Ch. 24
“Resilient”
“Jealous?” I say with a sly smile as I stand up.
My gray shirt blows against the slight autumn breeze that has not died out at all this whole time. I finally glance at Zanir. I can’t help it. Something keeps drawing my attention back to him. It is getting really annoying.
Zanir had jumped off Halfy, his usual bored demeanor on display. But his eyes are locked on me, burning with an intensity that rivals the oranges of the sun above. I am caught in the heat of his gaze, then Iamys’ voice cuts through, pulling me back.
“Of you?” His tone is devious. “I don’t see you ever turning into a sword. Or a chair? Or a candle to listen to your enemies’ plans?”
I look back to Iamys, and laugh, a genuine laugh, deep within it echoes up the mountain ranges that surround us. “I am sorry, Iamys. I would rather fly, feel the wind, the fire, the ice inside, than have someone’s hands all over me swinging me around, or under their ass, or to be blown out in a single breath.”
I can feel it without looking. His eyes sear into me, cerulean flames I can’t escape. Zanir. That gaze, so intense, and unwavering, feels like a curse, as if those eyes can strip me bare, burning down layers, barricades, I have built so high around me, and even I can’t find a way past them. What is this? Why is THIS a thing? This drawing of me to him against my will. It makes my skin crawl in the worst way.
My eyes finally wander back in Zanir’s direction. I can’t help it, no matter how much I wish I could. It is maddening, his cockiness, that damn smart-ass smirk he wears like a second skin. I flew for days, searching for something, traveling, and exploring, yet out of the entire forest, I found him, and now there is this odd tethering. Pulling me in, despite every logical part of me, wanting to punch that smug look off his face. How annoying… Zanir is leaning casually against a wagon, which has stopped for a quick break. Its leader at a standstill on a black stallion. I am going to punch him in the face soon or later. I can promise myself that.
As the thought crosses my mind, Zanir’s lips curve into the faintest smirk, his eyes flickering toward me. My stomach tightens, as if I spoke the words out loud. My face must be so readable, because he can’t possibly know what I am thinking, right? Even though I have threatened him a few times. It is probably just a coincidence — he is always like this, smug and absolutely infuriating. Yet his smirk lingers, as if daring me to make good on my silent promise. Just wait, mortal vampire man.
Zanir’s smirk deepens as scouts and guards begin retreating inside the back of wagons, leaving Zanir to drift in and out of my line of sight. I watch him, unable to shake the feeling he knows more than he is letting on. His index finger trails along his temple, the rest of his fingers covering his mouth, his thumb resting on his chin like he is contemplating something.
Zanir’s gaze clings to me, like the rain or the blood from my previous battles, unsettling. A shudder runs down my veins, sharp, cold, and electric, making me pull back from the intensity of it all. I shake my head, forcing the sensation out of my body, and turn abruptly to Iamys.
He is just standing there, mouth wide open, clearly stunned by the insults I threw his way. His reaction is almost comical, a welcome distraction from the chill still crawling under my skin from Zanir’s stare. I let out a small, relieved breath. At least with Iamys, I know I can throw as many jabs as I want and get the desired effect.
Good. Hone in on the prey that will distract from being visually devoured by a stupid mortal vampire man.
Iamys blinks at me, still processing the comeback. I can’t help but let a smile curl at the corner of my lips, eager to steer myself away with a distraction. “Race you to the end. Loser gets to sleep at the camp with the scouts rather than at the nice, cozy Viridian Vale Inn of Faymore.”
Iamys’ expression moves fluidly from shock to challenge, and my smile spreads fully across my face. Nothing like a bit of competition to shake off the shadows that cling… or at least the man who controlled them.
Iamys narrows his brown eyes, clearly weighing his chances, but I can already tell I got him hooked. My mind flickers back to Faymore, as if some part of me is trying to catch hold of something always just out of reach. It’s hazy — only flashes and scattered images — but I know I have been there before. Once. I don’t remember all of it, but the feeling feels as clear as the burn of cold air.
Walking alone, seeing that building with large white letters above its door, and feeling strangely out of place yet… free.
The scouts and my friends away seemed to end their stories in Faymore, usually at the Inn or its tavern, where tales grow grander with every drink. The village, mostly human, is the closest one to our castle — yet so far and so different from everything I have known.
I shake my head, the smirk still on my face as I glance back to Iamys. “Hope you like sleeping under the stars, Iamys. I am not losing. As if I have ever before.” I shift my weight between my toes, ready to take off. I know we’re too close to the village to shift now, so this will come down to sheer will, smarts, and maybe a little wind boost.
I crouch, muscles tensing, ready to spring. I have always been fast — my smaller, more compact frame makes it easy to move, and if I need to, I can even coax the wind to help. Within seconds, my boots are pounding against the ground before Iamys can even say another word.
The ground blurs beneath my feet as I tear down the path. Devlyn’s stallion rears up as I fly past her, a flash of movement even her stallion wasn’t expecting. Behind me, I hear Iamys cursing, his bow clanging against his quiver as he struggles to keep up. A sharp whistle fills the air — an arrow slices past my face, making my hair whip forward before it thuds into the side of a wagon ahead of me. I skid to a stop and shoot Iamys a look. He is grinning. I guess I wasn’t the only one thinking of taking cheap shots.
“Children, play nice,” Devlyn warns, her voice cutting through us like one of her blades. She gains control of her stallion, her gaze flashing sternly between Iamys and me, daring our luck further. “No weapons.”
Even though she knows I have daggers in the leathers across my ribs, that is not the weapons of which she is speaking… at least for me. I can’t help but smile at her warning — it is all part of our game. With a steady exhale across my lips, I flick my wrist, and Iamys’ bow is suddenly blown a few feet away from him. I can feel the heat of Devlyn’s disapproving glare, but the thrill of mischief sparks in my chest.
