Page 114 of This Dark Descent
It took some searching to find where Damien’s horse had run off to. He led it back to where Rezek lay slumped, then hoisted the man across the horse’s back like a sack of grain. He gritted his teeth, and Ari’s eyes locked on the bullet wound. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, considering Hyle’s body. It was Enderlishcustom to bury the bodies of the departed, but what did Damien owe him now? The consideration on his face said something, but in the end, he turned away.
“Let’s go.” She offered him a hand up. He took it, swinging into the saddle behind her. Her clothes were wet from the rain, but her body was hot from the fight, and she was incredibly aware of every inch of him that pressed against her.
Damien leaned over to grab his horse’s reins as Ari looked upon Rezek. She felt her magic rise, felt the presence that lurked in the back of her mind.
“He’ll get what he’s owed,” Damien promised her. She turned to look at him, her back pressing into his chest.
“I know,” she said simply. “I’ll make sure of it.”
His lips met hers, and she leaned into the kiss as the rain fell.
CHAPTER 43
MIKIRA
MIKIRA HUDDLED AGAINSTthe ground. Over the whirring of the rain, she heard the thud of boots in mud, and then someone was beside her, calling her name. She only stared at her red-coated hands as though they didn’t belong to her.
“Mikira?” Reid tried again, reaching for her.
“I—I think I killed him.” She stared at Gren’s corpse, the knife hilt still sticking out of his chest.
“It’s okay,” Reid said softly, but she only shook her head.
“I killed him,” she said again.
“By the looks of it, he tried to kill you first.” Reid swung in front of her, taking her bloodstained hands. “Listen to me, Mikira. The race is almost over. You can’t let this stop you. You’re so close.”
Mikira stared at him. Slowly, his words settled, and her heaving breaths slowed. It wasn’t over. Not unless she fell to pieces right here.
Reid went to pull her to her feet, but she cried out at the pain from her shoulder. Cursing, he knelt beside her and pulled a small container from his pocket. “This will numb the pain, but this needs to be tended to as soon as you return.”
She barely felt him smear the wound with salve, barely felt him guide her to her feet. “Where’s Atara?”
The horse’s name snapped Mikira back to herself. “In the grass. Gren—” She broke off, sprinting for an area of long grass that lay flattened. “Atara!”
The horse whinnied back, lifting her head. Mikira dropped to her knees beside her, prying at the ropes tangled in Atara’s legs. Reid joined her, pulling his pocketknife free to shear through them. Atara scrambled upright, tossing her head indignantly.
“You’re okay,” Mikira breathed in relief, even as her heart clenched at the sight of the mare’s bloodied snout.
Reid snapped his knife shut and marched over to Gren, reaching for the blade in his chest. “Don’t touch that!” Mikira yelled.
Reid froze with his fingers over the hilt of the blade. Mikira sprinted over and yanked the knife free, staring at it for a protracted moment. It had been like the blade had a mind of its own. Ari had said bloodstones created links, and the moment her blood had touched it, something had snapped into place between her and the knives, a thrumming she could still feel but didn’t understand. What kind of enchantment was this?
Later, she told herself, and snatched the second knife from Gren’s hip. She sheathed the first and handed both to Reid. “I can’t have these.”
Reid’s fingers closed around the sheaths. “Mikira—”
“Not now.” She swung up into Atara’s saddle and stopped at the sight of Iri’s still form. The long grass bent over him in the wind, the rain darkening his coat until she could almost convince herself it was another horse, and not the remains of her heart shattered against the earth.
“I’ll take care of him.” Reid’s voice reeled her into the present. She stared at him in silence, and he looked back at her with pleading eyes. In them she read a hundred questions she couldn’t answer, trapped between want and reality, truth and lie. Enemy and friend.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then they were off.
Mikira had never ridden so hard in her life. Atara’s long legs ate upground. They left the Traveler’s Road behind, cutting straight for Kelbra Manor across ground turned muddy and uneven by the storm. Rain pelted her face and wind tore at her hair as they raced faster, faster, faster.
There was no telling where the other racers had come out and when. Gren’s interference had taken mere minutes, but that could be the difference between victory and the loss of everything dear to her.
