We are exactly one chapter away until Norah and Easton do the talk. Is anyone else excited or nervous to find out what happens? Does Norah forgive him? Is Easton not sorry for what he said??? I guess we have to wait another week.
Norah
Birds sing throughout the forest, perching on the massive branches or diving into the water and coming out with large fish curled within their talons. Gold refracts off the water, a beautiful sight that provides me no ease of mind. It only reminds me that I don't have much longer before darkness falls and I'll have to take my woodpile back to camp -- where Holland is.
Even thinking about returning doesn't feel the same. It never does after opening up, even with minor things. Like he'd never unsee the coward who left her life behind, who left him and Riveta behind because a few people didn't like her. Leaving might have well been a slap to the face for him, a great betrayal for not coming to him.
He only ever wants me to talk with him. To know a little bit about me, even if it's not the prettiest thing in the world or most interesting information. I don't know why I can't do something so simple for him.
Easton will be at camp too. With his piercing green eyes weighing the risk of talking to me, risking the attack of Clarika. It's been a miracle he hasn't lost his temper yet and talked to me, even out here. Part of me wonders if he tried but Holland stopped him.
Maybe it's another sign that what I felt wasn't what he felt. That I was just something he could play with when it suited him. Granted, I had never talked about forming a relationship. I wanted to but then my parents moved to the Island, making everything go wrong, and I certainly wasn't going to pull him aside and talk about the knife hanging over us. Because if everything had been a lie then I definitely wasn't going to bother feeling sad over him. Not when I obviously meant nothing to him.
Numbness had settled deep within me long before I left in search of wood. The dragons were still out and Rima was too busy eating to notice the walls I built to keep her out of my head. To keep her from prodding and knowing what I was thinking about until I was ready.
Sometime during my walk, Squirm leads me to the waterfalls flowing into the lake. They're tall, rising over thirty feet, before flowing into the many creeks below where the water finally joins with the lake. Some of the levels are shallow, jutting with smooth round rocks worn by the rushing current. Others go as deep as my waist, if I had to guess. Squirm likes the shallow ones, where he can flip over the rocks and show off his expert hunting skills to me. When I nod and hum my approval, he drops his catches back into the water and goes to find more. Then he saunters across the creek and disappears beneath the water.
I keep walking up the steep hill, not actually looking for sticks but staring off into space when something taps my shin. Like Holland's gait, I immediately recognize Squirm's nose and look down, expecting to see a new crustacean hanging from his mouth. Only it's not a creature he's brought back.
Blue, glowing strings tangle around him like cobwebs. He runs around my feet, avoiding my attempts to pick him up.
"Squirm, what happened to you?" He just dives into the water, where the blue strings drift into the waterfall. He runs off back in the direction he came. I chase after him with a frustrated growl, the water freezing beneath my feet.
He leads me across the creek, down a hill where the rocks rise up on both sides like walls. Cold, humid air fills my lungs, infused with a musty, mossy smell as I climb down the giant rocks blanketed in plush moss. I mind the slickness and try to get a look at the giant cavern Squirms led me into.
"Squirm, I swear to gods..." I will turn you into a coat. "Get over here before Holland finds out."
He stops at a still, green pond that consumes most of the giant cavern. It curls into a crescent, running from end to end of the cave. With the sunlight behind me and the hundreds of glowing strings dangling from the cavern and on the wall and ground, I can see the underwater tunnel poking just a few inches above water level.
Squirm ventures toward the murky water. I hiss at him and he saunters back to my side and follows me up the rocks and back into the forest. "Holland would be beyond pissed if I pushed my luck today. No more caves. Besides, with my luck, we'd find some Squirm-eating monster in there and I rather enjoy your presence."
He whines, leaping over a fallen log before I scoop him up and cover his mouth. A curse runs through my head as Easton's voice sounds from the camp, quiet but still loud enough to hear. Obviously Clarika isn't near if he's talking about me.
"I have no idea why she's mad at me," he says. "I've given her space and everything and she still won't talk."
"Really?" Holland drawls, incredulously. "Nothing at all comes to mind?"
"She's not mad about the arena-"
"That makes one of us," Holland mutters.
