Her Cruel Redemption (The Dark Reflection #3)

Chapter Twelve

I began to sleep easier as we continued our journey. Perhaps I was getting used to the thin bedroll, the cold night air, the rustling of the trees nearby and the sound of Daethie gently snoring. One morning, I woke in a good mood after having had the best sleep I’d had since I’d arrived in the Living Valley, absorbed with pleasant, vivid dreams. I felt so deeply rested, like I’d been able to finally relax, all those tight muscles unknotting. I sat up slowly, unwilling to release the foggy glow, mind still clinging to snatches of dreams I only half remembered and wouldn’t acknowledge even if I did.

Daethie watched me thoughtfully as I stretched and rubbed my eyes.

‘What did you dream of?’ she asked.

‘Hm?’ I replied absently as I combed my fingers through my hair.

‘ Your dreams. What were they about?’ she repeated.

My hands in my hair stilled and I was suddenly fully awake. ‘Why?’

‘You were very happy. I’ve never tasted happy like that on you before.’

Immediately, my neck was flushed with heat. ‘Don’t read me when I’m sleeping,’ I snapped, flicking back the blankets. ‘My dreams are none of your business.’

She simply smiled. ‘Then dream more quietly.’

I puffed out of the tent and into the cold morning air, fumbling to push the conversation and the night’s imagery from my mind. She couldn’t see into my mind, only read my emotions, I reminded myself. It didn’t matter if she’d felt my response to the dream. No one knew what I dreamed about.

The others were already stirring, drifting in and out of tents to stretch and greet the morning. Elias prodded at the coals of the fire, trying to resurrect it, and Tanathil knocked pots about, mixing pinches of herbs together in mugs for some kind of tea, while Goras was already rolling up his bedroll and preparing to pack down his tent.

Mae approached me, already bright-eyed and ready for the morning, hair pulled back beneath a red scarf and wearing a dress of bright yellow that warmed the brown of her skin. ‘Do you want to practice shields or knives this morning?’ she asked cheerily.

I wanted to say knives. It seemed a waste of a good night’s sleep to suggest anything other, but now that the fog of dreams had cleared I felt edgy and exposed again. ‘Shields,’ I replied with a sigh, and I trailed after her to go and sit in the morning dew a small distance away while the others prepared breakfast.

The session was as hopeless as every other prior had been. Though I had managed to avoid another attack of panic since my first attempt, I still couldn’t make my mind settle into the stillness that seemed to be required, and no matter what I visualised to protect that turbulent lake of thoughts, it always shattered after a few moments of her tapping against it.

‘It held for longer that time,’ she said as I rubbed at my temples after another failed attempt to keep her out. ‘You’re improving.’

I’d have hated to see what she considered stagnation. ‘Not by much, but thank you for saying so,’ I muttered. At least my knife throwing was progressing faster. I could hit a target almost every time now, though I rarely got close to a bullseye. What wasn’t progressing at all, of course, was my use of magic. Since I’d been all but banned from using it. A latent fear simmered away in the back of my mind that I’d lose the ability altogether, that any headway I’d made in those frustrating months in the Yawn would be lost, but I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Even knowing Gwinellyn had been right and it was a necessary precaution, it didn’t stop it grating on me.

When Mae and I re-joined the others, we barely had time to eat some porridge that tasted like glue now that we’d run out of sugar, before we were back on the road. Everyone else looked as hungry and dishevelled as I felt, and I was sick of riding by late morning, so it was almost a relief when Mae’s horse threw a shoe, because it meant we couldn’t put off stopping to resupply any longer.

Garlein was a small town, the name only known to us because it was scrawled on the map we were following. It was bustling with enough travellers and people fleeing the fighting zones that we wouldn’t be noticed. As good a place as any to stop.

‘So, we need food. And extra water cans,’ Gwinellyn said hesitantly, scanning the group as though she was waiting for someone to contradict her. When no one did, she continued. ‘And Mae’s horse needs to be reshod. Is there anything else?’

