Page 39

Bright light sears my eyelids, the chirping of birds and the distant sounds of moving water. I take a deep breath, recognizing his unmistakable musky scent. My eyes flash open to find a bare collar bone and shoulder. So close. Because I’m tucked right into the crook of his neck. I stiffen.

Last night, he’d been tucked around me. Somehow, between then and this morning, the roles have reversed.

I blink a couple of times, blood flashing hot and then cold. My arms are wrapped around his nape, fingers curling against his bare back. And that’s not even the worst of it. One of my legs is draped around his waist, the other delving between his thighs. The cloak has somehow been kicked off, the breeze brushing against parts of me that should not be exposed to the elements.

I can’t even blame him for this…I suck in a deep breath. Okay… I need to remove myself from this very intimate position without rousing him because if he notices…if he notices…

He will never let me live it down.

Cautiously, I begin pulling my leg off of his hip, watching his chest for any changes to his breathing. And, then, the tricky part. I brace my palm ever so lightly against his shoulder so I can pluck my knee out from between his large thighs. Please don’t wake up. Please don’t…wake up, you big…warm bastard . I slide it out slowly, hardly even breathing. When I finally free myself, and he still doesn’t stir, I expel a breath in relief. I tug the shirt down to cover my exposed thighs and roll across the ground to put some distance between us before getting up. Liquid green eyes, very much open and amused bore into my soul.

I jolt with a yelp. He props his head up on an elbow and smirks. “Trying to be stealthy?”

He doesn’t look the least bit like he’s just woken up. My chest sinks. “H-how long have you been awake?”

“A while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I ask in mortification.

“Couldn’t bring myself to. You looked so comfortable,” he says, flashing me a wide grin. “And you needed the rest.”

“I—it—sorry, I have no idea how that even happened,” I stammer.

“How could that have happened?” he teases, chuckling as he hauls himself into a sitting position.

“I…must’ve been cold,” I mumble.

“Uh, no, you stayed quite warm, in my opinion.” He plucks the canteen from the ground and takes a swig before handing it off to me.

My face is still bursting with color as I take it from him without meeting his eye. Under the flitting of my wildly beating heart is the steady pulse of the dāemon. Back at last. I knew it would be but disappointment still sours me. “Magic?” I manage once I’ve recovered myself. Our clothing flies from the tree limb it’s spread over in response. My clothes land in my lap, warm, dry and wrinkles removed. I stalk off to hide behind a tree to shuffle them on, sneaking one last lungful of his shirt in before pulling it over my head.

By the time I come out he already has our supplies gathered and reattached to Epona’s saddle. I hand him his shirt, and he hands me my cloak that I promptly fasten around my neck as he does up his buttons. “Ready?” I nod. He grips me around the waist to haul me up before he clambers on behind me.

I promptly lean back into him, knowing if I don’t, I’ll get an earful, but he nudges my shoulder to push me away.

I quickly put distance between us, floundering in total mortification. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you—“

He snorts. “Pandora,” he says, cutting me off sternly. “I need to sort out your hair right quick.”

“Oh.” His magic flickers through my hair, whipping it lightly, but then it’s his hands that pull it back and begin weaving it into a braid. “It feels strange to hear my name again.” Or maybe it just feels strange to hear him say it…

“Well, unfortunately for you. Everyone now knows you as Syra, so you’re going to have to keep that up… forever.”

I shrug. “It’s alright. I kind of prefer them not knowing my real name. Couldn’t you use magic to braid my hair?”

It takes him a few beats to respond, intently focused on his job. “Hmm, I could try, but I’m kind of concerned it’d end up in a knot. Sometimes, it’s easier to do things the old-fashioned way.” I’m learning more and more about the limitations of his magic.

“I don’t have a hair tie,” I say as he nears the ends of my hair.

“That’s alright, I have one.”

“You have a hair tie?”

“Mhm.” He finishes, tucks my hair in behind my cloak and tows me back to his chest. His hands linger across my shoulders for a moment, chin tipping the top of my head like he’s trying to make a point of it. As if to say this is right where I want you, you silly girl. A slow warmth sweeps over me like a tide. He really does not know personal space. He takes the reins in his hands, and we slowly filter between the trees.