I resist kicking the tree I pressed myself against, if only because that would hurt it. The thoughts make me stop and frown. I really am a common person.
There is a moment of silence then Easton clears his throat. "She's mad at something else," he says carefully, tensely. "She told me -- very subtly."
Footsteps sound near them, followed by a scoff cold enough to make them stop talking. I feel rather than see them tense. "For a dragon rider, you're not very observant, little prince." Her words bite more than usual and before Holland can snap at her, she says, "She has a right to be mad, and you are lucky she is so nice or I could've made your life a living hell."
Holland growls a retort but Clarika continues as if he hadn't said anything. Her voice turns silky smooth, calm, and calculating. It's the voice of our mother. "You honestly can't think of any reason why a 'mage apple who doesn't fall far from the tree' would be angry at you?"
Silence.
My stomach twists into knots like a snake strangling its victim. Tension hangs thick in the air, wrapping around my neck like a noose. My heart pounds in my ears, my throat, and my chest until I can't think or breathe. I brace myself against the tree to keep from swaying, barely feeling Squirm wiggling in my arms.
I can picture the smirk on her face as Clarika continues. "They certainly don't make those dorm walls like they used to, do they?"
A beat of thick silence passes before Holland sighs, the sound rippling with disappointment. But his words are low and clipped. "I don't know exactly what that means, but it better not be what I think it refers to."
Feet scuff against leaves, coming in my direction.
Another problem for another day.
I whirl, the world turning seconds later and stop before slamming into Dagen.
He angles his head, grinning that stupid grin that says he knows everything and no one can do a damn thing about it.
"Hello, love." Heart racing, I glare at him. "What are you doing?" he needles, voice quiet but clear. He even has the nerve to spy around the tree to the pureblood closing in fast. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like you're trying to avoid Dragon Boy."
Leaves and branches crunch, sending my heart tumbling out of my chest. The smile slips from Dagen's face and I try to snuff out the fear from my face. I try to march past him but he grabs me. My fingers dig into the leather of his chest, ready to throw him to the ground when he pushes me into the hollow of a nearby tree.
Every muscle in me goes taut with rage and shock. My back presses into the tree -- the thought of spiders never crossing my mind -- as Dagen wraps his cloak around us, concealing me from sight and wrapping me in his warmth.
I tilt my head back to glare, not sure whether to punch him or say my praise as Easton walks past, never glancing our way, before moving deeper into the forest.
Dagen doesn't say anything, hands never moving from my shoulders. He cocks his head ever so slightly, listening until the footsteps and Holland's growls to Clarika have silenced. "I helped you." His breath is hot against my ear. "Now you owe me one."
Without moving, I stare at him. "You're insufferable."
Those lips spread in a grin wide enough to show most of his white teeth. "No such thing as a free lunch," he says, his lips brushing my ear. "I'd like to call in that favor."
"What is it?"
"I want to know what's up with you and lover boy out there." He pulls away slightly, just enough for me to see into those stormy-grey eyes.
Everyone wants something.
"Fine," I breathe, Squirm still in my arms. "I'll tell you, but not here. It's obvious that people are eavesdropping on other people's business."
Another grin and a hand to his chest that I more feel than see. Especially so close to him. "You wound me," he murmurs. "Where are we off to?"
"Care to join me in exploring a cave?"
-----------------------
The cavern seemed like the safest place to be in order to avoid Easton and whoever might come searching for me. I don't think anyone noticed Dagen gone and I don't think anyone would care if they noticed him gone. It's almost a little sad if I let myself think about it, but Dagen doesn't seem to care.
Once we were both sure no one could hear us, I kept my bargain and explained what the necromancer wanted to know on the walk here. Like any mage, Dagen was absolutely tucking the information away to be put to use in it suited him in the future. I chose my words carefully.
"Why do you care about what Dragon Boy says?" Dagen drops down onto another green rock, his feet never slipping on the slick surface. He turns, watching me from several boulders up before climbing back up with the grace of a cat, as if none of the climbing took any thought.
