Page 7 of Born of Starlight
“Sorry—no. I have not felt what the King speaks of. Do you think there is merit to his claims—that the Wastelands will rise, that the realm…Henosis will fall?”
Firose eyed me carefully as she stirred sugar daintily into her cup. “I never said the realm would fall.”
I didn’t lie often and it didn’t come easily.
Luckily, when speaking to Firose, my words were often clumsy.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t have made assumptions…but do you worry his night terrors may be something more? Something to worry about?”
Firose seemed satisfied with my deflection as she sat back in her chair and shook her head slowly.
“I have no reason to think any magic will rise in the realm. The Wasteland wards have been strong for centuries. He is an old immortal growing weary with death.” Firose stood. “Thank you, Asterie. I do appreciate that we can speak openly like this.”
I was dismissed.Thank the Sources.
Before I got to the door, Firose spoke. “Asterie”—she waited for me to turn—“it would be best if you do not tell the others about this. I don’t want to worry them unnecessarily.”
I nodded my commitment. Firose smiled sweetly back at me as if to say, “You’ve done well.”My heart sang with her unspoken praise.
I quickly left the room, dodging the sleeping Lynx that still dozed in the hall before launching myself into the Egress. My hands grasped the cold stones as if they might bring back my sense of balance.
The thought of the dying King of the North Corridor plagued my mind. I was unable to shake the feeling that maybe the Sun King’s night terrors mirrored my own. It was enough to solidify one decision.
I needed to find the right path—a way to avoid whatever darkness loomed over the realm of Henosis.
Chapter3
Fenris
It was a clear-skied afternoon. The humidity had finally let up, and a warm breeze swayed the canopy of trees in the woods. A rabbit sat a few yards away, whiskers flickering, unknowingly awaiting death. My bow was raised—string pulled taught.
A rustling in the trees beyond the rabbit startled it, and the rabbit bounded off into the dense forest thicket.
“Fuck,” I growled.
I didn’tneedthe rabbit. I had venison that was not yet spoiled back at the cabin, but I was just so damn tired of eating the same thing daily. Plus, it was rare to find pheasant this deep in the woods, and fishing was so tedious. Not to mention, I was never a skilled fisherman—which is likely why I hated it so much. Petty as it was, failure left me in a foul mood.
When the rustling in the trees didn’t subside, my aim turned to the treeline—something was back there.Something big.Taking shelter behind a giant redwood, I kept my bow pointed in the direction of breaking branches.
Dark creatures had been breaking free of the Wastelands with greater frequency. It was becoming a weekly occurrence. The screams of a Banshee had awoken me late last night. I’d lain awake until it had passed, unworried. Its howls into the night couldn’t signal the death of my loved ones, as no such people existed.
When the rat-like nose of a Lynx poked from the brush, my blood ran cold. The Lynx wasn’t alone. Three more feline forms prowled behind it. Lowering my bow and flattening myself to the tree, I faced away from the direction they were traveling. Not because I feared the beast but because I feared why it might be here and who might be trailing it.
Shit.
Their noses were to the ground, rustling the leaves. I hoped they would not pick up my scent and made quick work of whispering a cloaking charm.
Hearing those guttural snarls brought me back to my days spent in the Brennac Court. Those fierce creatures protected the gates of the palace. Children feared them enough to take the longer route home to not pass by the palace guards.
There was only one person who might still keep Lynx.
I steadied my breathing and remained utterly still. The Lynx’s senses were dull compared to most predators—poor eyesight and low-tracking abilities. Their hearing, however, was impeccable.
Their steps grew farther away into the brush.
The Lynx were headed toward the Wastelands.What the fuck for?
In four hundred years, I’d not seen Lynx in these woods.
