Read Online Chasing the Valley by Skye Melki-Wegner - Free Book Online

Taladia end up dead.’
    Teddy doesn’t answer. I think back to the conversation in the sewers, words that echoed through the tunnel while bombs crashed down above our heads . . .
    â€˜Radnor said you were on the run, that you begged him for a spot on the crew,’ I say. ‘But the guards are always after you. What the hell did you do that’s bad enough to –’
    Our foxary stops walking.
    This isn’t a slow, meandering halt. It’s sharp and abrupt, and sends my forehead into the back of Teddy’s shoulders. His muscles tense and I know instantly that something’s wrong. I peel myself back up and twist around to view the trees. There’s no sign of anyone nearby, but the foxary’s muscles are so tightly strung that I feel them retract beneath me. It feels like sitting on a loaded slingshot, the string stretched back, just waiting for the shooter to let fly. ‘What’s going –’
    Bang!
    The bullet whizzes past my shoulder. Before I even know what’s happening, there’s a violent jolt beneath me and we’re off, smashing through the trees. I’m almost thrown off the foxary’s back, but fear makes me squeeze my arms and calves so tightly that I could rival a barnacle for gripping power.
    â€˜Hold on!’ shouts Teddy, just as another bullet squeals through the foliage.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Just do it, Danika! We’re about to –’
    The rush of speed steals his words away. It doesn’t matter, though, because I realise what’s happening as the foxary’s muscles retract into another squeeze beneath me. The creature runs like a spring, sucking up all its strength and then exploding forward with a crash. I duck my head low, struggling to avoid the whip of branches as we careen between tree trunks.
    â€˜It’s a hunter!’ I say. ‘There’s no way a city guard could –’
    â€˜I know! Can you see how many there are?’
    Until now, it hasn’t occurred to me that we might have multiple pursuers. I twist my neck around, squinting through the mess of brown and green and blustery air. There’s a flash of green – the royal uniform of King Morrigan’s hunters – but it vanishes quickly between the trees.
    â€˜Left!’ shouts Teddy.
    His warning has barely registered when the foxary throws itself sideways, ducking to the left of a massive tree trunk. It’s a close call and we just avoid smashing into the bulk of wood. My right leg crashes against the side and agony shoots up through my knee. I let out a cry. Every instinct tells me to grab my leg, to squeeze the wound and numb the pain, but letting go now would mean death. I clamp my eyes shut instead and silently order myself: Ignore the pain, Danika. It’s not hurting, it’s just a race. It’s just a race, and if you let it hurt you’re going to lose . . .
    I force my eyes open and twist back around, fighting for a better view of the hunter. He must be riding a foxary of his own, or some other beast with enormous speed – how else could he keep up with us?
    Then I feel the gush of wind rise up behind us and I realise. This man is not riding an animal. He rides the wind itself, meshing and floating and flickering along its power currents. His proclivity is Air, perhaps, or Wind – either way, it’s given him enough speed and power to keep pace with a foxary. This man is no amateur, no unpractised recruit. He’s a professional killer. And he’s going to blast our bodies into mulch on the forest floor.
    We twist through the trees; the foxary’s muscles clench and release like a piano accordion. I fall forward onto Teddy’s back a few times, smashing my face against the hard bone of his spine, but with a gasp and a wrench of my own muscles I manage to regain my balance. Everything is a blur – brown, green, trees, wind, leaves – and all I can think is that