Chapter

Sixty-One

My head is full of the old stories as we approach the village. Every Vestalin knows all the stories of those that lived in the tower, of the Royal Offerings from times past. I think of all the tales of those that left the tower early, and the angry mobs that met them. I used to side with the angry villagers, too. What sort of selfish piece of dragon shite would abandon the tower, knowing they were condemning the entire world to famine and flood?

But now I am that selfish piece of dragon shite.

And I really do not want to be killed by pitchfork-wielding villagers.

We wear our heavy cloaks despite the steamy heat of the afternoon, just so we can try to hide Nemeth’s wings until the last moment. I keep my magical blade tight in my hand, just in case I need to stab someone for threatening my mate.

All my worry is for nothing—the village is deserted.

No one comes out to greet us. The fields we pass are fallow and overgrown with weeds. There are no cattle, no dogs, not even a single scurrying rat to cross the muddy streets. There are no crops, and the only vegetation other than weeds is a sapling at the far end of town. It’s completely empty, and what’s worse, it looks as if it’s been empty for a while. The thatched roofs are falling in and a broken cart in the middle of the street looks long-abandoned.

There won’t be any food here.

In a way, I’m relieved. Nemeth lowers his hood, exposing the sharp planes of his gray face and his horns, so there must be no one here to see that he’s Fellian. “Abandoned.”

“Looks like,” I agree, and gesture at the three small altars to the gods nearby. They’re overgrown and covered in windblown dirt, just like the last ones. “I don’t think whoever lived here left recently, either.”

“Then they won’t mind if we search for food,” Nemeth tells me. “Let’s check these houses for anything we can use.”

It feels wrong to even consider it, but I know he’s being practical. If it was left behind, it’s fair game. Our supplies must be running lower than I thought. It starts to rain again, a heavy downpour, and we wordlessly split up to look around.

I duck into the first house. I would have called it a hovel back in my court days, but I’ve got a new appreciation for rough living after my time in the tower. Despite the fact that these people didn’t have much, everything is put away. There are no plates on the table, and the lone, sad-looking bed is made. There’s no food to be found, either. I check in every pot. I check the root cellar. Nothing. The next house is much the same, and bewildered, I head out to find Nemeth. He stands in the center of the cluster of houses despite the heavy rain, his gaze thoughtful.

“There’s nothing here,” I say to him as I approach. I pull my hood over my head, annoyed by the constant rain pattering on my face. “No food. No people. They didn’t leave in a hurry, either. They’re just…gone.”

He gives me an uneasy look. “I found something.”

Uh oh. I don’t like that expression on his face. “What?” I ask warily. “What is it?”

“Come,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder to steer me. “And…stay close.”

Oh no.

He leads me to the edge of the small settlement, and the rain keeps coming down harder. Everything around us is turning into one big muddy puddle, but that can’t be the reason everyone left. The worry of it keeps turning over in my mind, and I’m so focused on trying to understand the problem that it takes me a moment to realize Nemeth has paused.

I look up—and gasp.

What I thought was a sad-looking tree at the edge of town isn’t a tree at all. It’s a large stake, and spitted upon it is the desiccated corpse of a Fellian. His wings have been cut off and the remnants of his kilt flutter in the breeze. The stake has been lodged between his thighs and the tip of it protrudes from his mouth, his head bent backward, his horns shorn off.

I have no words. I just stare.

“I guess that answers if I will be welcome or not,” Nemeth says in a low voice.

“Gods,” I whisper, clutching my knife tightly. “Who would do this?”

“Liosians, obviously.” His tone is hard. “Who else?”

But why? I want to ask. Why be so cruel? But I know the answer already. If the supposedly erudite, learned courts of Lios considered the Fellians devils and pure evil, what must the crude, uneducated villages think? They wouldn’t stop to ask if a Fellian was lost or needed help. They’d kill first and ask questions later.

Then again, how do I know he was lost and looking for help? Maybe he came here to attack and was dispatched by the village. Am I automatically just assuming the Fellian is kind and understanding because of Nemeth?

Maybe I’m more of a traitor than I thought.

It continues to rain on us for the rest of the day.

After the discovery of the dead Fellian—the only person we’ve seen, dead or alive—we don’t want to stay near the abandoned village. We walk on, even though the weather is unpleasant. It continues to grow even more unpleasant throughout the day, the rain falling so heavily at one point that I can’t see farther than my outstretched hand. My teeth chatter with the cold, and walking becomes even more of a chore, the mud so thick it sucks at my feet.

Everything around us has turned into a swamp. This has to be the goddess’s wrath. Just like my knife said, she’s angry and she’s taking it out on the world around us. Horrible guilt sweeps through me and I want to cry…except I don’t want to add to the wetness falling from the sky.

I’ll cry when I’m nice and dry and relaxed, I tell myself.

That night, we sleep out in the open because there’s nowhere else to go. It rains on us the entire time, and even though Nemeth spreads a wing protectively over me, I’m already soaked to the bone. It’s the most miserable night I’ve ever spent, and when it continues to pour rain in the morning, I dread taking one more step in my soaked shoes.

“Our food supplies are soaked,” Nemeth tells me as he hands over a strip of bloated jerky. “The vegetables are going to rot if this keeps up. Actually, everything will.”

I stare at the bit of grayish jerky, and my stomach gives a queasy flip. Before I can hand it back, my mouth fills with saliva. I have just enough time to turn my head and bend over before the contents of my stomach come up. Nemeth wraps a strong arm around my waist, holding me so I don’t collapse in the mud. It takes forever for the vomiting to cease, and when it does, I’m left weak and shaky.

“Candra?” Nemeth asks, worry in his voice. “Are you all right?”

I manage a nod. “I’m fine. I don’t think I can eat though.” My stomach roils at the thought. “Maybe just some water.”

He holds me while I sip and wash my mouth out. It takes several minutes for the nausea to abate, but then I feel much better. I straighten and give Nemeth a weary smile. “Shall we keep going?”

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Candra, don’t lie to me. Is it your potion? Is it not working as it should?” The look on his face is frantic. “Do you need another dose?”

I shake my head. “It’s not the potion. I just…I don’t want to eat water-bloated food supplies.”

“That might be all we have left soon.” He glances up at the sky. “This rain is never-ending.”

It’s because the goddess is angry. She’s punishing the world because we left the tower. Maybe she’s going to rain us right out of our cities and sweep us all out to sea. Never mind that we didn’t want to leave until we had to. “Let’s keep going.”

“I’m worried about you, milettahn.” Nemeth doesn’t let go of me. “If you’re sick…”