Page 20 of His Noble Savior (Folk of Vale #3)

Lilian

Lilian ran. He ran and ran, blindly racing through the forest and then across an open field, his labored breath wheezing in and out of him.

He wasn’t thinking. His mind was blank, and all that mattered was that his feet carried him away from the orc. He only paused once to drink from a swollen river, his shaky hands cupping cold water as he knelt in the damp grass, which soaked his trousers. At the smallest sound, he whipped around in a panic.

Lilian continued his flight, his legs burning as he raced away. Night fell, and he hid under the protruding roots of a giant tree. He didn’t sleep, his ears pricking up with every little noise. His pulse raced throughout the night as if he’d never stopped running. The smell of earth and pine needles was familiar, but it wasn’t the comforting sandalwood and leather scent his soul screamed for. An owl hooted, and Lilian curled in on himself. He tensed, a violent tremor rattling him. His muscles relaxed, then his entire body contracted over and over again, shuddering.

Orc. There’d been an orc. Tears slid down Lilian’s face.

Where was Richard? Lilian needed him, needed his strong arms to wrap around him, to shield him from the world. But those were fleeting thoughts. His mind flashed back to his captivity, to the unimaginable pain he’d gone through.

As soon as the sun rose, Lilian crawled out of his hiding place. Everything was a haze. His mind wasn’t working; all it did was shriek in alarm and whip Lilian into a run.

It went on for days. As long as the sun was up, Lilian ran; after it’d set, he lay in a hidden corner of the forest, shivering on the cold floor. There was no rest for him. The orc could find him at any moment, and if he caught him, Lilian wouldn’t survive.

His thoughts swirled, cloudy like a thick soup. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, never easing up.

Day. Night. Day. Night. Day. Night.

More days and more nights.

Fear. So much fear. Lilian quivered incessantly.

He discovered the veil that separated the human world from the faerie realm by accident. It brushed his skin like cool silk as he stumbled into the Spring Court.

Flowers everywhere. They sprouted from the ground like weeds, blue and yellow butterflies dancing between them. Trees bloomed in all shades of the rainbow, their petals drifting through the air. The sweet, floral scent of spring overwhelmed Lilian, and he sank to his knees in the meadow.

A hundred yards further, a hamlet stood in a grove, blooming nature surrounding the houses. Pink flowers grew on balconies and roofs, and colorful tendrils crawled along the walls.

Birds chirped in the trees, their song sweeter than any melody known to humankind. The birds hung their long, curling tails off the branches and spread their wings, showing off their bright coats. Young rabbits hopped around a grazing fawn, playing hide and seek between its legs.

Had Lilian reached the Spring Court right after escaping captivity, he would’ve wept in joy. Now, he felt nothing. The relief of having outrun the orc didn’t come. There was a gaping hole in Lilian’s heart, in the place where Richard had been with his kind eyes and sure hands.

Lilian didn’t bother approaching the houses. He’d find no help or comfort with the fae who inhabited them.

Bone-tired, he wandered the Spring Court. The familiar scenery faded into the background as he set one foot in front of the other. He was hungry, so hungry. He’d foraged a little here and there but hadn’t enjoyed a proper meal in a week. Where could he get something warm to eat?

Lilian attached all his hope to his home in the hollow tree. Any food he’d left there would’ve gone bad except his jars of jam. He remembered preparing different flavors: apricot, strawberry, peach… They ought to have kept. Lilian could almost taste their sweetness on his tongue. He was desperate enough to eat the jam by itself if that was the only way to restore his energy. Then he’d curl up with his blanket and sleep for a day before he thought about doing anything else.

But he was worried too. He hadn’t been home in so long and hoped the hollow tree hadn’t flooded. There were cracks in the bark, and when it rained, water got inside. He used to lay out pots to collect the water, but in his absence, the rain would’ve freely poured into his home.

Lilian’s tree stood on the edge of a forest, a meadow rolling out its green carpet at his front door. The first sign something was amiss was that the rug he’d used to cover the opening in the tree was gone. Normally, the thick turquoise fabric hung from a rope over the entrance, covering it. It was missing.