‘Information,’ I said. ‘On the war.’

‘So… a newspaper?’

‘Only if you’re interested in propaganda. I want to know about the fighting, and about what’s going on in the capital. I’m better off chasing rumours than nosing through a paper.’

‘Alright,’ Gwin agreed. ‘Information would be helpful. How about Goras and Tanathil focus on sourcing food, while Mae and I take her horse to be reshod.’ Those she’d named nodded in agreement. She turned to Elias. ‘Do you think you could manage the water?’

He offered her a crooked smile. ‘Just remind me which coins are which.’

‘Then I’ll go rumour hunting,’ I finished for her. ‘A tavern should do well enough as a place to look.’

‘So long as you take Kel or Daethie with you.’

‘I don’t need a babysitter.’

‘It’s not a suggestion.’ She lifted her chin a little as she said this, and when I raised my eyebrows she didn’t lower it. ‘You don’t need to do everything alone. And if you get into trouble, I want you to have someone who can help you, or who can at least let us know what’s happened.’

‘You didn’t assign Elias a partner.’

‘Elias isn’t a woman going into a crowded tavern. And Elias isn’t the runaway queen.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Someone might recognise you. Maybe there’s even a bounty on your head. We just don’t know and we need to be careful.’

‘Fine,’ I said, folding my arms. I sized up my two options for companions. ‘I’ll take Daethie.’ The flossy-haired woman blinked at me in a sort of daze, smiling like she was looking right through me.

‘To a human tavern,’ she murmured. ‘What luck.’

I shot a look to the sky. Madeia help me.

We pushed our way through the crowded streets as quickly as I could manage with the ever-curious Daethie, who wanted to stop and stare at every shop window and gawk at every market cart. The crowds were clearly travellers, with the streets choked with families who seemed to be drifting about with no place to go, or going door to door requesting rooms, or haggling with merchants who wanted exorbitant prices for their highly in demand food items.

‘I don’t know how much luck we’re going to have sourcing supplies here,’ Daethie said as we ducked out of the way of a quarrel between a fruit stall holder and a red-faced, dusty man who was outraged at the price of apples. ‘I think they’re a bit overrun.’

‘Overrun is putting it mildly,’ I muttered. The crowd pressed in closer, and the air was thick with raised voices, the scent of overripe fruit mixing with sweat and dust. Every customer seemed one bad offer away from a fistfight. ‘Seems like food is getting tight. We must be getting closer to the conflict.’

‘We can always forage if we need to,’ Daethie said as she dodged a pile of rotting cabbage leaves.

‘If people are starting to go hungry, we’ll be hard pressed to find anything that hasn’t already been picked over. Unless you want to eat rats. There’s always plenty of those where there are big crowds.’ Spotting the swinging sign of a tavern on one of the buildings nearby, I caught her sleeve and tugged her in that direction. ‘Come on, I’ve spotted our news source.’

The tavern was as busy as the street outside had been. The air was warm, almost stifling between the heat of the fire in the grate and the many bodies packed around tables and along the bar. The buzz of voices was a constant hum, almost too loud for real eavesdropping, but perhaps I could strike up a conversation with someone looking to while away their time with their mug of ale. With a pang, I remembered that my scarred face made that a trickier prospect than it once would have been. I’d have to rely on my skills in conversation instead of my looks.

I turned to Daethie, about to tell her to start asking around and see what she could find out about the war, but when I caught sight of her blatant fascination as she stared around the room I quickly reconsidered that idea.

‘Don’t wander,’ I said instead, having to wave a hand before her face first to get her attention. ‘And don’t talk to anyone. I’ll get us some drinks and see if I can strike up a conversation with the barkeeper. Just find yourself a seat and try not to draw attention to yourself.’

She smiled dreamily, and if she was insulted by the instructions that essentially implied that she wouldn’t be of any use in our task, she didn’t show it. I left her drifting towards an empty seat, staring at people far too long as she went. It would have been far easier if Gwinellyn hadn’t made me take her. Now I’d have to worry about getting back to her before she did something stupid.

