A Court of Wings and Fate

63. Lost and Found

Mikael could hear the trickle of water close by. He followed the sound until he came across a stream. He knelt and drank gratefully, then peeled away the bloodstained bandages around his stomach. Mikael cupped more water in his hands and cleaned the wounds. He hissed as the icy water splashed against his skin.

Most of the wounds had ceased bleeding, but they were all tender to the touch. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his mind. He lifted his head and almost wept with relief. There was a cave just up ahead. He picked himself up and stumbled towards it.

The closer he got, the stronger the scent of blood became. Mikael narrowed his eyes warily. He poked his head through the cave entrance. An Illyrian male lay on the ground near a smoldering fire. He didn't move. A dark pool lay beneath him. Judging from the look of the male, he'd been lying there several hours at least. Whatever had killed him was long gone.

Mikael set his wolf skin aside and grabbed the male's ankles. He dragged the corpse out of the cave and deposited it a good distance away. Mikael broke a branch off a tree and began smearing leaves and dirt over the blood trail he'd left behind. He hoped the strong scent of the spruce branch would help mask the blood.

Mikael gathered a few more branches before he reached the cave. He entered and spread them over the blood puddle. Their fresh scent pushed through the reek of blood and fear that hung in the cave. There was something almost familiar about the scents, but he couldn't figure out what. Mikael stoked the fire a little more, bringing it back to life.

He pulled his leather shirt off and unbound the makeshift bandages again. Mikael scooped up some sap with his fingers and smeared it over his larger injuries. He restored the bloody wraps once he'd finished, then set to work making some new weapons.

Using a few spare strips of fabric from his old shirt, a thin piece of wood, and a mixture of dirt and tree sap, Mikael fashioned his wolf claws into a weapon of sorts. He tied the device to the underside of his hand and clenched it into a fist. The claws extended in between his fingers.

I'll have to work out how to form my fists around them so I don't accidentally impale myself, but these should come in handy, Mikael thought.

He jerked his head up as footsteps approached. A female Illyrian appeared in the cave entrance. Mikael's heart skipped a beat, even before he realized that she was not Estelle. The female raised her hands.

"I'm not here to fight," she said. Her voice was quiet and stern. "I just need shelter overnight."

Mikael studied her intently. He saw sincerity shining in her hazel eyes. "You won't kill me while I sleep, will you?"

"We aren't all assholes," she scoffed, sitting down across from him. "You're Thesan's son?"

"Yes." Mikael leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"What happened to you?"

"Wolf."

"Did you kill that male I found outside?"

"No, he was here when I arrived. There's a clotted puddle of his blood beneath those branches." Mikael gestured towards them. The female didn't move. She tucked black hair behind her ear and rested her chin on her knees. "You're the first female I've seen since the Rite began." Wariness filled her eyes. Mikael bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I could've phrased that better. I meant..."

"I know what you meant," she interrupted. "I'm from Ridgeback. My warlord agrees with most of Rhysand's reforms. I was one of the lucky females chosen to enter the Rite this year."