Page 11

Chapter 9

Leon

I can always tell how angry Alastor is with me based on the number of gods he calls on to curse me and my thoughtless ways. One or two, and he’s only annoyed. If he bumps it up to three or four, he’s seriously pissed with me.

We’ve been away from Elmere for about six hours now, and I’m starting to worry he’s going to run out of deities.

“And what in the name of Ralus’s golden ball sack made you think this was a good idea?” he mutters to me. The princess is lying on the other side of the fire, fast asleep. At least Alastor waited until she was out to properly berate me. “We’re trying to prove our innocence here, and then you have to go after their secret princess—soon to be Trova’s queen, for the love of Lusteris—and kidnap her?”

“Maybe it’s precisely because I want to prove our innocence that I brought her with us. Did you think about that?”

He shakes his head. “Sweet, watery Mariste, do you expect me to believe you actually had a plan? Oh yes, that’s right—it’s all about leverage, isn’t it? Well, I’d like to see the leverage you use when we have to fight our way through Trova’s armies to get out of here alive.”

I say nothing for a moment, waiting for him to calm down. That’s the thing with Alastor: he has no filter. When your power means that everyone around you tells the truth all the time, you tend to forget the value of holding back. Eventually, he remembers that sometimes he has to shut up if he wants answers.

“Alright, fine,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “What is the plan? Why in the name of Winni—” He pauses, collects himself, and continues, “Why are we now carting around the heir to the Trovian throne?”

“Because, aside from being a useful bargaining chip if we ever do end up surrounded by Trova’s armies, if I’d let that assassin get her back at the palace, I would’ve failed in the one task my grandfather set for me: maintain Filusia’s alliance with the Trovian monarchs. Hard to do when they keep dying.”

“We could’ve killed that assassin and still left her there,” Alastor grumbles.

“Sure, because she was so safe in that palace.” I roll my eyes. “You saw the same thing I did. There were no guards in her wing. Someone with authority set this up. I’d have been surprised if she survived a week. Whoever killed King and Queen Angevire is obviously out for their daughter too.”

“And aside from avoiding getting framed for another murder, we want a monarch whose claim to the Trovian throne can’t be contested,” Alastor says, proving he understands.

I nod. “We need strong ties with the Trovian royals if the Temple’s influence is going to be kept in check, and I don’t trust a regent to hold things together until a new heir can be found. Don’t you remember how that went last time?”

Eighty years ago, a dispute over the throne led to civil war. And while the fact that the fae backed the winning side should mean our interests are safe, I don’t trust the humans to remember who their friends are. Especially when they keep giving that damn Temple of Ethira more and more power.

“Alright,” Alastor says. “I am willing to admit you had your reasons.”

“Exactly. We can talk next steps when we meet up with the others. You left the message at the fountain?”

Alastor nods, but he’s still looking at the sleeping princess.

“She really hates you, you know,” he says, as if commenting on the color of the sky.

I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? She’s hardly a threat to me. She’s a pampered princess who’s been wrapped in fluff and wool her whole life. I doubt she’d know hardship if it smacked her in the face. No magic? So what? I doubt she’s ever even needed it. And perhaps if her parents had been a little less focused on keeping their precious little heir safe and spent more time worrying about the state of things in the rest of their kingdom, then?—”

I cut myself off, aware I’m saying too much. Alastor gives me a knowing look but doesn’t probe any further, bedding down for the night.

I try to sleep myself, watching the princess through the edge of the dimming flames. Maybe I’m being unfair to her. She might look like her mother, but that doesn’t mean she’s anything like her.

As I grow drowsy, I find myself remembering that night in the tavern. The way she rescued the serving boy from what she believed were the big, bad fae. How she bargained for his safety before she’d been forced to bargain for her own.

And how I’d turned my back on her.

Because you had bigger things to worry about. Because you have people relying on you.

Still, I can’t help recalling the way she looked up at me, her big hazel eyes wide and desperate, her full mouth parted with outrage when I said no to her.

I push the memory away, and only then—when her distracting face has been blocked out of my mind—do I find sleep at last.

* * *

MORGANA

I wake cold and sore, the ache in my limbs not allowing me even a moment to pretend I’m not here, in the middle of nowhere, with two men who might slit my throat if I’m too much trouble.

The smell of cooking meat tells me the fae have been hunting something other than Trovian princesses, however. I crack an eye open to see them turning a rabbit over the fire. I’m hungry enough not to turn my nose up when Alastor offers me some. I do, however, eat it silently, taking the time to slowly start testing ideas for escape.

My hopes build when the two discuss finding a community for supplies, but Leonidas—or Leon as Alastor called him—doesn’t even let me down from the horse, and we stay on the outskirts of the village as Alastor, in his glamour once again, fetches food and water. After that, we ride. And ride some more.

Being on the run, it turns out, is incredibly boring. We travel through forests and on back roads for most of the day and barely see a soul. Part of me wonders if I did actually die in my bed in Elmere, and I’m stuck in the Gloamlands, forever glued to the back of this horse with the Nightmare Prince as my eternal punishment.

