The Deathsinger: Book 2

Ch. 35: Fresh Air

It wasn't until after we'd walked for at least an hour that I began to stress about abandoning the safety of the palace. Fortunately, the path remained underground and lined in ravenstone. The light I had spied belonged to the glow of glimmer grubs, small worms that lived far below the surface in tunnels and caves. I'd seen pictures of them once in the library in Edresh, and though they were far from cute with their long, ribbed bodies and sharp teeth, I was grateful for the little bit of light they provided.

Firelight wasn't an option. Not only because we didn't know what creatures it might attract down here or if there was anything flammable, but because I couldn't have conjured a flame if our lives depended on it. The rush of euphoria I'd felt after Remiel came through the door had long since faded, and every step forward took a concentrated effort.

If Remiel was aware I was flagging, he hadn't mentioned it. In the few brief glimpses of his face that I gathered in the dim light, he looked pensive and uneasy. He held his scythe in one hand. The death magic in the weapon soothed me, though I suspected it would not be of much help in the small tunnel. Here, we needed a weapon more suited to close range fighting, like daggers.

"Shoot," I muttered, pitching forward as my toe tangled in a root. If I had lifted my foot higher, I would have missed it, but by this point, I could do little more than drag my feet.

With a muttered curse, Remiel put his scythe away and helped me up. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." I patted his arm, took a step, and cried out as my ankle rolled.

Remiel muttered something that sounded a lot like 'stubborn ass female' before scooping me up in his arms. As he started walking, I threw my arms around his neck to minimize the jostling and debated arguing with him to put me down. In the end, I was too tired to fuss, and it felt nice to lay my head against his chest.

It wouldn't hurt to close my eyes and rest. Just for a little while.

I jolted upright with a gasp. Soft blue light bathed my pale skin, and lush, long-stemmed grass cushioned my body. Overhead, through slits between tree branches, stars twinkled. Their silver flickers made me miss Astreia so much I ached, but panic soon overwhelmed the hurt.

No matter where I looked, I could not find Remiel.

"Remy," I whispered as I rolled to my knees. Again, I said his name. Louder this time as fear outgrew my common sense. "Remy!"

He burst into the small clearing, his cloak billowing behind him. It settled heavily around him as he came to a sudden halt in front of me. A cool breeze carried the metallic scent of blood to my nostrils.

"Are you hurt?" we said together. Then, "I'm fine."

"You smell like blood."

His nimble fingers worked at a knotted string tied to his belt, and he raised the still steaming corpse of a hare into the air. My lips pursed in revulsion, but my stomach rumbled in approval, clearly in favor of sustenance, regardless of what it looked like.

"I thought you might be hungry when you woke," he said, setting the hare aside as he built a fire.

I watched him as he worked. First, he arranged the wood he'd gathered. Then he knocked two stones together to create a spark. In no time at all, a strong flame danced over the logs.

"You could have asked me to do that," I remarked as he drove two limbs into the ground on either side of the fire.

Spearing the gutted hare with a third stick, Remiel rested it across the two vertical limbs, creating a simple spit roast for the meat. Dusting off his hands, he stepped back and admired his work.