I squeezed my way through the other patrons to find a space to stand at the bar and placed a few coins on the countertop. The man to my right wasn’t a good option, since he seemed to be waiting for several mugs of ale to be poured, which meant he’d be taking them back to his companions and wouldn’t have time to linger. To my left were a pair of women—doxies, by the looks of their low-cut gowns and the rouge on their cheeks. They’d be a better option. I was scanning the bottles lined along the wall behind the bar to decide what to order before I nuzzled in on their conversation when the sight of a portrait hanging on the wall stopped me dead.

It was large, and housed in a heavy, ornate frame. A pair of fierce dark eyes stared back at me from within a face of glowing, devastating beauty. My eyes. My face. At least, what had used to be my face.

I cringed down, feeling suddenly exposed, like everyone around me was staring between me and that portrait and realising I was their runaway queen. The whore queen. The murderer queen. The one they could blame for the state of their country and their lives.

But as I glanced around, reason reasserted itself. No one was looking at me. They didn’t associate that formidable, beautiful woman on the wall with the scarred, travel-worn one cowering at the bar. I remembered the odd way Draven had looked at that portrait when he’d seen it being painted, realising why he had reacted so strangely to it. Because he’d never seen me as the woman on the wall. The difference must have been staggering to him, to see the glamor he’d cast but never been subjected to. It would be as staggering a difference to the people in this tavern. They might even laugh if I were to claim myself as that woman in the portrait, thinking me just some mad wretch whose mind had turned.

The man to my right finally collected all of his mugs, threading his fingers through the handles and drawing away with them all clinking together and slopping beer over the rims. In the sudden space beside me, I caught the words Princess Gwinellyn spoken in a tense murmur a little further down the bar. I whipped my head around, quickly finding their source, eyes narrowing on a bar maid as she leaned in to exchange a low conversation with one of her patrons. Her hair was frazzled and slipping out of the knot at the base of her neck, and her skin was tired and creased, but her eyes were bright with excitement as she spoke to the bearded gent watching her with an expression that looked caught between shock and amusement. I drew a little closer, straining my ears to hear while trying not to look like I was listening.

‘She is , I swear it. I’ve heard the same story from at least three different people now. Princess Gwinellyn is alive and she’s on the road to Oceatold.’

Cold horror slipped down my spine, curdling in my stomach as I watched the bearded man hiking up his eyebrows.

‘That’s some rumour, Margie,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘ Princess Gwinellyn? On the road to Oceatold? Where would that kind of story have even come from?’

‘There were a family who shared a fire with her. She has a band of soldiers escorting her to the border, and the king of Oceatold is only waiting on her arrival to launch a full-scale invasion,’ she continued, her cheeks flushed with excitement, now. ‘We already know the Grand Weaver is in Oceatold, and a handful of other lords. They’re all just waiting for her to join them and they’ll have the Shadow King by the throat.’

‘Maybe keep some of those ideas to yourself,’ he replied, glancing down the bar just as I averted my eyes, pretending to busy myself with my coin purse. ‘Speaking of such things so merrily treads dangerously close to treason.’

The bar maid visibly bristled, planting her hands on her hips as she straightened up. ‘Well, I’ll know to keep you in the dark from now on. If you don’t like hearing stories, then don’t ask for them.’

He leaned across the bar, lowering his voice. ‘There’s better places to peddle your stories. You could sell it to the king. You know he pays good money for those kinds of rumours.’

I backed away from the bar and began to scan the room for Deathie, feeling sick to my stomach. We had to get out of here. Out of this tavern, out of this town. And we had to get out now .

When we returned to camp, Goras and Tanathil were already done with their little jaunt into town. They were carefully distributing what food they’d managed to buy between the saddle bags while Kelvhan fed the horses.

‘Has Gwinellyn returned?’ I asked as soon as Goras looked up to see me approaching.

‘No,’ he said, frowning as he studied my face, before his eyes glazed over in a look I was beginning to recognise.

