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  The sentinel turned, addressing the rest of the expedition. “We leave at once. We must get the dead and wounded to Feathermoon by the fourth moon.”

  Syndra raised an eyebrow as she dug into the ash, pulling several small acorns into her pack. “What are you a professor of, Lady Caro?”

  Celien blinked and shook her head, unprepared for the question. “Profess…oh. I’m a scientist. Well, that is to say, I prove things through experience, using the senses.”

  Syndra’s eyebrow curled even higher, obviously confused by the description. “So, you study—what you can see?”

  Celien laughed lightly, nodding in approval. “Yes, you could say that. It’s a new way of studying the…”

  “Is it?” Syndra interrupted, her face locked in confusion. “Would you say your studies shape your beliefs, Professor? Like a faith?”

  Celien shrugged her shoulders and nodded in agreement. “Well, yes, I have never called it faith, but I suppose…” her smile faded and her expression grew curious as well, mirroring the sentinel. “Why do you ask?”

  Syndra pointed beyond the eastern horizon, against the rising sun and the mist that swirled through the valley. “Professor, you’ve come to study the mist—to learn its secrets. It moves between the shadows. It hunts. It feeds. It devours. It destroyed my world, and it’s coming for yours. It wants something, and it will not stop until it finds it.”

  Celien scoffed, hoping to conceal her thoughts from the sentinel. “You speak as though it’s intelligent. Like it’s some kind of creature.”

  Syndra snapped her gaze to Celien, her silver eyes imploring her to understand. “It is not a creature. It is pain. It is evil. It is a hunger never sated, and a thirst never quenched.”

  She moved toward her horse, grabbing her pack. Syndra whispered under her breath as she passed by Celien. “Be prepared, Professor. Your faith will be tested.”

  The camp gathered their belongings while Celien stood silent, studying the sentinel’s words. The expedition mounted and began the slow trek down the bluff, deep into the valley. One by one, riders faded into obscurity, their forms blending into the cloud of swirling mist. Celien joined her husband and her curious young daughter, both desperate for details about the conversation with the Myyrh Sentinel.

  Marina spoke the loudest, eager to get her questions answered first. “What was she like? What did she say? Is she scary?”

  Celien elicited a genuine smile, enough to satisfy the curious eyes of her daughter, but not enough to convince her husband. They looked to the front of the caravan, and the sleek, armored silhouette riding at the head of the expedition.

  The boyish smile faded from Eramus’s face, his demeanor more troubled. “Celien?” he asked with urgency. “What did she tell you?”

  Celien’s focus stayed on the sentinel as she faded into the mist, passing under a rocky bluff. She heard her family’s questions, but she could do no more than process the answers given moments ago.

  “Celien,” Eramus demanded, his smooth voice cracking. “Why do we only have three more days to get the dead to Feathermoon?”

  Celien and her family joined the expedition, pressing forward. They descended into the mist, the light of the morning fading into shadow. A cold breeze swept around the base of the bluff, pelting Celien with flakes of frozen ash. She pondered Syndra’s words and closed her eyes, feeling the mist and the wind’s constant assault.

  A chill crept up Celien’s back, and gooseflesh formed across her arms. She turned back to the large bluff and the billowing blue smoke that erupted from the fallen sabre’s carcass.

  “Celien?” Eramus asked again, increasing in intensity.

  Marina grew worried, at her father’s voice, and her mother’s silence. “Mother?”

  Celien turned to her family, their faces slowly obscuring as dense fog crept between them. Her face flushed of color, and horror took hold in her thoughts.

  “It’s alive.”

  Eramus peered back to the same billowing smoke, then to Celien and Marina, his face contorted in confusion. “The sabre? Well…”

  “No!” Celien shouted, muffling her voice from the rest of the expedition. The winds picked up as they dove deeper into the valley. Shadows danced around her family as blowing bits of ash concealed their faces more and more with each step.

  “Then what, Celien?” Eramus bellowed. “What’s alive?”