“You said I get to pester you with questions today.”

He groans. “No…I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“Yes, you did. You said exactly that.”

“I think you’re mistaken. You weren’t really all that lucid yesterday.”

“Yes, I was!”

“I distinctly remember you thinking you were dead.”“Sitri!”

His laugh is a deep, resonant sound. He finds a path carving through the Wood, and our speed increases momentously—faster even than I remembered. I bring my gaze to his symboled hands to keep the nausea at bay.

“I’ll make you a bargain. For every question you get, I get one too.”

“You already asked me so many questions last night.”

“Yes, but I don’t recall you asking for any such bargain last night, so those don’t count.”

“That’s not fair.”

“And, we can pass on answering if we choose, no questions asked.”

“Do I at least get to go first?”

“Go on.”

I know I have a million questions bursting at the seams. Now that I have the opportunity to ask them, they flood right out of my brain.

“Your go, pet.”

“I’m…trying to think of a good one.” My mind lingers on what I thought he was doing to me with his magic, but I’m not treading anywhere close to admitting that…if only I knew what he was capable of. “Okay… what kinds of things can you not do with magic?”

He laughs softly. “That would take a very long time to list. There are plenty of things I can’t do. Plenty of things Magi used to be able to do and can no longer. And, that list only gets longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our magic is weakening, pet. Our magic is from the Gods, and the Gods have been gone for a long time. Each generation’s magic is weaker than those before it.”

It takes me several seconds to process that. “That means…”

“That someday we’ll all be noughts again.”

“This is why they were so upset about your heirs…”

“Yes, the Scions value preserving their power above all else.”

“The Scions?” I repeat.

“The Scions are the closest descendants to the last Gods that roamed the earth. Those that rule the kingdoms.”

“You’re a Scion?”

“Yes.”

“Morin?”

“Everyone that was at that middle table was a Scion of some sort.”

“And since you’re a Scion, that means you’re more powerful?”

“Generally.”

I’m quiet for a few minutes as I take all that in, connecting all the pieces. May you be fitted with a wife more suited to carry your heirs. “I’m sorry,” I say finally.

“Why?”

I twiddle with the pommel. “I guess I understand better what makes me, you know, a punishment …”

He goes quiet and still before leaning forward in a low voice, “Ah, yes, you are truly such a torture. All of your sassy, disrespectful, naive, but utterly reckless and skittish nature. I don’t know how I’ll ever survive you—“

“Hey,“ I snap, as I launch an elbow back that never meets its target as his hand binds around my arm. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“And, violent. I nearly forgot that one.” I attempt to wrench my arm from his hold, but he draws it behind my back and uses his other hand to tilt my chin up and meet his gaze. “Don’t do that,” he says sternly. “Don’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

His hand is pleasantly warm. “I…I don’t want to rob you of anything.”

“You aren’t,” he says firmly as he lets me loose and takes the reins back in his hands.

“But what about your heirs? Don’t you care about preserving your magic?”

He grunts out a noise of disgust. “That’s the equivalent of me asking you: what about your Shroud, Pandora? Don’t you care about preserving your purity? ”

“How is that the same? Your magic is real.”

“Magic isn’t everything, and it doesn’t matter how carefully we arrange our marriages, how many Magi we force into existence unless the Gods return, our magic will fade.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Not only do I not care, but I think how much emphasis the Scions put on breeding is gross,” he spits. “And that was a full ten questions.”

“What! No, it was not.”

“It was. I was counting.”

“There’s no way.”

“It’s my turn, pet.” I huff. “Why did you have me threaten your father?”

“Oh…” I shift on the saddle. Why is it every time he asks me a question it feels like I’m having the Shroud removed all over again? “I wanted to make sure Syra didn’t get reprimanded in any way for me switching places with her.”

“Reprimanded?” he murmurs. “What does that normally consist of?”

