Farlands Prodigal (Ultimate Passage Book 5)

by Elle Thorne

  Cinia remembered the first time she’d witnessed this. She’d almost screamed, her hand flying to her mouth when the bird had lowered its head, sharp beak reaching for Niptak.

  Instead of crushing the tiny flyn in its mighty beak, Garth had scratched Niptak’s head with the tip of its beak.

  Niptak released tiny sounds of pleasure, practically purring at the bird’s ministrations.

  Cinia had laughed and looked at Qalen, preparing to show him their antics.

  Instead, she found his gaze on her, his typically stoic face rapt with emotions she wasn’t prepared to qualify.

  She stared at him, her eyes glued to his. Cinia swallowed hard at the stark emotions in his stare. She lowered her gaze, studying the splint, fighting the passions stirring within her in response to the intensity of his scrutiny.

  It had been two weeks since Qalen had saved her, and, after being housebound and practically forced to stay in bed for most of that time, Cinia was restless. She glanced at the striking man but averted her eyes as soon as his locked on her.

  They’d been sequestered in his home, just the two of them, and though she’d spent a good part of it sleeping, she’d spent a greater part of it finding herself attracted to the man who was tending to the gash on her head and the broken bone in her hand.

  Even little Niptak seemed to have made friends with the man, for he scampered up his arm whenever Qalen changed the bandage on her head or readjusted her split. He’d scurry up Qalen’s thick forearm and get lost in the long blond hair he’d released from the leather strap he’d had it bound in that first day.

  The way Cinia’s stomach fluttered whenever his gaze fell on her was disconcerting. The fact her pulse raced, and her breathing became shallow were telltale signs she wished she could hide from him. She patted Niptak’s head when he peeked out of his tunnel in her sleeve to keep her from having to look in Qalen’s eyes.

  The hunger there scared her. A hunger she’d never experienced with a male before.

  Not like I have much experience with men. And she definitely couldn’t count her forced servitude to Saraz as experience.

  At least, not a healthy experience.

  She glanced at him through her lashes.

  The intensity of his scrutiny made a heat rush throughout her body. A restlessness coursed in her veins, coupled with a confusion over her emotions that wracked the logical part of her brain.

  “I don’t think I need to be in bed anymore. My head feels fine, and my hand is healing.” Her head may have felt fine, but there was so much more going on inside that was confusing.

  “Let’s go outside, then. I’m low on supplies.”

  A pang of guilt struck her. He’d probably used all of his healing supplies making her better. Before she could react to his suggestion, he’d crossed the room and reached for her good hand to help her up.

  Reflexively, Cinia put her hand in his. A pleasant buzzing awareness soared throughout her senses. Cinia chewed on her bottom lip—had he felt it, too?—but she was too apprehensive to yield to her curiosity. She reached her other hand to steady Niptak, who’d begun to dig furiously at the fabric of her sleeve. If he kept that up and his claws missed the fabric, he’d score her painfully. She already had the scars from his prior attempts.

  “He’s digging again?” Qalen asked.

  She nodded. “Do you know why he does that?”

  Qalen shook his head. “No idea. I’m not as familiar with the ways of creatures from Midland. Maybe he’s trying to make a nest or a sleeping area?”

  She shrugged.

  “What will you do when you go back to your people, the city—or village—you’re from in the Heartland? Will Niptak go with you? Do Asazi keep them as pets?” He led the way through the room’s doorway then down a series of tunnels.

  “I can’t go back to my people. I have no people.”

  “Will you tell me your story?”

  Cinia chewed on her bottom lip. “I’d rather hear yours.”

  Discussing Saraz and the times she wanted to forget with Qalen would not be easy. She didn’t want him to think less of her, though it was the will of the Asazi that she be his concubine. What matters now is I’m no longer the same woman. I’m not that woman. She repeated the mantra over and over.

  Qalen’s terse nod acknowledged their impasse. “Are you sure you’re up for this excursion? We’re out of fresh meat, but I don’t want you to overdo it. You can wait in my home.”