  Celien turned into the wind as frozen fragments pelted against her face. Tears welled up against her eyes, then froze in place while grim thoughts invaded her mind. She spoke, no louder than a whisper, her words immediately drowned by the frigid gusts.

  “The mist.”

  | Chapter IX

  Monster in the Midst

  Ava awakened, her heart pounding in her chest. She labored for air, angling toward the warmth of the ancient fireplace. Within moments, her pulse returned, along with the gasp of air she so desperately longed for. Ava listened for the voices, but there were none.

  The only voices left in the tavern were hushed whispers and a gentle rumble of disbelief. As Ava rolled onto her knees, she became aware of the deafening silence. The cries of pain had all left the room. All that remained was the subtle movements of people behind her vision and their damnable whispers.

  The morning sun peeked through the clouds, bursting through the giant windows of the bay. The sun had passed over the grotesque dragon statue, drifting high into the afternoon sky.

  How long was I out? She wondered.

  Before her, crouched against the old, stained rock, was Dari. He tugged against his dirty, yellow headband and looked upon Ava in shock, backing away as her eyes focused on him. His face was red and swollen, and his terrified expression sent a chill up her spine. Ava extended a hand, reaching for Dari, but he only recoiled further against the rock. He closed his eyes and covered his face, curling his knees to his chin.

  “Oh, Dari. Don’t be afraid,” Ava whispered, but there was no response.

  The hushed murmur behind Ava grew louder. She turned to see the belly of the Guilded Wyrmling Inn lined with wounded, disheveled citizens of Wyvern’s Rest. They were all coated in a thin layer of dust. They all wore the same, horrified expression, and they all stared wordlessly at Ava.

  She turned to face them, rising to her bare, cracked feet. Dried wine and blood coated Ava’s skin, now mixed with dust and ash. Her tunic hung limply from her shoulder, way too wide and not nearly long enough. Lines of tears stained her face, and clumps of hair clung to each side. She knew she looked like something spawned from a nightmare.

  Ava despised the stares and condemned the silence.

  She belted back in their direction, “What are you staring at?”

  The crowd responded with silence, and a giant step backward. Ava’s arms fell to her side, and she let loose a long, exaggerated sigh. She tugged at the hem of her tunic, then raised her hands to the wounded and bleeding among them.

  “What do you want from me?!”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to Dari, who was still cowering against the giant fireplace. She stepped forward and lowered herself, crouching on a knee. With her arm outstretched, she begged of the terrified child.

  “Please, Dari. Tell me what’s wrong?”

  Dari resisted, then relaxed his arms, pointing to the open windows behind him. Their wooden supports were splintered and blown out toward the old market. The few shutters that remained had blown off their hinges, dangling in the breeze at an obscene angle. The small glass portals to the sea were gone, leaving only a few, jagged reminders they had existed at all.

  Ava peered out the seaside windows, taking in the scent of cinnamon and stale bread. Her eyes traced their empty, fractured frames, Dari’s gesture still holding its mystery. Her gaze drifted to the adjacent wall, then to the opposite end of the tavern. All had splintered window frames; all were empty.

  Ava turned to Dari, puzzled. “The windows are broken?”

  She formed the question, unconvinced that
would be enough to frighten a child, along with the entire complement of civilians inside.

  To her surprise, Dari nodded.

  “Okay, the windows are broken,” Ava said, sliding closer.

  Dari immediately brought his knees to his chest and tucked his arms, refusing to take his eyes from her.

  Ava stiffened and slowly retreated. “Okay, then. I understand.”

  But she didn’t.

  The tremors broke the windows, she thought, then looked out into the courtyard and the desolate market. And most of the city too, it seems.

  She knelt before Dari, dropping to both knees.

  “You’re scared because—the windows are broken?” she stated again, more of a confirmation to herself than the cowering young boy.

  Dari nodded.

  “Broken—by the tremors?” Ava questioned, still unsure where this was going.

  Dari shook his head. No.

  Ava’s expression grew confused once more. ”The—quake—didn’t break these?” she asked, lifting her hands to the walls.

  Again, Dari shook his head.

