Chapter 8 : The Trap
564 Words
The cave was dark, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and burnt sage. Veyla crouched beside Dravot, her fingers tracing the rough stone of the cave wall, her breath shallow. The black stone in her pouch pulsed, a slow, rhythmic throb like a wounded heart, in time with the serpent scar on her shoulder—the mark that bound her to him.
Dravot’s pale blue eyes gleamed in the flickering torchlight, his black-veined arms crossed over his chest. The scars on his torso—old wounds, ritual carvings—shifted as he breathed, like living things. "They’ll come," he growled, his voice rough as flint. "They always do."
Veyla nodded, her heart pounding like a war drum. The Archivists had tracked them here, to the hidden caves beneath the Wolf Clan’s hunting grounds. She could hear them—footsteps, whispers, the clink of blackened bone spears. "We shouldn’t have come back," she hissed, her fingers tightening around her flint dagger.
"We had to," Dravot murmured, his eyes never leaving the cave entrance. "They think they’re hunting us."
"And they are," she spat.
His lips curled. "No. They’re walking into our trap."
A rustle at the cave’s mouth. Then—silence.
Veyla held her breath.
A shadow moved. Then another. And another.
Dravka stepped into the torchlight, her silver hair braided with black ribbons, her lips curled into a smile. Behind her, six Archivist guards, their spears raised, their eyes cold. "Ah," she purred, her voice like poisoned honey. "The thieves return."
Dravot didn’t move. His voice was a low growl. "Dravka."
"You killed my guards," she said, her smile never wavering. "That was unwise."
"We killed yours," Dravot growled. "We’ll kill more."
Dravka’s eyes gleamed. "Then you’ll die trying."
"We’re not here to die," Veyla said, her voice steady. She stepped forward, her flint dagger hidden behind her back. "We’re here to trade."
Dravka’s laugh was soft, mocking. "And what, little thief, do you have that I want?"
Veyla smiled, her fingers brushing the black stone in her pouch. "A curse."
The cave went still.
Dravka’s smile faded. "Explain."
"The stone," Veyla said, pulling it from her pouch. Its crimson veins pulsed in the torchlight, like fresh blood. "It’s bound to him." She nodded at Dravot. "And now, to me."
Dravka’s eyes narrowed. "You lie."
"Do I?" Dravot stepped forward, his black veins pulsing. "The stone is a spirit-stone. It feeds on blood. On fear." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And it’s hungry."
Dravka’s fingers twitched. "What do you want?"
"Your freedom," Veyla said. "For the Wolf Clan."
"And in return?"
Dravot’s lips curled. "The stone."
Dravka laughed, the sound sharp as shattering ice. "You fools."
"Try us," Veyla said.
Dravka snapped her fingers. Two guards stepped forward, their spears raised. "Take them."
"Wait," Veyla said, her voice cutting through the tension. "There’s more."
Dravka paused.
Veyla pulled a strip of skin from her pouch—the piece Dravot had carved from her. "We know what you want." She tossed it at Dravka’s feet. "The curse isn’t just in the stone."
Dravka’s eyes flickered to the skin, then back to Veyla. "You play a dangerous game, little thief."
"We’re not playing," Dravot growled.
Dravka smiled, slow and dangerous. "Then let’s see how deep your curse runs."
She snapped her fingers again.
The guards advanced.
Veyla grinned.
And the cave exploded.
- Writer