The rest of me focuses on what I need to do to escape. For starters, I need to avoid any more outbursts like last night. The fae need to think I’m passive, docile, and then they might be less vigilant. If I keep going on tirades about the prince killing my parents, they’ll not let me out of their sight. So I don’t speak to them most of the day, only accepting food with a nod of thanks. I notice that today, the prince doesn’t offer his hand to help me dismount the horse. I’m glad for it, eventually getting the hang of sliding off without losing my balance. But that precious opening I hope for—the one I can use to make a break for it—never comes. Instead, what arrives is the night, darkness rolling in. We make camp, and I try to sleep huddled beside the fire…

Water dashes against my face, filling my throat. I’m drowning again, opening my mouth to gasp or scream, but that only allows more water to flood in. A heavy weight presses in above me, and I can’t move, thrashing as I choke for air. Darkness dances at my vision as something mauls my body, touching every inch ? —

I bolt upright, hauling in great lungfuls of breath, panting like a hunted animal. Eventually, the sheer coldness of the air helps to calm me, pulling me further from the dream, back into reality. I’m not in my room at Gallawing , I tell myself. I’m here . And while “here” isn’t exactly a picnic, it’s certainly better than the place my mind has just come from.

“When did that happen?” a low voice floats over to me.

I whip my head around to see Leon watching me across from the fire. Alastor is asleep not far from him, but the prince is very much awake, his eyes boring into mine.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, still disoriented from the nightmare.

“The accident you were dreaming about, where you nearly drowned. When did it happen?”

Shock washes over me as I realize he used his sensic abilities to see my dream.

An awful heat creeps over my body, mixing fear and shame with something more volatile. My anger is back, and I can’t stop it before it answers for me.

“Keep your magic out of my head,” I snap, glaring at him.

The thought that he’d been in there, watching …I shudder, feeling violated all over again, only this time it’s his magic crawling over me, pawing at me.

His neutral expression is gone in a flash, replaced with irritation.

“I would keep my distance, gladly, but you were dreaming so loudly, you didn’t give me much choice.”

This man’s ability to kill my fear with aggravation is uncanny. Not for the first time, I wish for the flames between us to jump up and consume him. But Firesta still doesn’t want to offer me access to even a spark of my power.

“I’d expect you to be more grateful for my magic,” he continues, “considering it saved you from getting killed in the palace.”

He says it so casually that I don’t know what to make of it. When he’s angry, he looks like he could burn the whole world to the ground, but just as quickly he’s back to being that eye in the storm, as if not even the biggest chaos could rattle him.

“ If the tale you’ve spun about an assassin is true. How am I supposed to believe you?” I ask. “Why would I trust a murderer?”

His face darkens and he rises, walking slowly around the fire toward me. I wonder if he’s going to point his sword at me again, but I refuse to flinch as he draws closer.

He stops a few inches from me, dropping into a crouch. His body is large enough that it blocks all warmth from the fire. But when I shiver, it’s not because I’m cold. This close, I can feel the heat coming off him, and I am suddenly too aware of the holes in my cloak and the thin nightdress I still wear underneath.

“Don’t you think it’s strange, princess, that I was able to stroll into your rooms without encountering any guards? That the first bit of resistance I met was that idiot in the hood with his face covered and a knife in his hand?”

I’d been too distracted to give it much thought at the time, but looking back, I do remember we didn’t pass anyone on our way out of my rooms. Not even any bodies—except for the man with the knife. When I went to bed, the corridors were full of guards in their blue palace uniform. Even if the fae had silently run them through one by one without anyone sounding the alarm, they couldn’t have had the time to hide that many of their victims. So where were the guards? Why did they leave me so unprotected?

“Clearly someone in that palace wants you dead, Morgana. They organized for the guards to be elsewhere, and then they left the way wide open for the assassin to slip in.”

I only register his use of my name after he’s finished talking. My mind is too full of the information he’s given me, trying to weigh what I should and shouldn’t believe. A deep-rooted part of me doesn’t want to trust him—not if it risks betraying my mother and father, giving their killer an inch of understanding. I realize I’m staring into his eyes, so deep in thought that I hadn’t been conscious of my features.

“Finally,” he says with a sense of satisfaction. He abruptly stands and crosses back over to his side of the fire.

I blink, bewildered by his comment, but I sense we’ll have no more discussion this evening. I expect to toss and turn, but to my surprise, I drop off quickly and sleep through the rest of the night. Our conversation seems to have scared off my nightmare for now.

In the gray light of morning, things are different. My head aches, like pins are being pushed into my temples.

I pull the vial out of my pocket, and my stomach lurches at how little is left. Did I really take that much yesterday? It was still so much less than my usual dose, but now only a tiny quantity of crimson liquid remains. I uncork the vial, pursing my lips to take the smallest of sips. The burning sensation is nothing compared to the dread in my stomach.

I can’t stretch this out for more than another day. I have to get out—away from the fae—to find help before my body starts giving out. I touch a hand to my aching head only to find my forehead feels feverish. I had that moment when my head was spinning last night too. It’s already beginning.

“Fine,” Leonidas says to Alastor loudly, making me look over to the pair who had been locked for the past few minutes in a tense, quiet conversation. “We’ll stop at the damn trading post.”

“We can risk it,” Alastor says, following Leonidas as he strides past me toward the horses. “We’re days from Elmere. I doubt the news of her existence has even reached this part of Trova yet, and they won’t be expecting us to come by this route anyway.”

“Alastor, you’ve won. I said we’d go. You can get your food that isn’t rabbit, and I’ll throw in some proper clothes for her while we’re at it.” He jabs a thumb toward me. “I’m sick of her shivering away at night like a pathetic beggar.”

My headache still pounds between my ears, but my spirits soar. I can’t afford to delay any longer, but there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

When we get to that trading post, I’ll make my move, even if it kills me.