“Nothing too serious,” I say, carefully dodging that question. “But still, I didn’t want her to take the blame, especially when she tried to stop me.” I work a swallow, my throat suddenly hard and tight.

“Is she in love with a woman?”

That question catches me off guard, and a laugh bubbles out of me. “What?”

“You said she had someone she cared for…but you’re not allowed around men, so…“

“Oh, no. As princesses, me and Syra had guards stationed at our doors, and Syra and her guard…they formed a relationship.”

“What about your guard?”

I snort. “Geralt didn’t speak to me.”

“Your loss, Geralt.”

I crinkle my nose with a laugh. “Nor did I want him to. He’s old….Did you have someone you wanted to marry?”

“No.”

Short, sweet to the point. No. “Not at all?”

“Not at all,” he says briskly.

Right. Not a tied to one person kind of man. “What do you do every day?”

“Pass,” he says immediately. I don’t even know why I bothered to ask.

“When’s your birthday?” he shoots back.

“Pass,” I say haughtily.

“Oh, come on.”

“You made the rules, not me.”

“If you don’t tell me your birthday I won’t be able to get you a gift.”

“I haven’t had a birthday gift in twelve years. I think I’ll live.”

“That only makes it that more crucial,” he complains. He leans forward until his mouth hovers an inch from my ear. “Tell me.”

I jump. “Tell me,” he says, breath tickling my ear, and I gasp, cringing away from him. He presses his face right into my neck, and I careen sideways, nearly launching myself off the saddle in my attempt to escape him. He straightens me with a hand on my hip.

“Why are you like this? You’re going to make me fall off the horse.”

“You’re doing that to yourself.”

“Please tell me your birthday. I will feel like a very bad—“ He breaks off. “I will feel very bad if you don’t get anything for your birthday.”

“I’ll think about it if you actually answer my next question.”

“If it’s going to be about where—“

“Not that. I was wondering…why do they call you Nightshade?”

He groans. “I thought you already heard about this one.”

I snort. “Yeah, I hear so much being stuck in your chambers day after day.”

“Assumed you overheard the Masks talking about it,” he mutters. I shake my head. “My Mother was common born. Meaning, she wasn’t a Scion. My father married a common-born, someone that couldn’t even trace back which God she descended from.” He pauses, dropping his voice even lower. “They’re fond of saying that she swindled my father into marrying her by using a love potion on him. Nightshade is the most common ingredient in those types of potions. Hence the name.”

Nightshade Prince.

I don’t know what I was expecting but it’s definitely not that.

“It’s not exactly my favorite title,” he gruffs.

I’m silent for a few too many beats.

“You’re surprised,” he guesses.

“I didn’t realize…”I trail off.

“Didn’t realize I wasn’t exactly in favor long before you got here?”

Exactly. “But she didn’t…”

“No, of course not. That’s what’s so stupid about the whole thing.” His voice carries a bottled-up irritation I can tell he’s been holding for years as his hands flex against the reins. “Anyone who knows the most rudimentary potion-making knows love potions aren’t even really that effective. They’re short-acting. The most potent of potions would last hours at most. So, if you were really trying to swindle someone into falling in love with you, you’d have to dose them over and over again. With how complex the potions are the probability-- It would be insane to pull off, is what I’m saying. But somehow, it doesn’t seem to stop them from believing it.”

“Why do they believe it, then?”

“They believe it because…my father’s line—my line,” he corrects. “Is very strong. Or was, at least, before. One of the strongest aside from the Gorgons. Magi respect power above all else, and when my father turned his back on the Scions to take a common-born wife, they took great offense to that.”

“So why did he do it?”

He lets out a bitter snort. “Love, I guess.”

My brows crumple. “Is that so…wrong?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he says hastily. “It’s just hard to imagine that was the case toward the end. Or ever… It seems much more likely my father had a penchant for rebelling against authority, probably and a thing for young, pretty, charming women, and my mother was all of those things and…” he trails off.

“And what?”

“And probably he wanted someone that was beneath him,” he says, voice low and sorrowful.

“Why?”

“So he could feel powerful, I assume.”

