Page 191 of Starside

I can imagine he hates his face. He hates being called beautiful. He must have hated it most when it came from my lips.

He has to live. He has to.

But his fever is getting worse. If we don’t get help, he’s going to die.

There are herbs that help with fevers. My mother used to steep tiny, dried pieces of it, kept safe in a tin over generations, when my sister and I were sick. I don’t know if Starside has the same variety … but I have to try.

I quickly fill the pouches from the running water covering the mouth of the cave, then set off into the forest.

This final stretch of the woods isn’t as plentiful as the others. I weave through the foliage, searching for those long, pointed leaves, cursing as the minutes tick by.

Raker might not have much time left. Panic races through my veins as I search wildly. I’m just about to enter a grove, when I hear voices.

I stop, pressing myself to the closest tree.

“Look. Footprints,” someone says, with the smooth tone of an immortal. “They must be close.”

Raker.

I take off in the other direction, going around, running so fast my heart burns with strain, before finally shooting into the cave. Fear grips my chest—then loosens when I see Raker still sleeping undisturbed. But not for long.

They’re faster. It’ll take them just seconds to find us.

I shake him gently. Then more firmly when he doesn’t stir. “Raker,” I say. “Raker, you have to get up. They’re—”

A boot echoes against stone.

I freeze. Slowly, I turn to the mouth of the cave, where a tall, sinewy-muscled immortal is leaning against the wall. He looks amused.

He’s not part of the cavalry, as I first suspected. Yet here he is, having clearly tracked us down.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? It was almost too easy to find you.”

I unsheathe my sword as I rise from the ground. “What do you want?”

“You, of course,” he says. He takes a casual step forward. “Everyone’s after you. There’s a large bounty on your head.” He tilts his head. “And what a pretty head it is.”

Me? No. He must mean my godsword. Though Valen said the same thing.

I grind my teeth, trying to think, trying to come up with a strategy. “Who wants me?” I demand. “Which god?”

His eyes glimmer with hunger. “The God of Death, of course.”

The God of Death. The reason behind the demons. Possibly behind the rot. The god stealing brides. What does he want with me?

“You … I could possibly bring in alive … him … he wants him dead.”

I shoot a look at Raker. He’s still asleep. He’s still far gone … feverish. Weak. This isn’t about our swords, then. It’s about us. Why? I take a step back, studying the man’s footing. His motions. All things I would normally do before a duel.

But he’s immortal. Even with this blade, I don’t stand a chance. I talk, to buy myself time to fucking think. “Why would someone want me?”

A slow smile crawls across the man’s wretched face. He takes his time looking me up and down, and bile slides up my throat. “I can think of a few reasons.” His eyes meet mine again. “As for why someone wants you dead?” He shrugs a shoulder. “As long as the money is good, I don’t ask questions.”

He lunges forward in a flash, and I barely get my sword up in time.

He’s fast. Strong. I gasp as his metal slams against mine. Only the tiniest crack forms across his weapon.

His sword is good. He must have stolen it off someone powerful.