"I considered him a friend and there are not many people I consider to be friends," I murmur, my voice echoing, mimicking the hollow ache inside me. It's easier to keep my eyes down, focused on the rocks than to see Squirm already waiting for us at the bottom, waiting for us patiently.
A pale hand appears under me, with long nimble fingers. My eyes follow up his arm, meeting grey eyes lit with bored amusement. "You're taking all day."
With tight lips, I take his hand. They're dry and calloused against mine, with the very ends of his fingertips like rough rocks. The hands of a climber, digging your fingertips into tiny grooves in order to pull yourself up.
His eyes go to my lips, searching for something with an unchanging expression.
"Ever the gentleman. Thank you."
A small bow from him, hand over his chest. "You would have fallen without my help." He slides down to the rock below, extending his hand again. His eyes search my face again, noting the frown I've worn all the way here and the pinch between my brows. "With friends like Dragon Boy, who needs bed bugs?"
I huff, a small, pathetic thing of a chuckle but the small line on his forehead disappears. "Speaking of bugs," I say, letting him help me all the way down and onto smooth, pale stone. I wave a hand around to the cave, the giant pond, and the glow worms. "What do you think of my cave?"
He gives it a thorough look over. "It's dark and gloomy." Those eyes slide to me. His lips curl. "Perfect."
I curtsy, plastering on a sweet smile despite how drained I feel. Not physically, but mentally. "I thought you'd like it."
A dramatic hand goes to his chest, face lit in mock surprise. "You thought about me? You move me to tears."
My finger goes to my lip, tapping thoughtfully as I gaze around. "Well, the dark and gloomy background sorta looks like you."
Dagen runs a delicate hand over his cloak before pushing it back behind him to set his hands on narrow hips. His eyes rove over the darkening cavern, how the blue glow from the strings sets every corner into shadows. "I don't think your father will be okay with this."
I snort, though the words I say next feel wrong in my heart. "He's not my father, but," I add. "He's the closest thing to it."
"Family troubles?" He raises a brow lightheartedly, waiting to collect more juicy details.
My eyes roll. "He'll be mad unless he never finds out."
Dagen hums, stalking around the cavern on near-silent feet. Squirm watches him kneel at the far left of the pond, a hand hovering over the underwater tunnel just inches from being completely submerged. "This looks interesting."
He starts peeling off his cloak and moves to his boots.
"You know I can just..." My finger swirls and the water parts.
Dagen huffs like I've destroyed his delightful plans. "Not all of us can bend an element. Besides," he adds. "I was looking forward to the lack of clothing."
My cheeks flush, smile spreading. "For me or for you?" I wink at him.
He returns it, fixing his cloak and grabs a long stick on the ground, reaching for a cluster of the glowing strings and twisting to make a blue torch. Then he beckons me to bend the water. It splits, hitting rock bottom with a layer of settled dirt that's been there for who-knows-how-long. With another flick of my wrist, the water washes over it, taking the ilk away and clouding the still water.
Dagen hops down and I follow before he can reach up for me. He doesn't seem to care and moves deeper into the tunnel where the light cuts off. Squirm trails behind as always, staying by my feet as I keep up with him.
The tunnel glows blue, casting our faces in black shadows. My steps echo softly.
"So." My voice carries through the bubble, our exit sealing off behind water. As we walk, I memorize our path, as I'm sure Dagen's doing, even if the tunnel has no curves. "How does a necromancer end up all the way in Raider City?" If he's inclined to know about me, I should probably know a bit about him. Just in case he doubts me, I add, "Anything you say won't leave the cavern."
"I walked there," he says shortly and doesn't speak further. I don't appreciate when other people push me to speak, so I don't press.
The tunnel is long, endless, and strangely, I don't mind the silence that fills it.
"What's it like being a tribreed?" Dagen asks suddenly, all for knowing more about me but not allowing me the same opportunity with him.
"Hell."
He doesn't push.
I eye him, a mix of anger caressing my back. "Does that not bother you?"
"I don't care what you are," he replies cooly, raising the blue torch higher. "None of that matters to death. You could be the richest man on earth or the poorest, a necromancer or tribreed, and you'd still return to nothing when you die."