“It bothered you? Having a common-born mother?”

“No. I loved my mother. It only bothered me she was never fully accepted. I never intended to put anyone in the position she was in, yet here we are…”

“What hap—“

“I’ve answered a lot of your questions, pet,” he says voice lilted. “Your birthday?”

I sigh. “It’s October 11th.”

“October 11th,” he repeats as if to commit it to memory.

“What hap—“

“What about your mother?” he interrupts. “What was she like? I haven’t heard you mention her.”

“I don’t know. She died during childbirth. Me and Syra’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “Can’t miss someone you never knew.”

“Hm, I’m sure it felt like you were missing something,” he says quietly. We dissolve into the quiet of unspoken words for a few minutes before he brings the speed of Epona down until we come to a full stop.

“What are we doing?”

“This is the end of the Ettin Woods. I thought you might want to take a break and stretch your legs. We’ll be in the open for awhile after this so it’s better we do now where we have some cover. And, I thought you might like to see something.”

I raise my brows, curiosity piqued. He tows me from the horse. My legs are so stiff I stagger and he chuckles as he steadies me.

Sitri assures me there’s not much to be too concerned with in the Ettin Woods and I excuse myself to tend my needs some distance away. When I come back, Sitri’s leaning against the tree, munching on a piece of jerky.

“Come here. I thought you might like to see Croatoa.”

“You’re going to show me the kingdom?” I ask excitedly.

“Just from the distance.”

He leads me a short way over a steep hill of the Wood, and we emerge from the treeline with a great valley below us. In the distance are the outskirts of Croatoa. Like Samore there’s no wall. It’s both similar and completely different from Samore. The buildings taking different shapes and different colors. Unlike the menacing black castle of Samore, this castle is a faint reddish brick.

Somehow, it still doesn’t feel real to see anything other than the Wall. My eyes flit over to him briefly to find him very much regarding me instead of the kingdom below.

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking in the view?”

He gives me a crooked grin. “You’re more interesting.”

A discomfiting warmth blooms low in my stomach and I point my gaze back to the kingdom below. “Doubtful.”

“I forgot what it feels like to still be amazed by things.”

“Do you think we could go there someday?”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, but his eyes go distant. “If I ever had spare time, I would show you. I would show you all the kingdoms.” He heaves a breath, tension bracketing his face. “But things are probably going to be tight for a while.”

“So you and Syra are twins?” he asks me as we make our way back to Epona.

“Yes.”

“Identical?”

“Yes…well, we were before—“ before the dāemon embedded itself in my soul. The words slip out before I can think better of them, and I curse myself internally.

“ Before ?” he imitates.

“Pass.”

His eyes flare. “What? You can’t pass that.”

“This was the agreement we made. We can pass no questions asked.”

“Yes, but…I’ve answered so many of your questions. I even told you about the stupid Nightshade thing…It’ll drive me mad if you don’t tell me.”

“Wonder what that must feel like.”

“You know what? Fine.” He hauls me back on the saddle. “That’s fine,” he reiterates.

He mounts behind me, and we both sit in a long stubborn silence as Epona carries us back to Samore. My eyes flicker down over the symbols across his hands again. I grab his hand and bring it up to study it closer, tracing a finger across the black lines. It’s not until he swallows behind me that I realize what it is I’m doing. Touching him so freely. His lack of personal space is rubbing off on me! I quickly drop his hand. “What do those symbols mean?”

“They…pass.”

“ Pass ?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes,” he says curtly. “Pass.”

I heave a breath, and we lapse back into a tense quiet. I soon grow bored. “Which Wood is this?” I ask as we near a new tree line.

“Pass.”

“You’re not even going to tell me where we are?”

“Pass.”

“You’re not going to answer a single more question, are you?”

“Pass.”

I let out a low growl, flinging my hands up in defeat. “Fine if you really want to know my hair changed.”

There’s a tug at the back of my head as he pulls the braid out from the confines of my cloak. “Your hair changed,” he repeats in awe. “You weren’t born like this?”

“No.”