  “I can’t sit still another moment. Not another one. I had to get out of there.”

  “You don’t like my home?”

  “It’s not that!” She put her hand on his arm, staying his steps forward. “I do. I’m going crazy sitting still.”

  “I can understand.”

  They exited the underground home. Cinia shielded her eyes against the brilliant light. The brightness surrounded Qalen like a halo. Overhead, Garth drifted in lazy circles, waiting for them to start on the journey, eager to participate in the hunt. In an effort to get them going, he swooped low, his talons almost grazing their scalps.

  “We’re going.” Qalen laughed at Garth’s impatience. “We’re going.”

  They walked, side by side, at a comfortable pace, with Qalen keeping a close eye on her, making sure she didn’t have any balance issues from her fall.

  Cinia wanted to tell him she was fine, that there was no reason for him to be concerned, but a rumbling and a shaking of the ground interrupted her thoughts.

  “Cursed flames,” Qalen muttered.

  “What is it?”

  Niptak began to furiously scratch and dig in her sleeve, his sharp claws boring through the fabric, shredding it with the speed of his motions. Cinia bit back a cry when he broke the tender flesh inside her elbow.

  “Slithersquil.” He paused, head cocked, listening. “Not far, but not directly below us. Be still, be silent. If we’re lucky, it doesn’t know we are here.”

  Seconds later, a wave of dirt rose before them, undulating and cresting, rising several feet above ground, then dropping. They weren’t so lucky it seemed.

  Panicked, Cinia glanced at Qalen. His jaw was set in consternation, eyes narrowed.

  Niptak was scurrying and moving frantically beneath her sleeve, when suddenly the little flyn’s head appeared from beneath the folds of fabric. Niptak leapt to the ground, scurrying around aimlessly. Cinia tried to catch him, her focus split between Niptak and the moving soil.

  The ground before them parted, and out came the head of a monstrosity, larger than a man’s body. The creature opened its mouth, a yawning black maw with rows and rows of sharp teeth.

  Niptak released a shrill, piercing shriek, and stood unmoving in front of the leviathan threatening them.

  Cinia froze.

  The head’s giant yellow-and-black eye focused on Niptak.

  Cinia gasped.

  “He’s going to kill him.” She couldn’t let that happen. She stomped on the ground, waved her hands to get the beast’s attention.

  The slithersquil swung its mighty head, swiveling on a neck as wide as its head.

  Cinia trembled at how long the beast must be, if its head was as long as a man was tall.

  The slithersquil’s unblinking stare returned to the still shrieking Niptak.

  Before Cinia could process the shadow created on the ground was approaching—or move to escape it—Garth swooped down, his talons seized Niptak, squelching the flyn’s shriek, and they left their desert surroundings in total silence.

  Cinia turned to Qalen to warn him they had to run but couldn’t speak at the sight before her.

  Qalen had flung his duster back, and his wings had unfurled, pushing outward, rising behind him. Black, thick, glossy, a hook at the top of each, in the center. They were a stark contrast to his colorful Asazi skin.

  And they were the same wings she’d seen elsewhere. On another being. Horror flooded through Cinia’s veins.

  “You have—” She couldn’t bring herself to say Saraz’s
name. “You have his wings. You have—” Qalen betrayed her, he was just like Saraz. Or a combination of Saraz and Asazi.

  No, this couldn’t be.

  A sound, a screaming louder than Niptak’s high-pitched shriek, filled the air, and she looked around. In less than a second, she realized the scream was coming from her own mouth.

  The slithersquil raised up, its head rearing back, its mouth wider.

  Wind fanned Cinia, making her hair fly, obstructing her vision as she pushed it back.

  Instantly, she was airborne, being carried away by Qalen, his mighty black wings pushing at the air, pulling them higher and higher, following Garth, who still held a squirming Niptak in his clutches.

  The slithersquil was beneath them, pulling its massive body from within the ground and coiling as if to assault them.

  She pointed to the slithersquil, fearful it would reach them if it struck. Two flaps of his wings and they were rising higher in the sky.

  “We’re safe now,” Qalen told her.

