KAVIK finally dreamed of her again.
After two years without seeing her while he’d slept, her return was more torturous than the absence had been—because this was not a vision sent to him, but a memory. This time he didn’t watch her from a distance, as a stranger. This time he knew the warmth of her touch. He knew the huskiness of her voice. He finally knew what to call her.
Mala.
He met the gray dawn with her name on his tongue and need hardening his flesh. But the torture wasn’t over. Because she’d finally come. The woman who hadn’t been much younger than Kavik the first time he’d seen her, a stripling Krimathean with a long brown braid and a wild edge to her grin. He’d watched her train with sword and axe and fist, just one of many young women and men—and he’d watched her practice alone by moonlight until her arms shook from exhaustion. He’d watched her fight; he’d seen her face ground into the dirt by her opponents and he’d seen her win. He’d watched her scream with laughter after diving into icy mountain streams and dance in the firelight until her body glistened with sweat, and as she knelt with tears dripping over the unmoving figure on her mother’s bed.
That death was the last time he’d dreamed of her. And though Kavik knew Mala’s face better than his own, he’d never imagined the woman in his dreams would be the woman in red. He’d never seen her wear the color before. But now she was here—and she was the woman who heralded his end.
So it was time to meet it.
Stiffly, Kavik rose from the bed he’d made on the ground, with his brocs laid out beneath him and his saddle pillowing his head. His breath steamed in the morning air and the cold ached through to his bones. The previous night, darkness had forced him to stop at the head of the labyrinth. A fire would have drawn the leather-winged raptors that hunted these canyons and the sun wouldn’t climb above the maze’s high walls until midday. If he wanted warmth, he needed to start moving.
His brocs were crusted with dried blood and dirt, but he dragged them on, then slung the saddle over his shoulder. Pain tugged at his wounds, but it wasn’t the agony he’d expected. Mala’s salve had not only drawn out the revenants’ poison and kept the fever at bay; his injuries were healing faster, too.
Many charlatans claimed to sell potions blessed by Nemek, yet in all of his travels, Kavik had never met a divine healer. Mala had come across one, though. She must truly be favored by the goddess.
Vela’s favor wouldn’t help her defeat the demon tusker. The goddess protected those who quested for her, but they had to complete their tasks without Vela’s assistance.
With every step through the maze, Kavik debated whether to offer his. If Mala coming to Blackmoor meant his end, then he could think of few better deaths than while fighting beside her against the demon. That creature had plagued his people too long. And all the while, he’d pray to Hanan that she would torture him with another touch, and burn him with the heat in her eyes.
Another good way to die.
But she would pay for his help when Barin took notice of it, and if Kavik was dead, he wouldn’t be able to stand with her against the warlord. He could help her . . . but doing so might hurt her worse than the demon could. Which meant the choice would have to be Mala’s, not his.
And throughout these long years, Vela hadn’t abandoned him. Instead the goddess had remained nearby, sliding her blade so slowly into his heart that he hadn’t even known she’d pierced his flesh. She’d promised to return when he’d lost everything. And what had he left? No family. No home. Not even a horse. So Vela only had to twist the blade through his heart—and somehow, she would use Mala to do it.
At least he would see her again. And it wouldn’t be a dream.
KAVIK passed through Perca’s gates just before the guards closed them for the night. Familiar rage clutched at his throat when he glanced up and saw the torches burning in the citadel towers, so he kept his head down through the streets. Better not to think of Barin.
Instead he would think of how to find a horse. A full day had been lost walking through the maze and across the moors—and Kavik couldn’t hunt the demon on foot. But escorting the caravan had only earned him enough gold to buy a few meals, not a new mount. And although hunger gnawed an ache into his gut, better to save the coins for those days when not even a lizard could be found in the fens.
Except he probably didn’t have many more days remaining.