"That's strangely easing," I say flatly and mean it. Dagen makes a retort that I barely hear before saying his name. It earns me a side-long look. "Were heading into a frozen tundra and I'm putting runes on everyone's armor, would you like some too?" He doesn't need to know that I've already made up a list for him, but giving him the option to turn it down is something everyone deserves. Even Easton.
"As long as it's not a silence rune, I'm not picky. Do whatever you want," he says. "But since I am coming with you, care to tell me a bit more about The Darkening?"
My stomach drops, muscles tensing. "What about it? It's dead people that run." Suddenly the dark water feels too much like a grave. Like boney hands will reach out and yank me into the abyss.
The necromancer misses nothing. I kick myself for being so careless. "What'd they do to you?" No kindness. No pity. Just blunt, if not bored curiosity.
"Nothing much," I say, but since he's with us, he deserves to know what Thrawlers are and how to kill them. He listens silently, eyes darting from side to side for any tunnels or holes in the cave. I go over how Thrawlers have overtaken entire cities in only a few hours. How the city I grew up in is now half-submerged in seawater and flames, it's streets and homes packed with the undead. I tell him about the tombs, not how I was stupid enough to venture into the beautifully laid trap, but how they waited until no one could leave before cornering us in the catacombs where the statue of death watched. I even tell him about that black cloud I overheard the nobles talking about.
A familiar ache fills my chest. My hand's clench. "Have you ever seen them?"
He shrugs. "A few weeks ago. I was near the beach when I saw some junkie twitching and walking out of the ocean. I didn't do anything because it wasn't any of my business. But when it started attacking the nearest person -- me -- I naturally tried to kill it, like any sane person would. But the thing wouldn't die, even when I cut it into tiny pieces." I eyed the dagger he's always twirling. Something to fill the time or use to comfort. "This Thrawler was basically mush, it's skin peeling away. It wasn't very hard to cram every chopped limb inside a box with a stone and toss it in the ocean."
He mistook my frown for criticism.
"In different locations, obviously," he added, tossing his dagger up and catching it gracefully. "It wasn't my finest work, but it got the job done."
I tucked the information away for later. Holland would want to know that Thrawlers can walk the bottom of oceans now, any body of water. Any city near water would need to adjust their defences, their greatest ally now turned against them. It makes me wonder if Thrawlers rose from the ocean in Belonia.
I didn't smile and didn't apologize for him having to go through that, mostly because I think he wouldn't want it. I certainly wouldn't. But I asked, "Why did you want to come with us?"
He scoffs as if his answer was obvious. "The dead are running, it's not natural-" he jabs a finger at me before I can retort. "-even for a necromancer. Besides, those things are coming to this chunk of land and I'm one of the morons who lives here. Being torn apart isn't on my bucket list -- not quite yet," he adds with a wink.
The water stops, meeting smooth algae-covered stone. Dagen walks forward, tilting his head back to try and see the ledge. I push my hands apart and expose us to the musty, humid air. Multicolored lights create a rainbow of colors along the ceiling. Apparently, the open cavern had only been blue.
Dagen hands me the torch and steps back to get a running start. His boots barely scraped the wall before he's up and looking down at me with a roguish grin. He picks off the invisible lint on his cloak and reaches down for my hand. "You can say it. It was incredibly majestic."
I roll my eyes, waving a hand to form stairs made of ice. Squirm went up first, scouting the small cavern. Dagen wiped his hands on his black clothes, where leather wasn't covering the lean muscle of his stomach. Not built like the mountainous dragon riders back at camp, but leaner. Lighter. Like his body knew he'd spend his days leaping up walls and probably between buildings to get to his hands into the perfect pockets.
My eyes widen as I take in the small cavern. Colors from neon pink to purple hung from the cavern's ceiling and mushrooms with large caps were an iridescent white. Thousands and thousands of them yet my eyes drew to the near-perfect round pool a few feet away. Every color imaginable was within it. Silver. Black. Pinks and blues.
A galaxy of lights that I wanted to dip into, despite whatever effects it could have.
"What do you think it's made out of?" I breathe, kneeling to run my hands through it. Not water, but something smoother, thicker. Not oil, but something purer, thinner. Like being wrapped in warm silk.