‘Don’t you dare,’ I snapped, holding up a finger in warning at the first brush of magic against me. ‘You know how I feel about you all touching me with magic. If you have a question, you can ask it. Or I’m sure you can use your damn eyes and see perfectly well that I’m angry.’

‘Then speak. Did you have trouble?’ he said, folding his arms as his eyes cleared.

‘No. But we need to be ready to move as soon as the others return. Have you seen them since we all split off?’

‘What’s the hurry?’ Tanathil asked, leaving the saddle bag he’d been carefully rearranging and rising to his feet, dusting his hands off on his legs as he did. ‘We just arrived. I thought we were planning on staying the night.’

‘Plans change,’ I said. ‘It’s too dangerous to stay here.’

‘Rhiandra? Is something wrong?’ Gwinellyn’s voice chimed from behind me, and I spun around to see her approaching the camp with Mae in tow, leading the newly-shod horse. I strode towards her immediately.

‘You told someone who you are.’ I gripped her shoulders when I reached her, halting her in place. ‘Why? Why, Gwinellyn?’

‘What?’ Her face paled. ‘What did you hear at the tavern?’

‘That Princess Gwinellyn is on the road to Oceatold to meet with her forces and retake the throne. Quite a specific rumour.’ I released her with a flick of my hands. ‘So, who did you tell, Gwinellyn? Who needed your hope so badly that you decided to risk the safety of everyone in this group?’

‘Easy, Rhiandra, we heard some wild rumours when we were with the blacksmith. The lack of information on the war is a breeding ground for them,’ Mae said, running a soothing hand down her horse’s nose as it tossed its head.

‘Well, the one I care about is this one, because it’s the damned truth. It was that family, wasn’t it? The ones who shared our fire? It wasn’t enough to feed them, you thought you needed to promise to be their hero as well. And now look how they’ve repaid you.’

‘You’re right, it wasn’t enough to just feed them,’ Gwin said quietly, shaking her head. ‘Did you see that little boy? Did you see how hopeless they were? They’d lost everything. If I could give them a little of something to hold onto to lift their spirits, then I think it was worth the risk.’

‘You made such a point of me keeping my powers secret to avoid drawing attention and maintain the element of surprise, only to go and give away the biggest surprise we had. These are the rumours Draven will be listening for, and there are plenty of desperate people who would be willing to sell them to him.’ I searched her face, seeing her lifted chin, a spark of reckless defiance. Aether’s teeth, she thought her people would guard her secret. She had clearly never tasted desperation. ‘Your naivety is going to get us killed,’ I snapped.

‘Enough, Rhiandra,’ Elias interrupted, coming to Gwin’s side. A damned white knight to her rescue, when she needed to be able to fight for herself. ‘You’ve said your piece. What’s done is done.’

I inhaled deeply and took a step back. He was right. It was done. And fissures of guilt were snaking through my anger-coated fear now, spawned by Gwinellyn’s reminder of that spindly child and his threadbare mother.

I could have stopped this war.

‘We need to pack up camp and get moving. The sooner we make the border, the better,’ I said finally, my tone a little quieter, a little softer in the wake of my shame.

‘Alright. We’ll see how far we get before nightfall and camp on the roadside again,’ Gwin replied, looking chastised, and I released a sigh, watching her as she moved past me to help with packing the food into saddle bags. Had I been too hasty in putting my faith in her? Had I wanted too badly to believe that she could do what she planned and fix my mistakes? Perhaps I’d been so blinded by the potential for my own redemption that I hadn’t been able to see this for the doomed cause that it was. Inspiring a crowd of magic-wielding recluses to action was one thing, but what about when we reached Oceatold? There would be a mess of power struggles among the druthi and lords and priests of the Brimordian court who had made it over the border. How was she supposed to convince them all to abandon their own agendas and follow her? How was she supposed to win a war?

And yet, for some reason, I believed in her. It seemed even this latest foolhardy decision hadn’t changed that.

