A Battle of Blood and Stone (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 4)

Zaid steps through first, does a quick scan around, and then nods back at me. I step through, followed by Carrick, and the seam into his condo seals.

Carrick turns in a slow circle, critically perusing the area. Arwen’s hut sits on the eastern edge of a small clearing bordered on all sides by thick forest. “You two stay here. I’m going to do a quick check of the perimeter.

And with that, he blinks out of sight, having bent distance to disappear. I turn toward the hut, intent on checking out the interior again, but I make it no more than three paces before Carrick is back.

I blink at him because his super speed still boggles my mind. “That was fast.”

“I’m a demi-god—what did you expect?” Lifting his hand and sweeping it slowly to indicate the tree line that surrounds us, he says, “There’s no one around so you should be fine. Still, I want you to stay in the hut until Maddox gets here.”

We move to Arwen’s hut, and I lift back the flap and duck slightly to walk in. Carrick and Zaid follow. We leave the door open to let in the bright light, which is sufficient for us to do a brief look around.

Pulling the satchel off, I let it fall gently to Arwen’s bed. Zaid slips out of his backpack so it rests beside it. My eyes can’t help but move to the blackened bloodstain on the lower part of the leather hide wall, but I quickly glance away.

Having checked out the perimeter of the area and the interior of the hut, Carrick walks back outside and I follow. He has more important things to do.

He turns to face me, then reaches out to pull me close. “I don’t like leaving you, but there’s no place safer from Kymaris right now. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“We’ll be fine,” I assure him breezily.

Dipping his head down, he brushes his lips against mine. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

“Always,” I murmur, tipping my head back to look at him.

We don’t exchange words of love. The way we look at each other often speaks louder.

Carrick smiles as he releases me. Turning, he slices a rip in the veil, revealing an upper-class neighborhood where one of the Dark Fae he’s hunting presumably lives. He doesn’t look back, but merely steps through. The veil quickly disappears.

I stare at the space where he just was, my gaze slowly focusing on the trees about twenty yards away. And then I do what Carrick told me to and head back into the hut—pulling the flap door closed—prepared to wait for him to come back.

The minute I enter, I call forth an orb of light and send it to hover above us. My magic is coming so easily these days that I rarely have to give it much thought. The floating ball provides sufficient illumination to see that Arwen’s place appears the same as it was when we were here last. The evidence of the violence that took place hasn’t been touched. Her desk is broken in two, the chair in splinters, and shards of pottery are all over as if they’d been thrown or launched at something.

Once again, my gaze involuntarily slides to the blackish-gray stain on the inside leather wall. By its location, I imagine Arwen sitting against it, legs stretched out. Perhaps injured or restrained. The bloodstain is level to where her heart would have been as she leaned against it.

Where a spike was likely driven through to kill her, leaving behind nothing but the spurt of blood from the sudden blow.

I turn away from the wall. Zaid squats near her desk, picking through some papers that had fallen.

“Wish I knew what happened to Arwen,” I murmur, more to myself than Zaid. He doesn’t respond.

I move around the bed to the low table in the middle. The crystals—once glowing in various colors—remain darkened in their bowl. One—about six inches long with my lock of hair draped over it—sits on the table. It seems like such an ominous sign as I never knew why she wanted my hair, and now it sits there looking dull against the dead crystal.

Zaid moves over to the black stain, then squats again to examine it. Hand going to the bottom of the hut, he lifts it a good foot off the ground so sunlight streams in. “Maybe she got out this way,” he suggests, but we both know it’s unlikely with that amount of blood.

I smile as he stands, appreciating his attempt to give me hope. Because he’s my friend and of course that’s what he’d do.

Just as I’m his friend.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” I ask him hesitantly.

Zaid’s body jerks slightly, but he stands and turns to face me. “Knew you couldn’t keep your nose out of it,” he grumbles.