“Did something cause it to change?”

“I…” I hesitate, debating how much I should say. “I had a near-death experience, and it started growing in like this afterward.”

“Near death experience,” he repeats. “Not your first time, then?”

I laugh softly. “No.”

“What happened?”

“I fell from a great height,” I say with a heavy exhale. “Everyone said I shouldn’t have survived. That it was a miracle from God .” I strive to keep my voice void of emotion yet it ends up coming out bitter.

“You fell …”

“Yes,” I say curtly, my body tensing as I anticipate further questions into the one subject I want to avoid the most.

Maybe he senses my unease and takes mercy on me because he only murmurs out a “Special.”

I snort. “Hardly. Unless you mean especially unlucky.”

“No, special.” He gives my braid a tug. “Like a mystical unicorn from beyond the Wall,” he teases. “No, actually, it reminds me of an epimelead.”

“I’m kind of scared to ask what that is.”

He laughs. “It’s a dryad. Spirit of the trees. Epimelides have white hair just like this. They’re very shy and can be quite hostile. So very fitting for you, I think.”

I snort again. “There it is.”

“It’s a compliment. They’re beautiful like you--”

That discomfiting low warmth blooms in my stomach again.

“And they’re only hostile until they get to know you. Still waiting to see if I can get you to warm—“ He barely catches my elbow in time before it finds his ribs. “But no luck yet,” he says, laughing.

“So let me get this straight. You have a history of falling from great heights. Have fallen so far people say it’s a miracle from your God you survived at all…but you still thought it was a good idea to climb down from my balcony several stories high out of a rope you made with your blanket ?”

“One time is not a history,” I groan.

“Just because you survived it once, you know that doesn’t make you indestructible, right?”

“I’m extremely aware of how destructible I am. Seeing as I was just on my death bed.”

“Yes and yet you’ve prevailed once again. Considering all the other reckless decisions you’ve made, I’m not really convinced.”

“Like what?”

“Like making yourself master of my Imp, running off to the Blood Wood, chucking a knife at a very powerful Magi’s face. I’m just saying if I’m going to be putting all this effort into keeping you alive, I’d like to know you aren’t going to indulge in any more life-threatening behavior.”

“What are you, my father?” I scoff.

“That does appear to be a role that needs filling,” he grumbles.

“I already had a father that locked me away and left me alone. I don’t need another one of those.” I snap and quickly clamp my mouth shut. What am I doing? Making it sound like I crave his company is what I’m doing.

He leans down inches from my ear. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I take it back,” I gasp. “I do want you to leave me alone.”

“What was that?” He digs his face further into my neck with a husky rumble. I rear my arm back, fully intending to launch an elbow into his ribs again. He’s too quick. He snatches a hand around my wrist to restrain me. I grunt as I struggle against his powerful grip to no avail. “No match for me, pet.”

“Wait until you fall asleep tonight. I’ll—I’ll—“ I break off, trying to think of a worthy threat I can launch at him.

“Cuddle with me again?”

I go rigid, trying to put some space between us. “I—no. Th-that’s never happening again.”

“ Never? ”

“Never,” I reiterate.

“But I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone,” he pouts.

“I didn’t mean to say that. I misspoke.”

He laughs heartily as he wraps his arms around me and brings me back to his chest. “You are so uptight.”

“I’m not uptight. I just don’t like you and your lack of personal space,” I grumble under my breath, face flaming mercilessly. If he could see, he’d probably sense how pathetically excitable my body responds to each touch.

“You really didn’t seem to mind me this morning.”

“Ugh!” I drop my face to my hands. “You’re never going to let me forget about this, are you?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he says with another laugh.

I was convinced that his flirting was all a part of the manipulation in bringing me in to submit. Now….now, I don’t know what it is.

He adjusts his hands back in front of the pommel but I snatch his hand and hold it up.

“Will you tell me what this means now?”

“The triquetra.” He traces the symbol with his other thumb. “The symbol literally means protection, but it’s used for tracking.”

“Tracking?”

“Everyone has them. It shows what magic we’re doing and where.”

