Thread of Darkness

Ch. 33: tower of the sun king

Eris set a relentless pace.

Over the next week, they stopped only to sleep and eat, ducking into ramshackle inns and loud taverns. Eris donned a hat when they ate, putting on an impressive Loxian accent, and nobody looked twice at them. By the fifth day, Anna lost all sensation in her legs, although she didn't dare complain. Her pride couldn't have survived it.

Today, they followed the winding river downstream, their heads bent against the wind. Eris was a dark shadow ahead, silhouetted against the gloomy sky. Tristan winced every time they hit a bump, rubbing his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?" Anna asked.

She guided Fang over a shallow stream, being careful to avoid the sharp rocks. Tristan lowered his hand.

"It's improving," he said.

Anna glanced at him. "Do you need a break before we reach the Tower?"

"How far is it?"

Anna dug her heels gently into Fang's side, leading him up a slope. "Not far. Another three hours, maybe?"

Tristan's hands tightened on her waist. "I can do it."

He sounded like a man kneeling before a guillotine. Anna glanced back. She was about to say something — what, she didn't know — when a searing pain ripped through her chest. She coughed, raising her fist to her mouth. The skin came away silver.

Tristan leaned in closer. "Stars above. Is that blood?"

Anna wiped it on her trousers. "I cut my mouth yesterday."

"On what?"

Damn. "Fish bone."

Tristan was watching her carefully. "You picked out all the bones. There weren't any in my piece of fish."

Anna shrugged. "Must have missed one."

There was a long pause. The only sound was the patter of the rain, the soft clop-clop of Fang's hooves. Up ahead, Eris was galloping around the edge of a village, bent close to the horse; he was a smudged watercolour, all grey and burnt gold.

Tristan went suddenly rigid.

"Gods above," he said.

Anna twisted, her hand flying instinctively to her knife. "What?"

"You love him." Tristan's golden eyes were very bright. "You're in love with Ryne Delafort."

Something in her chest went cold. Anna turned to face the front, her hands slick on the dew-sodden reins. The sun was peeking out from behind the trees now, colouring the ground with buttery yellow light. Her fingers felt numb. Frozen.

"Well?" Tristan asked.

She shrugged. "Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to say something?"

"I don't see why," Anna said. "You didn't ask a question."

"You're taking on Ryne's curse," Tristan said. "That's why you wanted to come on this journey. Because you're going to die in his place unless we kill Lucia." There was wonder in his voice. "Even if we don't get God-Slayer today, Ryne will live."

Her voice was wry. "Bet you wish we'd never left Stillwater."

She could practically feel Tristan thinking. "Why didn't you get sick earlier?"

"Let's see," Anna said, taking her hand off the reins. "I drink a lot of orange juice." One finger went down. "I sleep eight hours a day. I regularly hack apart dummies, which really helps with stress relief and—"