  Cinia avoided looking into his eyes, keeping her gaze pinned to the ground that was getting farther and farther away. She didn’t think she’d ever be safe. Not when he was clearly associated with Saraz. Somehow.

  “Whose wings, Cinia?”

  She pretended not to hear him.

  “I said, whose wings?”

  “Someone I used to know,” she whispered.

  “Who?” When she didn’t respond, he asked again. “Who is it? It’s important to me.”

  Below them, the ground turned from the reddish-orange sandy dirt of Farlands to the rich, moist black soil of Midland, as Qalen took them farther from the slithersquil, and Cinia remained silent.

  7

  Qalen studied Cinia’s profile. She was subdued in his arms, her eyes averted, almost as if she didn’t want to meet his gaze. His wings. Not Asazi wings, this he knew. But who else had wings like this? Would that answer the questions about his heritage?

  “Cinia.”

  She shook her head.

  Fine, it would keep until later. He whistled for Garth then nudged Cinia. “Look up. Be ready.”

  The raptor flew toward him, catching up, then swooped low, releasing Niptak into Cinia’s arms.

  Niptak landed softly then quickly scurried beneath Cinia’s sleeve, out of sight. Cinia leaned in, making tiny murmurs of comfort as she talked to the little flyn.

  Qalen surveyed the land. Beneath them, the ground was moving. A sure sign the slithersquil was following. Picking up speed, Qalen made for the dark green on the horizon. The slithersquil was not prone to follow him if he were close to Midland. For some reason, the serpent-like creatures did not approach the dark soil of Midland.

  A short time later, Qalen alit on the ground. Cinia moved restlessly to get out of his arms. He set her down. Something was different about her.

  It was as if the last few days had not happened. As though they hadn’t become friends.

  Cinia nuzzled Niptak, almost tucking him between her chin and neck as the flyn snuggled against her.

  Qalen wouldn’t push her for answers. He’d bide his time until she was ready to talk to him.

  And so he did.

  Trekking about the borderlands between Midland and Farlands, he pointed out herbs and roots, showing them to her as Rodina had shown them to him. He set up traps for fresh meat and kept a vigil eye, though he doubted a slithersquil would be so close to Midland. The soil here seemed toxic to the serpentine creatures, which would explain why they kept their distance.

  But slithersquil weren’t the only dangers on their planet. The jungle cats that made their home in Midland were often found near the Farlands boundaries, and so, Qalen had his guard up. Casting shadows that moved around Qalen and Cinia, Garth patrolled overhead, seemingly lazily, but Qalen knew better. The predatory bird was keeping an eye out, guarding them, while at the same time traversing the area, searching for his own meals.

  Cinia breathed shallowly. She kept her breathing as quiet as possible while she listened for Qalen’s breaths to normalize and indicate he had gone to sleep.

  She’d spent the day pretending everything was back to normal. She’d feigned interest in the herbs, making this a simple ordinary hunt for ingredients and meat. It’d been the hardest thing she’d had to do in a long time. She was torn. She thought she knew who Qalen was, that she understood him. But now, after seeing those wings, after everything she’d been through with Saraz, the idea that Qalen might be like Saraz…

  This was all too much to deal with.

  He built a camp, informing her they would spend the night out here. He said he would stand guard, she told him she wanted to take turns, and he finally agreed after she made him feel guilty by telling him she felt she never had a chance to contribute any help to him.

  Now embarrassed for manipulating him into letting her stand guard, she considered what she’d planned. But it was the only thing she could do. Even though he had saved her, fed her, and even though he had healed her, she had to get away. His resemblance to Saraz unnerved her, to say the least. Though maybe it would be more accurate if she said it terrified her.

  She had never thought there could be another being like Saraz. And here Qalen was, a blend of Saraz and Asazi. Even scarier.

  His chest rose and fell slowly and rhythmically. He was asleep. This was her chance. Keeping Niptak closely tucked against her chest, she rose from her covers and fluffed them up so it would appear as though she was still there. A pang of guilt struck her. The last time she did this, she’d left Taya and the Midland refugee camp. She wondered again as she did, almost every night, how Taya was doing. She hoped her good friend and former Saraz concubine was faring well. She’d noticed an attraction between her and one of the Kormic brothers. Had anything come of that?

