Kinked (Elder Races, #6)

“Could have,” he said. He ducked his head to wet his hair. The cold on the back of his neck was a shock to the system and sharply bracing. “But I don’t believe it. I don’t know two of the Elves, and I’ve only met the third so I can’t speak for them, but I find it hard to imagine that Linwe could have walked by the body and just left it alone. I think she would have covered him, like I did. She certainly would have shut the door to keep out any more scavengers.”


“So it was somebody else.” She leaned back against the table, one foot kicked over the other. “Maybe the reason why the Elves are missing? Maybe they came in after whoever crossed over.” She shook her head. “Wait a minute, does that make sense? If the Elves had found evidence of someone who came into Numenlaur, why didn’t we?”

“This all could have happened weeks ago,” he reminded her. “The evidence could have been washed away by the elements by now.”

She pushed away from the table. “Whatever the answers are, we’re not going to learn any more here. Let’s go.”

He blew out the lamp, and as they left the silent house, he shut the door firmly behind them. At least if the dead Elf had any surviving friends or family, they would have something to bury when they returned home.

They continued down the hill and stopped at a few more houses on the way. The next home didn’t have any dead bodies. It also didn’t have any food. The third home was also empty of bodies, but this time they found a few loaves of wayfarer bread. They broke open the wafers and ate them immediately.

It wasn’t enough food, but Quentin felt a pickup in his energy immediately. As he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, he said, “Whoever was scavenging got their needs met after looking into only a few pantries, and they hit the same houses we did, on the route from the passageway, so we’re looking for a small party. One, maybe two people.”

Aryal thought about it and nodded. “That’s how I would call it. Let’s hit one or two more houses and see if we can get some supplies, then move into the city.”

The next house they came upon was large, clearly the home of someone prosperous, and it had a stable and a large pasture. Quentin paused on the path to the door, staring out over the land. He couldn’t see the whole pasture.

Aryal paused too and looked in the direction of his gaze. She scowled but said, “Check out the pasture if you want. I can search for food.”

“Okay.” He handed her his backpack and walked over to the pasture. Putting one hand on the top wooden rail, he vaulted over the fence. He jogged into the field until he could see around a copse of trees to the other end. If there had been any horses in the pasture, they had leaped the fence a while ago, and he wouldn’t bother checking in the stable. He spun around and jogged back.

As he approached the section of fence nearest to the house, Aryal exploded out the front door. Already primed for possible trouble, his heart kicked. He stared as she ran several yards, stopped, and turned in a circle with one hand pressed to her flat stomach, the other over her eyes. The part of her face that was visible was clearly distressed. Was she injured?

His sword was in his hand before he realized it. He raced to the fence and leaped over without touching it. She bent at the waist, and he put on a burst of speed. As he reached her, she was making a soft noise, as if she sobbed for breath.

As if she—Aryal—sobbed.

His world bled with wrongness. He put a hand on her back, and she flinched. She hadn’t realized he had approached? He glared at the open door of the house. She had set their backpacks together just outside.

He asked harshly, “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and straightened. Her expression was clenched, her eyes filled with horror.

What the fuck?

“What happened?” he asked more quietly. Even though she had indicated she wasn’t hurt, his gaze ran down her body anyway, instinctively checking for harm. The way she had clutched at her stomach, it was as though she had been stabbed.

She swallowed, and her mouth twisted. “Horses weren’t the only creatures that the enthralled Elves failed to look after, Quentin.”





THIRTEEN


Aryal could see that Quentin hadn’t yet pieced together what she meant. He looked sharp, fierce, still ready for battle, his sword gripped in one hand while he rubbed her back with the other. She didn’t think he was aware that he was doing it.

He started for the house, and she grabbed his arm. She told him, “It serves no purpose for you to go in there.”

He glared at her, jerked out of her hold and strode for the house.

She put a hand over her eyes with a sigh. Some people always had to take the hard road. Then, because she knew what was waiting for him in that still, silent house, she followed at a slower pace.

He moved from room to room, his movements angry and aggressive. Then he came to the doorway of one room and stopped with a jerk as if someone had punched him.

Fresh tears flooded her eyes. Gods, she hated crying. She walked up behind him and this time she was the one to put a hand on his rigid back.