From the Ashes

Chapter 11 ~ Avoiding Self

    In the full daylight, Morana finally had a chance to study Tarion's features in their entirety. He looked significantly better now than he had when he left last night and the tangy scent of blood was stronger around him. She raised no questions. Voiced no accusations.

    She wasn't keen on picking another fight, and if he had killed Fae or Humans, she didn't want to risk finding out if it had been someone she knew. She refused to even think about whether or not he might have come across Lonan and Arlon and killed them. But feeding wasn't the only thing he'd been up to while she slept.

    It seemed he had found somewhere to bathe and scrounged up a change of clothes. Every now and then, a slight gust of wind would send the scents of fresh spring water and earthy clay drifting towards her, aside from the metallic scent that would forever cling to him. But at least the stench of the dungeon was gone.

    His dark hair framed his face in a few tight braids while the rest of it hung over his neck. As she had observed in the painting and in the firelight yesterday, Tarion's features were very sharp and angular, but graceful. His eyes were rounder than her own with thick, dark lashes perpetually shrouding his red gaze. His lips were thin but perfectly bowed and his jawline was square and proud.

    His new clothes looked just as worn as his old ones and were similar in make. He wore a black leather vest that hugged the lean angle of his waist and covered his broad shoulders. The vest buckled all the way down the center of his chest, but he'd left the top few buckles undone, revealing a plain white linen shirt underneath.

    His pants were made of a thicker brown cloth, only a few shades lighter than his vest. The top of his boots reached his knees and leather vambraces covered his forearms. His hands remained bare. There was a belt buckled around his hips, but Morana saw no weapons or scabbards attached to it.

    There were, however, twin scimitar daggers sheathed in between his shoulder blades. Judging by the length of the sheaths, their blades had to be at least as long as his forearms. They would perfectly suit Tarion's height.

    Which, she noted with some surprise, did not hinder him at all as they traversed the forest. Tarion moved on silent feet without even a rustle of grass disturbing it. He effortlessly picked his way through the terrain, never faltering, as though he knew every ravine, every tree, and every hidden knot as well as he had known the castle ruins.

    She was not having such luck. Morana gritted her teeth as she tripped over yet another tree root that had to have appeared out of thin air. Tarion paused up ahead and glanced back at her. "Need some help?" He asked once more.

    "No," Morana snapped. "But would it kill you to slow down?"

    Tarion was already walking. "I want to be at least eight miles from this point before we find a place to camp for the night."

    "Why?"

    "Because this area is frequently patrolled by Corrupted Fae, and once someone learns I'm not at the palace, those patrols will increase. We have three days, maybe four, before that happens. We need to put as much distance between us and Arcan as possible."

    Morana eyed his back as she mulled over the words. "You hold no loyalty to them?"

    Or he was pretending not to and simply playing her. To what purpose, she couldn't guess. If he meant to kill her and drink her blood, he surely would've done so by now. Unless he had no intention of killing her and was instead taking her to Rhidian, or perhaps Astaroth himself.

    Tarion let out a wry laugh. "Would you hold any loyalty to them if you became one now?" She was silent. "The only bonds of loyalty they share is a true devotion to Astaroth or hatred in what they've become."