These Ivory Swords

| Chapter Eleven |

Toskapel's nights were marked with flamelight lanterns flickering down the established dirt roads. Every few paces, one stood on Iliya's left and then again on her right. Alternating back and forth, bleeding into the forest, and allowing the wilderness to prevail.

Zavere was wild.

Nocturnal larks called through the darkness, echoed by owls and frogs in an enchanting landscape she had never experienced before as she trailed behind Damien.

They stalked around the castle's territory before stepping deeper into the forest. Unlike Kitiribi Forest in Tae'Rainne, whose woods were lined with ever-red maple trees and vast fields and valleys, the looming pine cover could steal the starlight and offer shelter from the rain.

A perfect home for elk and fauna, also the ideal shield for Dynali runner's.

Within the first ten minutes, she recognized the path Mairin had taken when guiding her to the estate. Their trek led them to the first set of docks, where Damien kept his head down and analyzed the ground with brutal efficiency.

"Damien?"

He didn't respond.

More scraps of red fabric appeared along the shoreline, spreading between the fingers like a stretched out web.

Iliya bent to scoop up the last strip when the King paused, casting his gaze toward the horizon.

"Where were they going?" she tried again.

"The Wildlands," he muttered, crossing his arms.

His decisive posturing was so different from the loose ends floating around in her brain. Where he saw black and white, she pried into the strings and unwound a foolish world of color.

"You're sure?" she asked, brows furrowing.

Damien nodded once.

"Care to elaborate?"

Exhaling sharply through his nose, the King arched his brow at her. "This channel leads only to the Wildlands, the terrain is too rocky for any detours."

Sure enough, jagged rocks broke from the coast line ahead. Even in the darkness, Iliya saw the sharp knives of earth waiting for anyone who paddled too close. Waves beat against them, swallowing the mounds whole for a few moments before receding—each crash more volatile than the last.

The answer flooded her memory before she even managed to ask. "Dynali don't hide in the Wildlands, do they?"

The sharp angles of his jaw flexed. "No. They do not."

"Was Ashej right?"

She assumed the Chieftain wouldn't stop gloating if he knew. Something told her Damien wouldn't tolerate ridicule well.

"I don't know."

His answer was hardened with frustration, an emotion she was certain he wasn't comfortable with either.

"What should we do n—"

A sweeping shadow soared overhead, landing just behind Damien. The silhouette of a crow perching near the base of an old pine stole her vision. He preened two feathers from his sleek frame and allowed them to glide slowly to the ground before taking flight once again.

The king's lips turned upward.

"You've got a visitor."

Iliya bristled. "No one is supposed to know I'm here, how is tha—"

The King of Zavere brushed past her, grabbing her shoulder and steered them towards the docks.

There, among the torch lit pyres and crates of fish, was a tall, blond figure yanking a pack from his boat. Her heart clenched as she recognized his confident stride matched with the silver hilt of his shortsword, which flashed in the fire light each time he pivoted towards the land. Sluggish, sickly movements followed him.