  Her arms collapsed to her side. She rolled her eyes, letting her impatience show. Dari recoiled, as did several civilians to each side. Ava panned the room. Her eyes looked beyond the terrified faces, now bathed in shadow. Darkness had cloaked the inn while the morning sun poured through the shattered seaside windows.

  Ava’s gaze darted to the oil lanterns lining the walls, their glass shattered, their flames doused. Her gaze shot to nearby tables, only to see broken candles, some sheered in half, many missing entirely. Drops of wax had seeped through the wooden cracks, leaking around tiny shards of glass, most no larger than a grain of sand. The tavern looked as though an explosion had gone off, centered around Ava. Tables had overturned and wooden planks scattered across the floor.

  Ava gasped as fear took hold. Her shoulders sank, and she slumped onto the floor. Her eyes fell to her palms, seeking comprehension. Even as the sun poured through the vacant window frame, Ava’s mind fell to a darker place.

  I did this?

  With tears in her eyes, Ava lifted her head to the young child.

  “It was me?”

  Dari hid his face behind his knees and nodded.

  Ava raised her hands to her face, shielding the judgmental gazes, hoping her nightmare would soon end. A shallow, broken voice shattered the silence, the feeble whisper of a brittle man.

  “You have the tongue, child.”

  Ava turned to the voice. Lazarus sat calm, taking the form of the elder she had known all these years. He rocked gently against the bench, warmed by the colossal fireplace; though, he appeared significantly younger than she remembered. Ava glanced around, not sure the voice’s origin. Her brow furrowed, questioning his words.

  She crawled to him, scooping his hands into hers, staring into his unfocused, pale eyes. The rabid murmur of the crowd grew to one of contempt. Inquisitive stares became scowls as malice seemed to take hold in the hearts of the onlookers. Spiteful curses rang out.

  “She caused this!”

  “It’s her fault!”

  “She’s a monster!”

  “No!” Ava shot to her feet, daring them to fire another insult. Her lethal gaze scanned the sea of faces. In unison, the crowd gasped, and their defiance quickly faltered. She held her gaze, waiting for the next challenger. In time, one would step forward.

  A towering figure stood and pressed through the crowd, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Elaborate tattoos covered his bare chest and braided, black hair cascaded down his back. Lines of ink traced across his cheeks, submerging his eyes in pits of darkness. The floor beneath Ava trembled with each step as the hulk of a man stepped forward.

  The Huntsmen were no stranger to Wyvern’s Rest and were certainly no stranger to the inside of a tavern. They were often seen in the belly of an inn and were often heard long before they were seen. In most cases, they were smelled long before they were heard. Their leader, known only as Dain, stepped before the crowd, his brow furrowed. His deep, gruff tone boomed across the tavern.

  “What don’t you understand, girl?” Dain said, crossing his tree trunk forearms over his bare chest. “Didn’t realize you were a monster?”

  Heat welled within Ava. She clenched her teeth and stepped forward. A gentle murmur rippled through the inn as tables rattled and shattered mugs crashed into the floor. The crowd gasped as children cowered behind their mothers, and mothers hid within the shadows.

  Ava’s eyes softened. A breath escaped her lips as she scanned the room. Fear and panic prevailed, all focused on one person.

  “That’s enough!” shouted a familiar voice. It was gentle, motherly, yet stern.

  Elhora scooped up her worn, patchwork dress and pushed her way through the crowded tavern. Her hair clumped in a tight bun atop her head and she bore an expression Ava recognized instantly. She meant business. Elhora gave Dain a firm shove, though he didn’t appear to budge. She then gave a stern glance to the rest of the tavern.

  “You all lost your damn minds,” she scorned, stepping between Ava and the hostile crowd. Her broken, muddied words cut through the curses and insults. “We all scared. Can’t you see she is too?”

  Elhora waved a finger before the Hunstman, “And you,” she added.” You should be ashamed. You of all people should know!”

  A mischievous smile stretched across Dain’s face while his arms stretched to the limits of the room. He let loose a glorious chuckle, which Ava felt in her very soul. He slammed his fellow Huntsmen across their backs and offered a wicked grin. “What, I like this one.”

