“It’s getting late; stay and help me with the fire,” Haern said as he cracked a branch over his knee. High above, the sun was beginning its descent, heading toward the long row of hills that lined the horizon. All around were tall grass plains, dotted by scattered trees and the occasional bump of hill.
“I still have an hour, at least,” Delysia said. “I believe I saw a raspberry patch just off the path, and I’d love to have something else to eat tonight.”
“Thren might come back with a rabbit or squirrel,” Haern said.
“If he does, then we’ll make it a feast,” she said, grabbing a small basket and taking it with her.
It was clear he didn’t like seeing her venture off on her own, but though she’d never say it to his face, she was getting tired of his protective gaze, his constant presence. Even the little things, such as how he always made sure he slept with his bedroll between her and Thren, added up like tiny needles pressing into her skin. He wanted to keep her safe, she knew, but it also meant he didn’t trust her to stay safe on her own.
Delysia glanced to her fingers as she bounced down the hill. A moment’s prayer, and a bit of white glimmered on her fingertips. Someday, she might have to remind Haern how capable she actually was. At least he wasn’t as bad as her brother. No doubt Tarlak would have eventually cracked and just teleported her back home to Veldaren while she slept. That he hadn’t done so already showed how much he trusted Haern, or how busy he was with other events. Given the state of the city when she left, her instincts said it was more the latter than the former.
With a shake of her head, she scattered such thoughts. The weather was fine, the sunset a beautiful mixture of red and yellow, and she would not dwell on such frustrations. When she reached where the path veered right to slice through the center of two adjacent hills, she pushed off the path toward the thick set of bushes she saw several hundred feet away. As she neared, a smile spread across her face. She’d been right. They were raspberries and perfectly ripe. The first bush she reached, she yanked off several, popped them in her mouth, and squeezed out the juices with her tongue.
“You can keep your squirrel,” she said, picking several more and filling her mouth. “Nothing is better than this.”
After another minute of indulging, as well as staining the tips of her fingers purple, she grabbed the basket she’d brought with her and began to fill it. The berries would only last for a day at most, but as with every time she picked a basketful during their journey, their moods would lighten considerably. She began to hum a song, focusing on picking faster to ensure the basket would be full before the sun could set completely. So focused, in fact, she did not hear the sound of footsteps through the bushes.
“This patch was well hidden by the tall grass,” said Thren Felhorn behind her. “I’m surprised you were able to see it.”
Delysia tensed on instinct, then quickly recovered. She felt foolish for behaving so, but there was always a seriousness to Thren’s tone that made it impossible to feel at ease. Trying not to show how flustered she’d been, she grabbed the basket and turned to face him. He stood with his head cocked to the side, a curious look on his face. In his right hand, he held a rabbit by the legs, blood running down the brown fur and dripping drop after drop from the creature’s mouth, which was locked open in death. In Thren’s left hand, he held the slender blade that had performed the killing.
“I guess I have an eye for these things,” she said.
“I have an eye for things, too,” Thren said, and he looked to the rabbit. “Where to hide. How to tell a lie. How to kill.”
He only wants to intimidate you, she told herself. As if the blood and knife were nothing, she turned back to the raspberry bush in front of her.
“A shame yours won’t keep us fed tonight,” she said.
“I disagree, or did you not notice the rabbit?”
She glanced over her shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, as if it were new to her. “So you did. Haern should have a fire ready, and he can start cooking it if you bring it to him.”
It was a subtle attempt to guide him away from her, to show she was not afraid of his presence but still wanted him gone. Instead, he remained standing there, and the longer he did, the more the bloody dagger occupied her mind. The sounds she made as she gathered, the scraping of her feet on the dirt, the rustle of bushes with their thorns, failed to fill the silence between them as he stared.
“I remember you,” Thren said, and Delysia’s heart stopped.
“Is that so?” she asked, keeping her back to him.
“Your name is first what felt familiar, has been ever since I learned the Watcher was staying with your mercenaries. But then I saw your face … and now I see your back. You were younger then, when I put an arrow through it. You should be dead, priestess, just like your father.”
She put the basket down before her, slowly rose to her feet. She wiped the raspberry juices on the lowest part of her dress, turned to face him. Thren Felhorn stood mere feet away, dagger in one hand, dead thing in the other, and never before had Delysia seen someone so perfectly encapsulated by a single image such as then.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” she said, proud there was no quiver in her voice. “But someone took me to Ashhur’s temple for healing, and it’d have been rude of me to die on them after such a risk.”
“You were corrupting my son,” Thren said.
“I was saving him.”
“The only thing he needed saving from was you.”
“I was but a child and had only my words,” she said, meeting his cold stare. “Yet still you were frightened of me. But I guess you should know how much power there can be in words.”
She felt electricity building in the air around her, felt her power growing in her chest and sliding down into her fingers. Whatever Thren tried, she would be ready. Even if he killed her, she would not die without striking back.
He took another step, bringing him dangerously close. She could smell the blood dripping from the rabbit, almost taste the coppery liquid on her tongue.
“Because of you, I lost my son Aaron forever,” he said. “I won’t let that happen with the Watcher. Go home, Delysia. Go, and leave him far behind. He’s beyond needing your weak morality, your false teachings. I know what he is, and what he can become, far better than you do. It’s time to let the beast within go unchained so all of Dezrel may cower before his blades. You cost me a son. Don’t cost me an heir, not if you want to live.”
“I’m not leaving, Thren,” she said, and she prepared for an attack. “I’m staying at his side. I won’t let you have him.”
Light sparked from her fingertips, but if he was afraid, he showed no sign of it.
“You mistake my kindness,” Thren said, leaning in close so his cheek was brushing against hers, so that his lips were whispering into her ear. “Leave now, or pay the price for staying. Don’t you see? It won’t be by my hand that you suffer. Keep that in mind when you make your choice.”
And with that he left, casually strolling back toward the road, rabbit swinging in his right hand. As he faded from sight, Delysia dropped to her knees, letting out a breath she never realized she’d been holding. With both hands, she grabbed the basket’s handle, and she held it as she tried to regain her composure.
He’s a madman, she told herself. Mad, absolutely mad, and he won’t stop until Haern’s just like him.
It seemed the whole world stopped, the soft wind blowing through the field becoming still as the realization hit her like a stone to her chest.
Just like him …
Thren knew. The Watcher wasn’t an enigma, a foe, a counter to his Spider Guild. No, he had to know, for why else would he be so defensive? Why else would he fear her influence so powerfully?