Abolisher

Syrene didn’t stir in Ryle’s arms.

They raced through the forest until the army around them cleared, until even the trees vanished and Vendrik, Ryle, and Ferouzeh appeared on an empty street. Another forest on the other end of it.

“I don’t think being on open street would be such a good idea,” Ferouzeh panted, her hazel eyes dropping to the unconscious Faolin Vendrik was lugging in his arms. “We should keep going.”

Ryle seemed to agree, for the prince was already advancing towards the towering line of trees. Ferouzeh and Vendrik followed suit.

They didn’t know where the others were. Vurian, Levsenn, Renavy, Maycusen. If alive at all. He doubted Syrene would be much pleased by that once she gained her senses enough to notice their absence.

They’d all been together when Syrene and Faolin had left them—Syrene with that wrath in her eyes. Then Renavy had needed water, Levsenn led her tso a lake. Vurian on their heel lest his skills were required. Maycusen … Vendrik hadn’t seen him even when they’d returned to their world.

When the second portal had opened, Ryle had instantly sensed the Darkness and thrown an invisible shield around Vendrik and Ferouzeh, still clinging to them like layered skin.

Now Vendrik sensed Drothiker lingering, sensed it like he’d always sensed enemies around him before.

Sensed it like he always did Felset.

He didn’t know if Syrene was tugging at it, or was the power feeding at her sorrow as a Vegreka’s mejest did.

But it was there, shrouding in her flesh.

When they were deep into the forest, Azryle halted. He gently poised Syrene against a broad tree—just as Vendrik did Faolin. He could count on one hand’s fingers the amount of people his friend had handled with such humanly tenderness.

But Syrene only slumped against the tree—as if she hadn’t the strength to move at all. Her eyes vacant—lost. Lifeless.

The prince lightly smacked her cheek. “Cub.”

No response.

Helpless, Ryle looked to Ferouzeh with pleading eyes.

But the healer was already shaking her head, pity etched across her face. “The wound isn’t physical, Ryle.”

Ryle released a long breath and lifted to his feet, his eyes going to the other forest they’d just exited.

“I have to go find the others,” he said.

“Azryle,” Ferouzeh warned. “No—”

“She can’t return to their deaths, Ferouzeh. It would break her in all ways possible.” Shadows came across his eyes, as if he knew precisely the pain he was talking about. “That Darkness can’t touch me—”

“They could already be dead—”

But Azryle was already pointing out, “Could be.” He placed a hand on her thin shoulder. Not to press her or anything, but—

For support. His neck was drenched in sweat—veins sticking out like lines on a tree. His eyes shut tight.

“What is happening?” Vendrik asked, cautious.

Ryle shook his head. “Nothing.” But the clenching jaw suggested otherwise.

“Ryle—” Vendrik started, but Ryle went on, jerking his head in Faolin’s and Syrene’s direction.

“Look after them.”

Then he was walking past Vendrik, not waiting for any more objections.

Vendrik clenched his own jaw. He nodded at Ferouzeh—who had her lips pursed in disapproval—before following him, because no way in Saqa was he leaving him alone right now, when Darkness was tampering with his mejest.

When the darkest night their world had ever been draped in was descending.