Elias returned with additional water cannisters to be added to the collection of items to sling over the backs of the horses, and by then it was already well into the afternoon. The shadows were growing longer, stretching out across the ground as the sun slipped through the sky, and I tied knots with slapdash efficiency as my horse pawed at the ground and tested the pull on his rope. If he’d had enough slack, I was sure he would have turned his head and taken a bite out of me.

‘Your magic is what’s upsetting him,’ Tanathil said as he sidled up to the horse and ran a hand down its neck, wearing that glazed look that meant he was using magic. The creature immediately settled down, the pawing ceasing, muscles relaxing.

‘Then why is yours doing the opposite?’

‘You’re smart. I think you know why.’

‘I don’t want another lecture.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t do lectures. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie to you either.’

I eyed him as I clipped the final buckle of the saddle bag and tugged it to check it was secure, so I saw the moment he stiffened, losing that loose-limbed stance he favoured as he looked around. Immediately, I was on edge. The horses were a distance away from the camp site, shielded from the others by a thicket of trees.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Someone’s here.’ He scanned the trees. ‘Someone poking around.’

I followed his gaze, but all I could see were trunks and branches, the many straight pines standing sentry around us. ‘Should we go back and tell the others?’

Tan opened his mouth to reply, but with a sudden whizzing sound, something shot out of the darkness and landed in him with a thump. He gasped a startled inhale, his hand immediately going to the shaft of the crossbow bolt sticking out of his side. I hardly had time to react, to reach out and try to catch him as he slumped against the horse, because t here were shapes in the trees, silhouettes emerging from the shadows. Two, three, five. I whipped my head around to catch sight of a sixth behind us as I held Tanathil up. They were moving swiftly, steadily closing in on me. Bandits? Soldiers? Fear sent my heart thundering as I tried to pick a spot to cut between them, to run . The shiver of terror raising hair on my skin met that staticky zing in my blood, and I woke from my shock with a jolt. Immediately, I released Tan and drew the static forth, into my hands.

One of the advancing men faltered, his eyes going to my hands as I stepped forwards. He raised his crossbow and shot a bolt towards me, but it went wide and I ducked away from it, embedding in a tree behind me. Another grabbed him by the wrist.

‘Fucking idiot!’ he bellowed. ‘You want to lose your fucking head?! Don’t damage her!’

Sparks were crackling between my fingers as I raised them, arcing around my wrists, up my forearms. Heat was burning in my palms. They wouldn’t have a chance to shoot again. I took a step forwards, lifted my hands and threw them forwards with a scream.

Boom!

A burst of light. A spray of debris through the air. Behind the furthest attacker, a tree was engulfed in flames. He had fallen to the ground and was scrambling back to his feet, eyes wide. My head spun in a dizzying swoop as the others exchanged shouts I couldn’t hear, drowned out by the pounding thud in my ears. Behind me, the horse was screaming, and I could feel the thud of his hooves landing heavily. The attackers seemed half caught in motion, startled gazes fixed on me.

I found myself flashing my teeth in something halfway between a snarl and a grin, gripped with a furious exhilaration as I took a few more steps forwards, holding my hands out as sparks continued to chase their way up my arms, making my hair stand on end. I swivelled my right hand and another bolt of lightning leapt in a wide arc, slamming to the ground with one, then another cacophonous boom! The impact knocked my legs out. Pain tore through my head. I curled into a ball on the ground, smacking my hands over my eyes in a gasp, attackers momentarily forgotten. Oh, it hurt. So much that I thought I might vomit. But there were people here who would hurt me more, and I was vulnerable. I struggled to push myself off the ground, one hand still grinding against my forehead. I squinted through the throbbing, bracing myself to move, to lash out.

But there was no one looming over me. The attackers lay in struggling piles around me, staggering to get themselves upright. The first to his feet took one look at me, meeting my eyes for a split second, before he turned to bolt back through the trees. Within moments, they were all streaming away, scattering like a group of frightened cats, no longer a collective unit but a bunch of scared boys running for their lives. Then another bolt of pain lanced through my head and everything went dark.