Weight of the World

Chapter Fifty-Three

—The Crooked Forest—

Rost hadn't been left alone for very long. Lady Freya had disappeared from the tent, leaving Rost there to listen to the sounds of panicked voices outside. He heard mention of the Shadow and something concerning the Ascension, but within moments, his guards were returning to the tent. Rost seized his chance and rushed them. Though unarmed, he was able to wrest control of a sword and killed them both before pushing out into the camp.

It wasn't long before every Wanderer had descended upon his position. Rost held his ground as best he could, but he was quickly overwhelmed and dragged back into that tent, strapped to the chair with Arendite chains this time, and left under the careful watch of four Wanderers. They stood guard while speaking to each other in their language, a dialect of Eldaaran they likely thought he couldn't understand. Unfortunately for them, his mother had taught him the language well, and so, he listened for the next day as they discussed everything from their meals to the guard rotations to rumors of the Shadow, Lady Freya, and the Ascension that was close at hand.

The Arendite was making him ill. The metal suppressed his aether and sapped him of his strength. Coupled with the fact that his captors refused to bring him any food or water over the course of the next two days, and Rost was nearly too weak to open his eyes. Lady Freya had tried to attend to him on more than one occasion, but the guards had turned her away each time.

It was at the end of the second day when there was a new arrival in camp. Rost was drifting in and out of consciousness, but he could still hear the commotion the arrival caused. It must be someone of importance. That, of course, meant it was likely only a matter of time before that new arrival paid him a visit.

Rost didn't have to wait for very long. Soon enough, the tent flaps were pulled aside, and the arrival made his presence known. Grabbing Rost roughly by the chin, he yanked his head back to study his face. The elf staring down at him snarled the moment he saw him and released him quickly.

"This is a Tor'Varyan," the elf growled in Eldaaran at the guards stationed there. "How do you not recognize a Tor'Varyan?!"

Rost kept quiet as the new arrival reprimanded the guards. Slowly, he was able to raise his head to better study the newcomer. A commander, he could see from the ornate scabbard on the elf's hip, but not just any commander. This elf wore a black bandana that was wrapped around his head to hide the injury done to the right side of his face. The cloth moved with him and every now and then, Rost could see the sight of a deep, jagged wound peeking out from underneath.

"Tyen'enyal," Rost breathed, realizing who it was that stood with him in the tent. The elf turned sharply at the sound of his voice, his solitary eye narrowing at Rost. "Hiding the shame of what my father did to you?"

The Wanderer commander didn't rise to the bait, however. "My men say you were found lost in the forest by yourself, but we both know that wasn't the case, was it? You were with the Shadow."

"Why pose the question, then? If you already know the answer?"

"Why were you sent here? What were you and the Shadow meant to accomplish?"

"I'm young, but I'm not new to this," Rost rolled his head back, the slight action enough to exhaust him. "Your men have made it so I'm likely to die soon anyway. If I've held out this long, what's another day?"

Tyen's frown deepened as he marched forward to look at the binds that held him. With an angry snarl, he whirled around and began to chastise his men. The Arendite, left on for an extended period, could be lethal. To Rost's surprise, Tyen rebuked them for treating Rost's life with such little care. The King of Bones had declared that any family of Teryn Ralia was not to be harmed.