His accent seemed thicker as he says, "Probably worm poop."
I grimace, starting to retract my hand when liquid splatters across my face. Closing my eyes, I sigh, pretending to be much more annoyed than I feel, and level a flat look at Dagen. He smirks, fingers dripping with the fluorescent liquid.
That grin turns roguish as he tilts his head. "Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?"
The numbness slowly fades with the joke, even as I try to sound more annoyed than I feel. My lips press together. "No, tell me."
He opens his mouth with a point to do just that but I splash him, laughing as he chokes on the taste. He spits into the pond, sneering at me. "Laugh while you can, Popsicle, but you have to sleep sometime."
I sneer, ready with a retort when a very colorful Squirm pulls himself out of the pool. My eyes widen. "Squirm!"
A deep chuckle reverberates through the cavern, as smooth as night. My eyes find Dagen, his smile and eyes refracting the pool's alluring colors and lit with genuine amusement. Not the one that's guarded and doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Squirm shakes. Colors fly.
Dagen curses violently, using his cloak to shield him but he's too slow.
I laugh, blocking the spray until Squirm stops and nudges the inside of my palm. I'm still laughing as I try to use my abilities to pull off the liquid. Nothing bends or moves so I settle for pulling him away from the pool.
Dagen wipes his face, smearing the velvety liquid from cheek to chin. He doesn't seem so amused now but I sure do.
I clamp my lips together, trying not to laugh. "Rainbow not your color?"
He sneers, face scrunching. "No, it's not. And you look just as bad, tribreed."
My lips wobble. "I look amazing and you're just jealous because you don't look as good." Standing, I extend my hand. "Shall we go back?"
---------------
Clarika was the first to notice. Nothing in her expression changed but she did set down whatever papers were in her hands. "Did you fall into a rainbow?" Her words were cold, underlying boredom.
I shrug gracefully, giving her a look over my shoulder. "Nice to see you too."
"I -- I can't." Holland starts, sitting on a rock by the fire, elbows on his knees. "I can't leave you alone. I'm done. I -- I just -- I can't." He straightens, face flushed from scrubbing at his face. "Because only you would find glitter in a forest."
"I'm here too," Dagen says matter-of-factly. "Not everything's about Norah."
"Yeah, but you're not my responsibility." He doesn't even hesitate and I almost feel a bit bad for the necromancer. The words don't seem to bother him, though. He yawns and picks off phantom lint from his shoulder.
Dagen looks at me. "Do you think this washes out?"
"Would you be hurt if it didn't, Necromancer?" Icy, flat words. Clarika leans into her tree, crossing a leg over the other and rests her hands on her lean thighs.
"I see Norah got all the nice genetics." He says flatly and starts toward the lake.
Clarika fixes Holland with a look. He pointedly ignores her.
Adam sits by the fire, eyes lit with curiosity. "What happened? You guys weren't attacked by some glitter monster, right? I'm pretty sure we would have heard screaming."
"Squirm found a cave with a bunch of glow worms." I run a hand over my stomach and try to flick off the liquid coating my fingers, my chest, face, and legs. Indeed, I looked remarkably like a painting. "And then we found a pool and Squirm swam in it and decided to shake right in front of us."
By now the sun has begun to set, casting the sky in pinks, blues, and purples. Squirm trots into the water. Colors ripple around him, the silky liquid floating like oil.
In front of me, Clarika's cold expression drops into a glare, a very smug one. "How was your hike, prince?"
I turn, wiping any emotion from my face. Easton stops just barely out of the forest. His eyes rove over me, taking in the fancy new colors. Then move behind me to Dagen. Every muscle in him goes rigid, eyes snapping to me with hurt and anger.
It's not hard to see his thoughts. "Squirm found a cave. Nothing happened."
Holland stands before Easton can say anything, waving to all our tents. "Everyone to bed. We're leaving bright and early tomorrow morning."
To my surprise, the dragon rider who never questions his former instructor's orders, opens his mouth to object, his hands clenched into fists. Holland shoots Easton a look before he can even gets a word in, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Nothing happened. Norah. Dagen, wash that stuff off and get to sleep."