Lilian sprinted toward the tree, his tired feet carrying him across the field. Maybe the wind had carried it away. Lilian bit his bottom lip. He needed that rug to keep the warmth in and the weather out. If it was gone, he’d have to work hard to replace it—rugs weren’t cheap.

As he got closer, a sense of foreboding crept up his spine. He couldn’t see anything that should’ve been inside the tree: the shelves he’d built, his potter’s wheel, the green towel with the pink flowers that was supposed to hang from a protrusion.

Panting, Lilian arrived at his hollow tree, the opening a big, yawning mouth. His home was empty, save for a few cherry blossom petals, which the wind blew across the earthen floor. Empty. Lilian’s eyes stung.

How could that be? There was nothing left of his belongings. The jam was gone and so was his blanket. His carefully crafted pottery had disappeared. The contents of the hollow tree had vanished, all evidence that Lilian had once lived here eradicated.

This couldn’t be real. Gingerly, Lilian stepped across the threshold, his hand gliding over the inside of the tree. He ran it along his home’s circumference, hoping that his fingers would find something his eyes couldn’t see. Why was everything gone? Dizzy, he slumped against the wall.

Someone must’ve ransacked his home while he’d been gone. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the faerie realm since he’d left. He’d spent six months in the human world, but that could’ve been six weeks in the Spring Court. It could’ve been six years.

Lilian’s entire life before his captivity was gone. Like it’d never happened. Tears spilled onto his cheeks. He was bone-tired. All he’d wanted was to get home and lie down with his blanket, find a few hours of peace among his meager belongings. Lilian owned nothing of value, and the little that he did had been taken from him.

He’d have to go on for a bit longer, find Flora if she still lived in her cave. She’d be relieved to see him alive, and he could ask for her help while he got back on his feet.

It tore his heart to pieces, but he couldn’t return to Somerdale Castle. For all he knew, it might’ve been overrun by orcs. Either way, he couldn’t go back to Richard. Soon, he’d be married to Bellerose and start a new life with her. Perhaps it was better this way—Lilian would’ve had to leave the castle sooner or later. Bellerose had made it clear he wasn’t welcome past the wedding day.

He wished he could’ve said goodbye to Richard and held him one last time. But then again, the pain of such a farewell would’ve broken them. Sometimes a quick and unexpected ending was a kindness. Once Lilian had rebuilt his pottery, he could save up for a messenger to ride to Somerdale Castle and tell Richard he was alive and safe. More or less.

Lilian wove through the forest. Flora’s dwelling wasn’t far from his, and he found her cave with ease. Smoke drifted out of the cavern’s mouth, which was a good sign, though Lilian couldn’t be sure that it was still Flora who lived there.

Lilian loved his hollow tree, but objectively, Flora had the better house. The cave sheltered her from the elements; it was larger than Lilian’s tree and easier to keep warm.

As he approached, the rhythmic clattering of a potter’s wheel made him smile. Yes, Flora was home. His breathing became lighter. Flora would help him.

The rattling of the wheel grew louder with every step. At the cavern’s entrance, skewered mushrooms were roasting over the flames of the fire pit. Lilian’s mouth watered. Perhaps Flora would be willing to share if he offered a service in return.

She didn’t see him, her eyes fixed on the bowl spinning on the wheel before her. A smile played on her lips as she worked, white-blonde hair tucked behind her pointy ears. Lilian’s gaze drifted through the cave. There was a second potter’s wheel. Lilian blinked. It was his! He’d know it anywhere—one of its legs was bright red from the paint he’d once spilled.

His shelves lined the cave’s walls, and there, among his painted vases and dishes, lay his sky blue blanket. Next to it, he spotted his wooden comb and his rug. Some of the paintbrushes scattered around the cave looked familiar too. Had Flora removed his belongings from his tree to keep them safe?

She lifted her head and did a double take when she spotted him. “Lilian!” Flora jumped off her seat and went to wash her hands in a bowl of water, her back stiff. “You’re alive!”

“It’s good to see you.”

Flora wiped her hands on Lilian’s green and pink towel. “I didn’t expect you to come back.” She didn’t sound happy that he had.

Lilian’s eyes drifted to the fine pottery she’d crafted, to the beautiful dresses and robes that hung on the wall. Things had been going well for her. She didn’t seem to have all of his belongings. The jars of jam were missing, and so were the flower pots he’d made. Had she tucked them away?

