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It took a moment to collect her thoughts.
“Not even a little bit,” she said, ducking through the vines.
“Shall I share what us swamp heathens say about your kind?” Renton called out.
She rolled her eyes. “Lies, I’m sure.”
“Vozarians are hot-blooded, pompous creatures with no regard for the other kingdoms. They grow most of Kandar’s food but refuse to share it while others starve. They forge the strongest weapons but refuse to trade with eastern shadows desperate to defend their homes and families from Adra’s army of Scourge warriors and Corrupt. They fear anything that appears to be a threat. Anything outside their kingdom with ‘tainted blood.’ They imprison, torture, and execute what they don’t understand.”
“Quite the list,” Tenah said. “Sadly, you’re wrong about a number of things.”
But it was hard to sound convincing when her core beliefs were beginning to get muddled, especially when it came to him.
Chapter11
Renton
Renton sagged in relief as he glimpsed the misty hills of Mire. It was a sight he never expected to see again.
Home.
He would confirm his brother’s safety before he decided what to do with Tenah. Boedworth played too many games to trust his word, contract or not. And after discovering Tenah’s ability to locate—if not carve—rifts, he didn’t like the idea of his wicked councilman obtaining that kind of raw power.
“What are we doing here?” Tenah asked. She clutched the back of his armor as if she could throttle the answer from him.
“Keep close to me,” he instructed.
Draining his feeble reserve of illusion magic, he hid them from view. Against his better judgment, he took her hand, leading her toward a small, white farmhouse on the cusp of the village’s gates formed from tree trunks.
It was hard not to give space for all the emotions rising up in his chest like steam. Eleven years he’d been exiled from Mire, tossed out as a child, and now he returned, a soulless hunter, blades stained by blood and body fueled by rage alone. The more Corrupt he slaughtered, the safer the isles would be for his brother.
If anything had happened to Aeyis, Renton would drive a blunt object through Boedworth’s head. Screw the consequences.
Footsteps shuffled on dirt nearby, and Renton flattened Tenah against the side of the stables, worried his illusion wouldn’t be enough to keep them hidden. Up close, her wide eyes, and parted lips shot blood straight to his cock.
A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck. He held a finger up to his mouth as a young boy walked out of the stable doors then disappeared into the farmhouse.
It should have come as a surprise how difficult it was to peel himself away from her as he moved inside the stables, Tenah on his heels. He whispered ancient commands to a roan horse, words bred into all of Mire’s horses that belonged to hunters alone. The horse relaxed under this palm. He hoisted a confused but silent Tenah up onto its sleek back. Climbing up behind her, he urged the horse down the hill, full speed through Mire’s open gates, clutching onto his illusion like scraps of fabric in the wind.
One glimpse of Aeyis. That was all he needed to confirm that this trade was worth it.
Tenah’s fingers gripped the horse’s mane next to his hands. “You’re scaring me.”
“Find trust in me. Please.” The words soured on his tongue.
As the horse tore through the gate, Renton’s magic sputtered. The shard in his chest gave an awful pulse of molten heat through his body, and he curled slightly into Tenah.
Shit. Had they been detected? Would hunters recognize him, son of honorary Notho, with his strong build and fair hair?
Renton opened the horse up on the cobblestone streets shrouded in milky fog. Streetlamps glowed like the sinister eyes of hungry Bogland creatures. If that wasn’t enough to drive away enemies, the legions of hunters Mire produced would. The gates here weren’t necessary. Threats that entered were just more practice for hunters. Often, they’d let enemies believe they’d escaped then tracked them down in the swamps for sport.
He uttered the command for the horse to turn down a familiar street, halting only when he spotted a boxy, mint green house settled along the bank of Mire’s central lake. He leaped from the horse’s back and raced to the door of his childhood home.
Aeyis. He sent the thought out, hoping his brother was already probing the surroundings. Their mother had always kept feelers out.
Renton had to remember how to breathe as he stepped onto the porch. The house seemed small now. Curtains in the front two windows hid the interior. The willful plants in the flower boxes his mother had loved so much had withered away.
Gods, what if his assumption was wrong, and Aeyis wasn’t even here, restricted to the one village Renton was never allowed to step foot in again? His mind terrorized him with images of his Ashen brother shackled and malnourished. Locked away in Cragnore’s pit or frozen on Dreaddix, believing himself to be alone in this cruel world.