  I suppose I will never know.

  With Niptak as her eyes and ears in the darkness of the Midland rainforest, Cinia carefully took a path that led away from Qalen.

  Cinia had been walking for more than an hour. She hadn’t made much progress, the treachery of the darkness and the knowledge that jungle cats prowled the Midland forests making for a painstakingly slow progress.

  “You should not have run away. I am tired of runaways. First, Ashanta, then you and Taya. You will pay with your life.”

  Cinia jumped and turned around.

  Saraz!

  “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking.

  How had he found her?

  In the night’s blackness, his dark-gray skin blended in. He gave her a smile, white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

  “What am I doing here?” His voice was full of mockery. “I live here. Midland is my home. Why did you leave the other refugees?”

  She could not tell him it was to escape his influence. The oddness was that he no longer held control over her mind. Cinia could feel him pressing against her brain. She could tell he was trying to enter, to impose his will. But something blocked him.

  Was this what happened from being away from him for so long?

  “I had to go.”

  “How is it you, a helpless female, have survived all this time alone in Midland?”

  The tendrils of dawn wove their way between the trees, etching a path across the sky. The blackness was becoming less dim.

  Cinia eyed Saraz. She studied his skin, composed of gray scales, glistening and shimmering. Each scale undulated on its own, independently of the other scales. A cloak rode his shoulders carelessly, as if he’d dressed hastily.

  She realized his scales were much larger than Qalen’s, and his eyes… She had forgotten they had a black vertical line as a pupil, set in the midst of lime-green irises.

  He was not ugly. Many would find him attractive. But Cinia no longer did.

  “So?” He crossed his arms over a massive chest. “How have you managed to survive?”

  “You don’t give me enough credit, Saraz.” She was not about to tell him about Qalen.

 
“It doesn’t matter. It’s a shame you managed to live this long, only to have me kill you.”

  The sun was rising quickly, as it did this time of year, and he was bathed in full light, his undulating scales seeming to absorb all of the sun’s shine, reflecting and glowing. It was almost mesmerizing.

  Almost.

  Cinia braced herself. She would do battle this time. She had seen Saraz morph into his dragon. She knew what he could do, and she was not going to underestimate the power in his wings, fangs, and claws.

  But I’ll be damned to the curses if I will let him take me without a fight.

  Against her side, tucked within its sheath, the blade felt heavy. She wondered if she could pull it out before Saraz killed her.

  “Silly mortal.” One of his fingertips extended into a claw. He took two steps closer to her and placed the razor-tipped finger on her arm. “You do not know how easy it is.”

  Cinia was frozen, but not with fear. She was not trained to fight, and her mind was trying to work out the best method of extracting the blade and attacking.

  Well, perhaps there was some fear involved. Her hand shook. But still, with trembling fingers, she inched her hand down, prepared to take the weapon.

  8

  Qalen didn’t awaken immediately. But when he did wake up, he was groggy. Though it took him a minute to focus and put his thoughts together, he realized this type of grogginess was artificial. The next thing he managed to put together was Cinia was gone.

  She was gone!

  He jumped up. On the horizon, the sunrise was reflecting in the clouds. He ran to her bedding, felt it, and found it cold. She had been gone long enough for it to cool. Hours, perhaps?

  He packed up, took Garth, put him on his shoulder, and headed into the dense Midland forest.

  Qalen was no stranger to tracking. Thanks to Rodina’s forethought and insistence, he’d spent enough time with a few of the more experienced trackers. He had learned that skill. So, following Cinia did not take much effort.

  A while later, a thread of concern laced itself throughout Qalen. Concern, because he’d noticed a second pair of prints. This pair was larger—male, if he had to take a guess from the size—and tracking Cinia, because they overlapped hers. He picked up speed, careful not to dislodge Garth, but moving fast throughout the Midland undergrowth.