Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

38.

Syrene and Azryle emerged from the woods.

Vendrik was standing amidst the area, darting up fires, Renavy at his side, eagerly watching the work of the other Kaerion, when they did. Faolin was in the corner, right outside the cover of the trees, shielding Levsenn as she attired herself after appearing naked from the water.

Maycusen was perched alone at the bank of the river. Vur was at the other end, but the miragist was lost in his own thoughts.

Ferouzeh was studying the flowers—still uncertain whether all this was real.

Only Undesin and Eliver were absent. If they'd been here, they would've been drawn by the flames the firebreather had just been sending up. She just hoped Undesin wouldn't be much scared when found them all missing from the world.

Syrene crossed her arms after scanning the area. "Great, the whole group is here."

Renavy's gaze went to the duce. "Look who decided to heed us."

Syrene flicked her hair off her shoulder. "I did."

Maycusen scoffed. There was no mistaking the bitterness in it. "Of course. A queen regards others only when she wishes to. Otherwise, all are irrelevant."

"And what about it?" Syrene's voice was calm. "You better decide to shut up before the queen decides to snap you in half."

A wicked smile appeared at Renavy's mouth as she picked her way to Syrene's side. And Vendrik picked his to Azryle's.

He was a quiet one, Vendrik. Faolin had only ever heard merely two words from him, the torments of the past year seemed to have quieted him a bit more.

The prince locked gaze with him when he paused at his side—the concern and his protectiveness towards the firebreather wholly unclothed.

To whatever the prince asked mutely, Vendrik nodded curtly.

Azryle patted his shoulder, before returning his gaze to the group.

Levsenn emerged from the trees behind Faolin, straightening her yellow shirt. "Otsatyas know I'll never comprehend the human concept of clothing."

Faolin might have smiled.

They walked to the cluster, where Vur was asking, "So how do we get out of here?"

A look crossed Syrene's face—Faolin knew it all too well, though she doubted the duce would admit that out loud: she was clueless. She opened her mouth, no doubt to lie or change the subject, but Prince Azryle spoke over her.

"We open a portal."

"Unless you have Felset's mejest," spoke Maycusen, "or some otherworldly power in abundance, may I remind you that what you're suggesting is impossible."

Azryle shrugged. Before he brought about his hand. Soon enough, dark fog rounded his fingers.

"Good thing I do happen to have otherworldly power in abundance."

Everyone drew in a breath. But sharp pain lanced up the vein at Faolin's temple. She grunted—a dizziness seemed to wash over her.

An arm came around her to stable her when she reeled.

"You okay?" Levsenn asked.

Just as soon, the pain vanished. Her breaths came short and shallow when she straightened. It took a moment for her sight to adjust.

Everyone was staring at her. But it was Azryle who spoke.

"And I'm not the only one who's been dealt it." There was knowingness in his eyes when he met her gaze across the area. As if he knew what it felt like to be forced with this curse, to be in danger with your own mejest.