Hylios.
I have heard that name before, from the innkeeper in Vintare who gave me her niece’s cloak. What was it she said?
She left it behind when she moved to Llyr last spring. No need for fur in Hylios, that’s for sure.
Llyr.
Hylios is in Llyr.
I glance at my companion as new questions about his identity bloom within me, but his blue gaze is fixed toward the stables. A groom is leading a great black stallion from them. The horse appears to be fighting every step, pulling at his bridle and baring his teeth, his head swinging as his brays echo off the keep.
“Onyx!” I call.
His head swings around at the sound of my voice. His glossy black eyes fix upon me, and the braying stops. I walk to him, hand extended, and stroke his velvet nose when it butts against mypalm. He is tacked to ride. My bow and quiver are right where I left them, strapped in place behind his saddle.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whisper, dropping my forehead against his neck. “It’s over now. Penn is here. He’s come for us.”
A sharp cough calls my attention back to the man standing beside me. “Your belongings are in the saddlebags. Dagger and all.”
I nod.
“Here—put this on.”
I haven’t noticed the cloak in his hands until he lifts it toward me. It is a deep shade of blue, nearly midnight. The material is a rich, warm velvet. I do not put up a fuss as he wraps it around my shoulders. It’s cold in the courtyard; the ride will be even colder, especially once the sun drops below the horizon.
His hands linger for a moment at the neck clasp as he stares down into my face. With a gentleness that makes my breath catch, he reaches beneath the curtain of my hair and frees it from the heavy fabric.
“The next time you nearly kill yourself channeling power you scarcely comprehend,” he murmurs, “at least the blood won’t show.”
I almost smile. “Fantastic.”
His hands are still at my collar. “It would be a shame, you dying on me so soon.” His voice drops so low, I’m no longer sure he’s speaking to me. “A few hours of conversation in exchange for seventy years of waiting? Hardly seems a fair trade. Then again, the God of Luck has always been a fickle bastard.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I respond anyway. “Perhaps you might have better outcomes where the gods are concerned if you’d refrain from insulting them.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “And whom would you have me appeal to, little skylark? The God of Death?” He pauses and,as I watch, every trace of humor bleeds out of his expression. His tone grows oddly serious. “No. The Goddess of Fate, I think, is the one I owe thanks for this rather interesting turn of events.”
I swallow hard against the sudden lump in my throat, trying—and failing—to formulate a clever retort. Our faces are already quite close, yet he leans in closer still, until all I can see are the perfectly symmetrical planes of his face—those cutting cheekbones, like blades beneath his golden skin. Those sardonic brows atypically furrowed. That smirking mouth momentarily sober. And those eyes—two devouring oceans, so deep they threaten to swallow me where I stand.
Every muscle in my body goes utterly still in response to his proximity. Like the hapless prey that has wandered far too near a deadly predator, I freeze when it would be smarter to flee. I feel excruciatingly aware of his nearness; searingly sensitive to the flex of his hands against my cloak collar as his fingers tighten in the fur.
My heartbeat picks up speed as the moment lingers on, neither of us saying anything. I want to shatter the strange tension, but I am too tongue-tied to speak. Our stares are locked together with a magnetism I do not even attempt to escape. I know, without trying, it will be futile. A fool’s errand.
No one escapes this man, I think, my pulse a deafening roar between my ears.Not unless he wants them to.
“What’s your name?” he asks, finally releasing me—both his grip and his gaze.
I blink, caught off guard as the supercharged air abruptly clears and I can once again pull in a proper breath. My first in far too long. “I’m surprised you care enough to ask.”
“I don’t. It’s just that calling youRemnant of Airseems a tad formal.”
“I don’t expect you’ll have many more occasions to call meanything at all,” I point out. “I doubt we’ll ever see each other again once I depart.”
A soft laugh tumbles from his lips. “Do you?”
It seems safest not to answer.
“If we’re never to see each other again, why would it matter that I know your name?”