  He peeked over Elhora’s shoulder, his eyes landing on Ava. “Look at her. She’s tiny and feisty—like a baby tiger.”

  Laughter bellowed from the other Huntsmen, followed by reserved chuckles from the men and women behind them. Their scornful glares softened, and their rumblings diminished as the giant hunters scooped chairs off the floor and gathered around a nearby table. Dain picked up the bottom half of a shattered mug and swung it in Ava’s direction, offering her a toast, and a nod of understanding.

  Ava sank onto the oaken bench. She raised her palms once more and dropped her head into them. Raw emotion consumed her as the events of the morning became suddenly real. Ava peeked her eyes open to see Dari crawling near, clearly concerned. She extended a hand to the small boy, to which he cautiously accepted. She pulled him closer, but Dari was already crawling onto the bench, embracing her with open arms, lowering his head into her lap.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” Ava whispered. She waited a moment before feeling the gentle nod of his head.

  “I’m scared too.”

  Elhora turned, and her warm, brown eyes came into view, yet even as Ava felt the warmth of her old friend, her thoughts turned dark and her mind filled with sorrow. She stared at Elhora, then her eyes drifted to the balcony, to the room beyond the darkened stairwell.

  “Elhora,” Ava whispered, reaching for her friend. She clasped Elhora’s wrist and tugged, pulling his attention back to her. Her voice trembled, and her words broke. “Something happened.”

  Elhora eyed Ava up and down once more. “I can see that, my child.”

  Ava shook her head, searching for an explanation, only to realize she had none.

  “I can’t explain it. I’m not even sure if I believe it myself.” She pointed to the fireplace, to the stones that pulsed within. “The stranger—he brought Viktor an amulet, but—I can hear it.” She paused, searching for the right words, then shook her head, knowing none would make sense. “My mother came to me and—healed me. Ever since then, it’s called to me. I think it’s a warning.”

  “So, it showed you your mother, healed you, and warned you? That doesn’t sound like a curse, and you don’t sound like a monster.”

  Ava shrugged her shoulders, knowing how ridiculous it all must sound. “You don’t believe me.”

  Elhora inched closer to the fireplace, seemingly distracted from Ava’s sentimen
t. “Oh, I believe you.” Ava spun to meet her, an incredulous look upon her face. Elhora pointed to the windows, waving a finger across the tavern. “I saw what you did to this place.” Elhora’s head lowered, beckoning toward the shocked crowd. “And because these people haven’t stopped staring at you since this morning.”

  Elhora’s eyes fell to the streaks of broken glass, and Ava’s joined them. A subtle tremor shook the floor of the inn, followed by panicked cries from within the tavern. Yet as soon as it started, the trembling stopped.

  Thoughts of the morning returned: the stranger, the dagger, the crumpled notes, the amulet. Ava turned to the fireplace. The onyx stones glowed, pulsing with heat as they draped over the coals.

  “It seems the Old Gods have blessed you, my child,” Elhora said.

  Ava scoffed. “The Gods.”

  Her brow tensed and her gaze narrowed. She recalled the relics her father would place in her room and the prayers she was forced to recite. She was a slave to them. Then, he sold her to another life of slavery, all for the price of a few more cheap relics.

  “If the Gods have some role in my life, then I hope they are buried with me under this old roof.”

  Elhora’s eyes grew impossibly wide and her head darted side to side. “Miss Ava!” she scolded. “You cannot speak this way!” Her muscles tensed and her expression grew dire. She leaned in close, bringing her voice to a whisper. “Do you want to doom us all, child?”

  Ava could do nothing more than shrug. The only thing she knew of the Old Gods was what her father had taught her, and the stories of the tavern’s more drunken patrons. They weren’t real. And if they were, she wanted no part of them.

  “Oh no, not those gods,” came a cracked whisper. Ava turned to Lazarus, still rocking near the end of the oaken bench. “It isn’t those gods you should concern yourself with,” he continued, nodding toward the docks. His gaze returned to the giant statue, standing watch over the Bay.