The tent flap opened and Xenon ducked inside. Thealos sat atop an iron-bound chest and faced the man for the first time in nearly a week. He remembered being gagged on the Lor’s orders. A spark of triumph flared inside, yet he was still uneasy. Any other Crimson Wolfsman would not have intimidated him, but this one did.
“It’s nearly dusk, Xenon. Can I get some air yet?”
A mocking smile came to the other’s mouth. “I don’t dare it, boy. You can still feel it out there, can’t you?”
Thealos bristled at his condescension but kept it from his voice. “It’s on the other side of the river, following us from the shore. I can barely smell it in here.”
“You should be grateful for that then.”
“What did it look like?”
Xenon shrugged. “It’s made of shadows…and wind. You feel it more than see it. Firekin, boy. It’s Firekin at its worst. But at least it is not on our side of the river.”
“I’m glad you said that, Xenon. It is our side of the river.”
Xenon made a face, as if he’d stepped in horse dung. “I sorrow for your family, boy, but not for you. You brought that curse to Avisahn, they didn’t. In my opinion, it should have killed you first.”
Thealos rose to his feet, but Xenon pushed him back down.
“I want to make something very clear to you, boy. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust the Sleepwalker who robbed you from us. I don’t know what spell you may have done on the princess, but maybe she will awaken from it with you gone. I pray to Keasorn that is so. Don’t bother me, boy. Don’t interfere. This is my assignment.”
“You don’t know the first thing that this is about, Xenon. I see you haven’t learned to listen since I left you.”
“Since you left? You take too much credit for yourself. You always have. You’re nothing without the Sleepwalker. Don’t think that I’m blind to that, boy.”
Thealos glared at him. “Oh, I know that I’m nothing to you, Xenon. I’m the king of linseed oil. But it doesn’t matter what you think. I know who I am. You will not always want me to be your enemy.”
“I very much doubt that,” Xenon said with a snort. “Stay indoors. I don’t know if this thing of Firekin can hurl a spear. We go to the port of Jan Lee.”
Thealos shook his head. “Sol is closer.”
“There you go starting it again. I command this mission. We go to Jan Lee. You’ve caused enough deaths already.” Xenon turned and slipped outside the tent flap into the darkening dusk sky.
Thealos was left alone with his thoughts again. Xenon’s words hurt. The man had a knack for causing pain. Much of what he had said was true—though tipped with poison. In the quiet, he thought about what had happened to his family. Xenon was right about that. They had died because of him. He had unknowingly returned to Avisahn with a plague at his heels. Had he known that, he would have insisted they be sheltered in the palace.
Had Jaerod known it would happen? How had they died? Like Sturnin Goff to Deathbane? The thought of his little sister shriveling to black ash sent a lance of pain right through his body.
“Arielle,” he whispered. What have I done?
The full weight of his grief crushed down on his shoulders.
A sob spilled out, and he clamped his mouth. More started to bubble up inside him, and he tried crushing them down lest the Wolfsmen hear. Where were the Three gods to protect the Shae? Why hadn’t the wardings protecting Avisahn worked? Tears burned in his eyes, and he let them run down his cheeks. He covered his mouth and nose, doing his best to muffle the sound. Not sweet little Arielle. He would never see her again. Never hear the sound of her little voice. He didn’t even have the hoppit doll she had given him the night he had left Avisahn. There would never be a chance to tell them all how much he loved them. The pain of that thought was unbearable.
He remembered Lucyanna’s gift and fumbled in the pouch at his waist for the one she had called the Whisper Stone. Its magic pricked his palm, then it enshrouded him in silence. In his mind, the image of her brown eyes blurred with Arielle’s as he wept.
Chapter XII