“They could find you based on this?” I ask, trailing a finger over the symbol again.

“Yes.”

His words ring in my head. A different kind of subjugation. “A wall of your own then.”

I can sense the surprise ripple through him. “Exactly. A wall of our own.” He’s quiet for a few minutes before he asks, “Where would you have gone? If you’d made it out of Samore? You said you weren’t planning on going back to Eden…”

I hesitate long enough that he asks, “Passing?”

It seems silly to hide it from him after everything we’ve been through. Perhaps he would even be willing to help me someday… “Div said there were other noughts out there…”

“Div,” he sighs. “I told you, you can’t trust him.”

“But surely there are…I mean we can’t be the only ones left.”

A thorny silence unravels between us. “There has to be…” I mutter disbelievingly.

“There are no other noughts left,” Sitri says heavily.

“Even that man, Drurian said there were a lot of noughts—that there were many of us!”

Sitri looses a sigh. “There used to be. Noughts used to outnumber Magi by a long shot. There is no longer.”

“But—what about—what about beyond the Ouroboros. They said Magi were escaping. There has to be more noughts out there somewhere.”

“There’s nothing out there,” Sitri says sharply. “There used to be before the Flood. The Gods protected the Ouroboros from the Flood with the boundary and now we’re all that’s left.”

“The Flood,” I murmur. “That was a part of our history too.”

“Then you know I’m telling the truth.” He sounds suddenly testier than normal after being so easygoing all day.

“B-but then where are the Magi going?”

“They’re not going anywhere. They’ve just found a way to remove their triquetras so we can’t track them and have evaded capture. Morin’s just paranoid.”

“Then…there has to be noughts hiding somewhere on the Ouroboros. Div said so.”

“Div is a liar,” Sitri snaps. “He intentionally misleads people. I’ve told you this. There are no noughts left.”

I snap my mouth shut.

No noughts left…at all.

But that means that even if I did find some way to escape then…there’s nowhere for me to go.

“I’m sorry,” Sitri heaves. “I realize I should’ve found a nicer way to say that.”

As much as I want to doubt him I can’t deny that it wouldn’t make sense that my kind went through the trouble of building a wall to save themselves for no reason. Of course, any left outside of it would be gone.

“I’m sorry, pet.”

“What were those words the… ‘Soothsayer--” I say slowly, testing the strange name on my tongue. “--was saying?”

Sitri snorts. “All bullshit.”

“What are they though?”

“Old prophecy about the downfall of Magi.”

“The nought shall bear the crown—“

“The nought shall bear the crown of fate. The Magi’s fall, the floods debate,” Sitri quotes.

“What about the touch of ruin?”

He sighs. “The touch of ruin will be clear that the end is drawing near.”

I shift, uncomfortable that the touch of ruin does line up with the dāemon trapped inside my body. “You don’t actually think it’s about me?”

“No, pet, I don’t think you’ll be the downfall of Magi,” he snorts. “I don’t think any nought will be the downfall of Magi. I think the prophecy is just referring to the fact that Magi will all be noughts again someday.”

I want to ask what exactly the firebranding means but even thinking of doing so, especially with the way his aunt Delyah acted about it brings warmth flooding to my cheeks and I can’t coax the words past my lips. We lapse into periods of silence, only the blur of green surrounding us and the gentle sway of our gait.

I don’t even realize I’m on the verge of falling asleep until I’m jolting back awake. He has an arm wrapped across my chest, holding me firmly against him to keep me upright. My cloak is pulled low over my head past my eyes. I draw it back slightly and recognize the inner workings of Samore. I straighten, tugging his hand off of my shoulder, though not unkindly.

“I’m sorry,” I groan with a yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Your body’s been through a lot.”

Once we hand Epona off to the stable caretaker, he turns to me, “I thought you might like to go see Vera and get something to eat first thing.” I pat at my rumpled dress and smooth at my messy hair. “You look fine,” he says knowingly. “But we can go up first if you prefer.”

“No, we can go see Vera,” I agree.

“I don’t think she thought I’d be successful.”