And if something happened to Lexi under his watch, he’d never forgive himself either. While Lexi remained alive, Cole wouldn’t become the cruel, vicious monstrosity Brokk sensed slithering beneath the surface.
If something happened to her, he suspected Cole would become as much of a menace to the realms as the Lord. He’d killed a dragon for their father; what would he do for her?
A roar in the distance drew his attention to the sky. A dragon soared above, tilted its wings, and swooped back toward the smoldering remains of the city in the distance. The dragons only did as the Lord commanded them, but still, he loathed all of them.
Stepping away from the tree, he was about to resume his hunt when the jingle of bits and the stomp of hooves stopped him. He took a step forward as riders approached the manor. The rider at the end flew the Lord’s colors.
“Shit,” he hissed and teleported behind the house.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cole didn’t know how much time passed before he woke. At first, it was an effort to open his eyes, but his grogginess vanished when he recalled where he was. He pushed himself up against the cool stone and winced when the rocks abraded his regenerating skin.
He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep; he was lucky to wake again. There were countless horrors in this place—and competitors who would gladly kill him while he slept.
But then, it had been days and possibly weeks since the last time he slept. It was only a matter of time before exhaustion took over, and with as battered as he’d been, his body required the healing comfort of sleep.
Lifting his hands, he inspected the sand cleaving to the fresh, tender flesh forming over his muscles. It was as soft as a newborn’s and every bit as sensitive when he prodded at it.
His nerve endings were also healing, and they were not happy about it, but then, neither was he. Every move he made caused pins and needles to stab those endings. And once they stabbed, they also twisted and ground around in there for a while.
Despite the fiery agony working its way over his body, he had to figure out how to defeat this trial, if it was a trial. Sleep had helped him heal, but it did nothing to ease his ravenous thirst.
He was about to crawl out of his shelter when the padding sound of footsteps caught his attention. The steps drew nearer until Auberon appeared. The young dark fae ran for the water.
Cole almost shouted a warning to the kid but stopped himself. If he warned Auberon away from the water now, he would have to kill him in the end. No matter what, there could only be one survivor. As determined as he was to win, Cole wasn’t eager to take the life of the young fae.
Besides, he wasn’t positive there was something wrong with the water. He might learn he was the fool and he could have consumed it.
Kneeling at the side of the lake, Auberon held his hands out, and Cole winced. From the tips of his fingers to his wrist, only bone remained on the one hand, and the other was bone to his elbow.
The kid was strong enough to have made it this far—which was a lot farther than Cole assumed he would—but the desert wasn’t kind to him. When Auberon turned his head left and right to take in his surroundings, he revealed that half his face was gone and only bone remained. Somehow, the eye on that side was still in place, but it bulged disconcertingly from its socket.
From his position inside his shelter, Cole didn’t think Auberon could see him, but he suspected he could walk out in the open, and the panicked, brutalized kid still wouldn’t see him. His father never should have volunteered Auberon for this; Cole would make him pay for it when he returned to the Gloaming.
Auberon cupped his skeletal fingers and dipped them into the lake. Cole’s teeth ground back and forth as the young man consumed the lake with the enthusiasm of a dog. Water spilled down his fingers and forearms to splatter on the ground. It must have been taking too long as he gave up drinking from his hands and plunged his face into the lake.
Unlike Cole, nothing of Auberon’s clothes remained. The flesh had been stripped from most of his body, but some remained on his upper thighs and ass. Glimpses of bone peeked through the bloody remains of Auberon’s legs.
Cole swallowed the sand still clogging his mouth as Auberon lifted his head from the lake. Water poured down his face and washed away the sand. Had he denied himself when he could be slurping down water like this kid?
Resting his hand against the cool rocks, Cole drew on the shadows and used them to cloak himself as he slipped from the shelter. Auberon dipped his hands into the water again, but he didn’t bring the liquid to his mouth this time.
Instead, he froze as a shake started in his hands and ran into his arms before racking the rest of his lean frame. Cole frowned as he tried to understand what was happening. Had the kid consumed too much water too fast after not getting any for so long and was having convulsions?
And then, Auberon began to scream—or, at least, Cole assumed it was a scream. The sounds issuing from him were unlike anything Cole ever heard before, and he’d fought in the war. He’d seen the dying, listened to their screams, and done things he’d never believed himself capable of doing, but he’d never heard anything like this.
It was a gurgled, shrill, shrieking sound that brought to mind a bird being plucked of its feathers while the poor creature was still alive. Auberon jerked as he held his hands up before him.
Beneath the glow of the moon that rose while Cole slept, the water glistened on the tips of Auberon’s bony fingers and slid down his arms. Cole didn’t understand what was wrong until bubbles started foaming on the ends of those figures.
Like a sandcastle crumbling beneath the incoming tide, Auberon’s fingers started dissolving at the fingertips. After the tips were gone, the first knuckles crumpled and then onward down to his second knuckles.
With what remained of his fingers, Auberon started clawing at his throat. The skin peeled back from his mouth, and bloody bubbles pooled from his lips before spilling down his chin.
Acid, Cole realized. The water contains acid.
And not just any acid, but an acid that ate whoever consumed it. Disgust and fury churned in Cole’s gut as he watched Auberon melting like he was the wicked witch someone threw water on. He wanted to look away; he didn’t.
He could never report the exact details of what happened here, but later, when he told Durin of his son’s death, he would make sure the man knew his son suffered a horrible fate. He wasn’t sure it would matter to Durin, but it mattered to him.
He watched until all that remained of Auberon was a foaming pile of loose bubbles sliding toward the water. Oh yes, Durin would suffer for his cowardice more than his son, as would Alston for volunteering Eoghan for this.
First he had to figure out a way around the lake, and he didn’t think that would be as easy as taking a stroll around it. He suspected he would find no end to this lake.
Keeping himself cloaked in the shadows, Cole walked to the edge of the lake. If Aelfdane was nearby, he might sense his presence, but he wouldn’t see him.
A more powerful dark fae than him would see him, but Aelfdane was not more powerful, and Cole didn’t see or sense him anywhere nearby.
Maybe the sand had taken care of Aelfdane, or perhaps he was ahead of Cole in the trials. Either way, Cole had to figure out how to cross the lake without becoming the Wicked Witch of the West.