“I am nearly thirty,” I retort, though it is true I still have two years to go. In the mortal sense, I am considered an adult, even if I look younger. “I am grown… and am a good adult.” I twist my other wrist, sending Iamys’ quiver flying in the opposite direction, just to punctuate my point. “But as you wish,” I add with a teasing grin, knowing full well that my mischievousness might draw more ire from Devlyn, but I know deep down she loves seeing this side of me — myself without the castle walls reinforcing the walls I have built around myself.
I bow toward Devlyn with a grin, my eyes still fixed on Iamys as he reaches for his bow. Our playful banter stales in the air as the thrill of a challenge courses through me. Another deep exhale, and I feel warmth radiate from my palms, a tingling heat battling the cold that remains beneath the surface of my skin, signaling my true intent. I can sense the fire drip from my fingertips, hissing as it meets the cool ground below.
“Don’t you dare!” Iamys exclaims, a playful glint in his narrowed eyes. His mouth curls into a half-smile, but the tension in his voice carries an unmistakable edge. “You know I am not above retaliating.” His warning only ignites my amusement, and I can’t help but revel in all of this.
“Snooze you lose, Iams.” I smile brightly, feeling the warmth of the fire in my palm flicker and then fade away as I twist toward the end of the valley.
I hear Iamys cursing again, but I am already moving. My feet pounding, sending vibrations through me, my dark hair whipping back with each stride. Mud flings off my boots as I weave past wagons, scouts, guards, and horses, each obstacle only fueling my determination. I can hear Iamys closing in behind me. I know he has been training hard for his scout tests. Each step feels heavier, my breathing growing dense and unsteady as the thought of reaching Faymore drives me forward.
—
We eventually both pass the end of the valley, our strides so synchronized that it is impossible to tell who won. I can already hear Iamys’ teasing voice echoing in my ears — I will not hear the end of this one. The stone road stretches out before us, running from east to west. A wooden sign points west, letters carved into the wood declaring Faymore. The promise of a warm bed and the spice of ale, spurs me within.
I’m grasping for air, but it’s not just from the race. My body is weak, knees shaking from exhaustion. I turn to see Iamys leaning over, mud speckling his face like a badge of honor.
“You’re getting slower with age.,” he teases, with a smile on his face as he wipes mud off his cheek.
Ha. Eat my dust, or mud, actually.
Iamys’ breaths are loud next to me as I lean against the mountain edge, trying to catch my shaking exhales. I scoff, or at least try to.
“I haven’t had a decent meal in days. I fought more creatures than I would like to admit, and I have passed out more times than I care to remember in just a few days. And not to mention this…” I wave my arm, gesturing to the bandage around my shoulder, now wet with a mixture of blood and sweat. It throbs with every breath I take.
Devlyn’s powerful stallion is what reaches us first, its hooves thundering against the ground. She slows the beast into a trot before passing us, the stallion’s muscles rippling as it turns to face us on the road. Unlike my own fatigue, the stallion stands strong and poised.
Jerk. You fight a dragon.
“Who won?” Devlyn asks, Iamys and I breathing heavily as she looks between us. Her eyes quickly stop on me. “Mi, your shoulder…” She narrows her eyes at me, before turning toward Iamys. “Iams, you know you have to stay with the scouts tonight. Either way, right?”
Iamys’ face is priceless, brown eyes wide as he processes Devlyn’s words, the realization hitting like a stone. He looks at me, momentarily, and I can’t help but smile.
“Plus, I have a certain task for you,” Devlyn says, her tone firm as she nods her head back behind us, clearly signaling that there is more than just our race at stake.
Wagons are now reaching the exit of the valley, and behind the first one, Zanir appears on the back of the gray, snow-speckled mare he helped lead earlier. I know Halfy is already scaling the side of the Zis mountain to the west, joining the remaining scouts and guards who will set up a camp deeper in the forest.
Devlyn’s gaze sharpens as she watches Zanir, a hint of concern in her voice. “Make sure you keep an eye on him. We don’t want to attract any more trouble.” Her gray eyes flash to me, with a small smile on her stern face.
“This will be fun,” Iamys says, a playful grin spreading across his face as the wagons start to flood onto the paved road. The aroma of the tavern wafts toward us, mingling with the earthy scents of the forest, and I can hear the bustling life spilling out into the air.
As the wagons flood onto the stoned road, I look toward Zanir, riding the gray mare, a perfect blend of grace and arrogance. His body posture is fluid, like he belongs here, but that infuriating smirk tells me he knows the effect he is having. My pulse quickens — not from the race, but for something I don’t want to admit. His presence is more than just an annoyance, it is an intrusion. Sadar follows closely behind, but it is Zanir’s figure that draws my eyes back, even when I don’t want it to.
A scout leading a few other mares stops next to me. “Lady Mihaela,” he says, handing me the reins of a stunning white more with black and gray speckles. She is a beautiful mare, oddly enough, the complete opposite of Zanir’s horse — strange how they contrast. The scout offers a hand, which I politely take, but I use my wind to do most of the work as I swing my leg over the large mare. My breath is still shaking, and an icy chill moves under my skin.
As I settle into the saddle on the mare, the anticipation of Faymore builds within me. “I need a drink…” I start, sensing Devlyn’s eyes trying to burn holes into me. “And a nice meal,” I add with a grin because if not, I may just faint again, and there is no telling how I may wake up.
With a soft kick, I urge the mare forward, splashing through the small puddles left after the rainfall from Solomaonri as I take off down the road west to Faymore.
