A branch cracked. Naavah Ora shot around, one hand on her staff.
She sighed when a rabbit broke through the underbrush and darted away from her. A long time ago, the wildlife wouldn’t have shied away from one of her people. How different it must have been. How marvellous. She regretted that she’d been born too late to see it.
Naavah Ora looked back the way she’d come. She could no longer see the spot where the trees gave way to the country beyond. No matter where she turned, she was surrounded by nothing but trees, flowers, and animals.
There was no sign of the dryads. She wanted to believe she was moving quietly enough for the dryads to not have noticed her, but she couldn’t. They’d have known she was here from the moment she stepped into their forest.
She didn’t even know for sure where the temple was. All she could do was follow her instincts and hope it was enough.
“Valynaan guide me.”
Calling on her protective warrior goddess for directions would have been too much at any other time, but Naavah Ora felt like she was going into battle. She wanted to be prepared when the inevitable found her.
The trees grew denser the farther in she walked. At times, she caught glimpses of deer grazing or watching her, but she still didn’t spot any dryads.
Naavah Ora was walking into a trap. She hoped the weapon she was after would be powerful enough to protect her. She hoped she wasn’t invoking her gods in vain. She hoped they still cared.
But hope didn’t win wars, so she pulled her staff from her back and held it ready.
Her foot caught on something and she stumbled forward. Turning back around, she saw it was a large rock with faded designs laced around it. Naavah Ora picked it up, turned it, inspected it from every corner. It had to be a leftover from their ruins. A memento of the people they’d once been. It was the size of her hand, but it wasn’t heavy. She slipped it into her bag and carried on. The ruins couldn’t be far.
The lack of opposition grated on her. Why hadn’t the dryads attacked? They were watching. The forest was peaceful, but when she closed her eyes and sensed the area she felt their eyes on her from the very edges. They were waiting in the trees and the leaves.
They had her where they wanted her.
But she wouldn’t leave without the weapon. Perhaps the dryads knew what she was after and were eager for an end to their own corruption. While hope alone didn’t win wars, it could carry any soldier through hard times, and Naavah Ora clung to it.
Finally, she saw it. The temple to her gods was a ruin, but it was the only building she’d seen since entering the forest. Even in its run-down state it was more impressive than the small shrines they’d put up in her village. Two lovely statues guarded the entrance—Ellasan, the Mother Goddess, and Valynaan, her loyal protector. Large chunks were missing from the temple walls; the forest had reclaimed most of it. Vines and branches laced around every stone and hole. Flowers blossomed all around it.
It was ancient, but it still radiated power.
Naavah Ora felt it. Her weapon was inside.
She spun around with her staff blazing when she felt something behind her. She’d reached the entrance to the temple, only to find herself surrounded by dryads. They were the forest around her and filled the halls inside the temple. They’d never hidden in the shadows or watched her from a distance. They’d merged with the trees and been mere inches away while Naavah Ora had walked through their home.
She was surrounded.
She flared her staff, ignited her magic—
It wasn’t enough.
She might fight me, but I’m stronger. I’ve recovered most of what I was—my strength, my soul, my essence. My wait is almost over, and I know what must be done.
Chapter 62
Ash
Ash tasted blood. His body was sore, and a large bruise was forming where a rib had cracked. His right eye was swollen shut from the beating he’d received; he could just about make out a disused room with plush carpet and richly adorned wallpaper. The only furniture seemed to be the chair he was tied to. Vahimees had left, but the man who’d replaced him was no better.
“Are you ready to talk?”
Ash spat blood at him. “Fuck you.”
His captor smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His armoured hand struck Ash across his cheek. “They want to throw you into prison, give you a fair trial. You don’t have to be in good health for that.”
He punched Ash in the gut, and Ash gasped. The pain was too much. He needed to get out, and fast.
His hands were tied behind his back. They hadn’t left him the small knife he always carried, but they didn’t know he was good with knots. He just needed to buy a bit of time.
“Where is your captain? I figured he’d torture me himself.”
“You think this is torture?” Something flashed in the guard’s hand. “You don’t even need to be conscious for your trial. The captain said to use any means necessary to get a confession from you. He won’t mind if you’re bleeding a little more.”
“What does he want a confession for? I thought his mind was set on killing me.”
The guard shrugged. “You know how things are. Confessions—official ones—are important. Or have you forgotten that Alt Võina prides itself on proper procedure?” He brought the small knife right up to Ash’s eye. “Nah, I imagine someone like you never bothered with proper procedures. You wouldn’t be in this mess otherwise.”
Ash fumbled with the knots. They were tight, but he was better. Three more pulls…
The guard brought the knife down to his throat. “Accidents happen, you know.”
Two more pulls…
“Accidents? I’m tied to a chair. If you kill me now it’ll be murder, not a slip of your hand. What would you tell them? That I tried to shove my chair in your face while still tied to it? No one will believe you defended yourself. How does this city look on guards who kill someone in their care? Someone tied up and defenceless?”
The guard stepped away but didn’t sheath his weapon. “They won’t care. You’re a criminal.”
But Ash heard the hesitation beneath the guard’s cocky tone. It was all the momentum he needed.
He jumped up, his pain masked by the sudden rush of adrenaline, and smashed his chair into the guard, who staggered and dropped the knife.
Ash kicked the knife away and choked the guard with both arms around the man’s neck. He flailed and kicked but didn’t reach Ash. His strength wavered as the pain kicked back in. The guard went limp and sagged to the ground.
Ash sank down beside him. He needed a healer, but first he needed to finish what he’d come for. He hadn’t suffered all this just to escape now.
He picked up the small knife and hid it under his sleeve. The house was quiet behind the door. A slow melody was playing from one of the downstairs rooms. With any luck, Kult would be there.
Ash peaked out into the corridor. Deserted.
“Bastard.” Ash had expected guards outside the door at least. He’d make Kult and his hired thugs regret they ever underestimated him.
His side hurt with every step. Nothing was broken as far as his adrenaline-spiked mind could tell, but they’d beaten him up good. He needed to finish this and find a healer before he made things worse.