures of Blackpeak, Holen, and Prector, that feeling of wrongness growing with each step Inara took. At first, she wondered if perhaps some of the villagers had managed to escape, but that thought was no longer in her mind. Along with torn-down dwellings, there had been bones. Skeletons of all those who used to inhabit the villages.

History said the downfall of Tolanaa happened so quickly that no one had managed to escape the Cursed King’s power. That he had syphoned everything, his power washing over his kingdom like a terrible plague and consuming everything it touched. That his people didn’t even have time to process what was going on before they were drained of their magic, their life forces, their souls.

That was what she saw in Blackpeak, Holen and Prector as she had walked past. Bones were all that remained. There was no way they would have decomposed within that time. No. Whatever this was, it had turned their bodies to dust and ash.

A terrifying revelation.

“Are you really going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?” she asked, her gaze flicking to him.

He walked with an immovable purpose. With force and power, despite what surrounded them. There wasn’t a hint of fear or discomfort, only pure strength. “Is it perhaps your total lack of respect for authority? Because that, I would love to discuss.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure. We can talk about that next, if you like. First, let’s talk about the fact that you’re a fucking Bloodborne.”

He said nothing, his head remaining forward.

Okay. That was fine. She could carry the conversation enough for the both of them. “I have a theory.” She stepped over a desiccated…Well, she wasn’t actually sure what it was, but the body was small enough that it had to be an animal of some kind. “Everyone thinks you’re a Medalist. I’ve even seen you manipulate metal, but only swords. The swords with that weird, funky red thing at the pommel.”

“Funky?” he questioned, slightly amused.

“Yeah. Funky. I think it’s a pretty accurate description.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, my theory is there’s blood in there. That’s how you can manipulate the swords and pass off being a Medalist, not a Bloodborne. My question is, what if someone asks you to prove your magic by moving something metal? Something that doesn’t have blood in it? Although, I suppose the odds of someone doing that are slim, since no one would have a reason to suspect you’re not truly what you advertise yourself to be.”