“A lord saved me from the orcs,” Lilian said, gaze flicking over the contents of her cavern.

“How nice for you.”

Lilian picked at the skin around his fingernails. “I was shocked to see my home empty when I returned, but I’m glad you stored my things for me.” A hopeful note swung in his voice.

Flora stepped forward, stopping a foot from him. “Your things?”

“Well, you have my potter’s wheel, my shelves, almost everything that was in my tree. I’m grateful you’ve kept it safe.”

Flora huffed. “You’re mistaken. One might say these are my things, not yours.”

“But…”

“You were gone for months. Everything in this cave I regard as mine.”

He couldn’t believe it. But then again, he could. Even if Flora had initially stored his things for him, after all those months, he was indebted to her, and she might as well claim his possessions as payment. The puzzle pieces slotted together. The missing jam? She’d eaten it. The flower pots? Sold to pay for the new dresses. The betrayal was poison in his mouth.

“Flora, I’m hungry and tired. I’ve returned to find my tree empty. I need my wheel to earn gold.”

Flora squared her shoulders. “You can’t have the potter’s wheel.”

“It’s not like you need two.”

Flora said nothing.

Lilian swallowed. He’d need her help carrying the wheel to his hollow tree if he wanted it back. And the way she was posturing, it looked like he’d have to fight her to get his things. Flora was stronger than him, and unlike Lilian, she’d eaten. How could she do this to him? How could she make him beg for his belongings?

“Look, can I at least have my blanket? My rug and my comb?” Lilian looked at the cooking mushrooms. “And something to eat? Please, I’ve been roaming the human world for a week without a good meal. I need something to give me strength so I can go foraging.”

Flora shook her head, hair swaying across her shoulders.

“The blanket is worth nothing, but it has sentimental value to me,” Lilian pleaded. He needed something that’d comfort him now that Richard was gone. “I’m sure you can spare a skewer of mushrooms. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Do you want me to be cold at night? Do you want me to go hungry?” Flora asked, jutting her chin in his direction. “Your eyes have turned pink, Lilian. You’re not going to live long, so you won’t need those things. I do.”

“I have decades!”

“Is there a problem?” a deep male voice asked.

Lilian spun around. A male fae with pearl blond hair and an icy gaze sauntered toward them, an ax in hand, a few blocks of chopped wood under his arm. He kissed Flora on the cheek as he entered the cave, dropping the wood by the wall before taking a seat at Lilian’s wheel with a smirk.

With two against one, Lilian stood no chance. Flora was a lesser fae like him and desperate for every bit of gold she could earn, but her cold-heartedness cut deep. She must’ve thought him gone forever, and in her poverty, she took his things. Lilian understood. He might’ve done the same had Flora disappeared without a trace. They were too poor to let useful things go to waste. In his absence, she’d grown accustomed to having Lilian’s belongings. They’d become hers, which made parting with them difficult, but that she wouldn’t return the smallest items, wouldn’t share a bit of food with him, made his chest ache.

Lilian dropped his head, tears pooling in his eyes. He pressed his lips together to hold in his emotions and walked away without another word.

By the time he returned to his tree, the sun was setting. His stomach growled, but he didn’t have the strength to look for food tonight. He’d collect berries in the morning.

In a corner of his tree, Lilian curled into a ball. He had nothing but the clothes on his back. With his tools gone, he’d have to start his pottery from scratch. Until then, he had no means to earn money. He’d have to scour the forest for food which would steal time away from rebuilding his pottery. It’d taken him years to make a meager living, and it’d take him years again. Lilian would do it. Tomorrow, he’d pick himself up, find mushrooms, berries and fruit and begin building a new potter’s wheel. Tonight, he’d grieve. He grieved his friendship with Flora. He grieved the few things he’d owned and that had brought him joy. Most of all, he grieved his time with Richard.

Ragged sobs poured out of Lilian as he thought of the kindness and affection Richard had showered him with. He dragged his hands into his hair and balled them into fists, pulling at his locks. He hiccuped, choking on his cries. Richard. He needed Richard. His warm embrace. The safety he promised. Like so many times before, when his parents left him, when Flora abandoned him to the orcs, Lilian felt utterly alone.