Chapter 8
Before we head off, Bayaden hands me pair of scissors. “You’ll need to cut this, to get out of the gates, and then I’d keep cutting it if I were you until you’re back with Corrik. Remember, it will grow back by nightfall.” He chokes on Corrik’s name.
I nod, unable to speak anymore. If I do, I’ll start crying again. There’s already an ache in my chest telling me to beg Bayaden not to send me away; I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself if I open my mouth. I pull my new hair taut and mercilessly hack it back to the length it was.
We take two horses from the stables, and it’s easy for Bayaden and I to pass through the palace gates and then the ones past the marketplace, to head up to the cliffside, since we have many times.
Bayaden’s trying to emulate stone, but he’s got tells, and I know them.
“Andothair will get over it. He may not speak to me for a while, but I’ll live. ”
“I see you’re heartbroken about it.”
He smirks. Bayaden respects his brother but enjoys peace from him on occasion.
We’re quiet as we carry on, but eventually, Bayaden breaks the silence. “I hated you so much when you first came here, never did I imagine getting rid of you would be so hard.”
“How unbelievably romantic,” I say, and he laughs. “I hated you at least as much and I wanted to leave, but now I can’t imagine going. My brain is still telling me we’re just going on our usual trek to the mountainside, that we’ll go back at the end of the day like usual.”
I stop talking when I tear up again. Goodbyes are hard.
“How long have you been planning this?” I ask, to take my mind off leaving. I’ll think about that when we get to it.
“Not long; I have been in conflict for a while. Father approached me, but I had some time before I had to seriously think about how I’d get you out of here and then I heard whispers that Corrik was looking for you.
If you have to go, I knew that’s where you’d want to go.
When one of my warriors was found with his eyes carved out, I knew that was likely Corrik.
I consulted with my uncle and he agreed with my perspective on things.
He offered to help. Uncle Taj is going to take you to him. ”
I nod. “What about the war? I know Andothair and your father want to join the seven realms or destroy them.”
“I don’t have an answer for that one. For now, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Regardless of what happens in the future, this is what’s right in this moment.”
A lone rider comes into view as we approach the forest’s entrance. Bayaden’s Uncle Taj sits on a horse like Bayaden does, which is a comfort to me, at least he’ll be with me in a way. I remember my hair that will grow back by nightfall and I’m glad I’ll have it to surround me when Bayaden is gone.
Uncle Taj is quiet, watching us as we hop off our horses. “Uncle, we’ll need you to perform the unbinding ritual.”
I made a promise to Andothair through magic that I would not leave.
Maybe that’s the real reason I don’t want to go and for a moment I hope so.
I know we’ll be saying our final goodbye in a few moments, the thought alone hurts, perhaps it will be less painful afterward.
Uncle Taj nods. “Only someone like my uncle could do such a thing, Tristan,” Bayaden explains. “Andothair used powerful magic.”
Of course, he did.
“Come Tristan,” Uncle Taj says. “I must analyze your energy.
I stand before him, after receiving silent approval from Bayaden it’s all right. I don’t think about it, I look up to him, used to it being this way. What’s going to happen when he’s not there?
I allow Uncle Taj to run his hands over the air surrounding me until he’s satisfied. “Andothair wrapped it tightly. I can loosen it enough so it won’t be painful for you to leave, and then it will fade over time.”
“Will it be easier to leave when the spell is loosened as you say?”
His eyes shift between the pair of us. “If you mean will your heart be less heavy, then no. It will only bring you more ease physically since the spell will not stop you.”
“Right then. Let’s get this over with.”
“Will it hurt him, Uncle?” Bayaden’s voice is strained.
“Yes. I have to pull magic from him that’s tightly woven into his cells. You’ll feel it too, but not to the extent Tristan will. The vow was from his end, you’re merely the tether.”
Bayaden grabs me. “I shall hold him then.”
“Ready, Tristan?”
“Ready.”
Bayaden holds me to him, my back against his chest as his uncle holds his hands over my heart.
When Ando did the spell, his hands were in the same place and white light gathered, pouring into me.
It didn’t hurt; I filled with buoyancy and was surprised by the lack of reaction.
Ando assured me that the magic was conscious and if I tried to leave, it would know and stop me.
I never tried.
Now nothing is happening. Not a single thing.
I don’t feel pain and I don’t see any white light.
Uncle Taj tries harder, his face scrunches forming the wrinkles his face would have if he were a human as old as he is.
Sweat pours from him, his muscle clench, but nothing happens.
Then he gives up, taking a breath, sighing.
He seems to be looking for something on me that isn’t there.
“Uncle,” Baya says fed up, surely ready to call this whole thing off.
His uncle smiles, serene energy surrounds him. “Ah, I see why what I’m doing isn’t working. You’ll be fine, Tristan. We can go now.”
Bayaden’s not letting me go just yet. “The spell will crush him and once you’re in … in there, turning back will be dangerous.”
“The spell will not crush him because he is no longer governed by the spell. Tristan is loyal to you of his own accord, and because of the nature of this particular spell, it trusts Tristan is devoted to you and does not feel it needs to coerce him.”
I tilt my head back to meet Bayaden’s dark eyes, asking him wordlessly if we can trust that.
I don’t doubt his uncle believes the words he’s saying, but is he right?
“If Uncle says it’s so, then it is so. I don’t know anyone with a greater understanding of magic than he has—he’s more powerful than Father. ”
I turn to face him. “Does that mean it’s time to say goodbye?” I’m not ready.
“It’s time.” Bayaden kisses me, it’s hard and sensual and I grip him for dear life. He’s the one I was meant to fight on the fields with and fuck through the night and do it all over again the next day. Us warriors like the discipline in such repetition.
“I have something for you,” Bayaden says.
I haven’t noticed it at his hip, too distraught to perceive the non-anomaly as it’s not unusual for Bayaden to have three weapons on him—the two he usually has strapped to his back are there.
But there’s also a third.
I recognize the sword; my eyes widen as I take it from him to inspect. “My sword.”
“I’ve been keeping it for you.”
“Sure, you have. Probably afraid I would gut you more like. Tell me, how many times did you consider tossing it into the kiln?”
He twists his lips, his eyes dance with amusement.
“A few. And I do not fear a little human like you gutting me.” He would usually have a much better retort for me, but it’s all he can muster.
Instead, he looks me over, like he’s memorizing every bit of me, ghosting his fingers up my arm and under my chin, which he uses to turn my head up to kiss him.
Then he squeezes tighter, encircling me in his giant arms. I squeeze with as much strength as I have around his torso.
When I move to pull away, he won’t let me go. “Farewell my love.”
I’m a mess, a fucking mess as I let go. He has to help me onto my horse. When his hand is leaving me, I grip him by the wrist. “Wait,” I cry. I have to kiss his hand, his knuckles, I have to remember what it feels like to touch him forever. “Farewell, my love.”
His uncle mounts his horse and starts off on his own; my signal it’s time to go with him. “Go, Tristan,” Bayaden says, his voice hoarse. “May the Gods keep you safe, when I can’t.”
He slaps my horse on the arse so that I have to scramble to get hold of her. It’s the most natural thing in the world to scowl at him and when I see his face, it’s smiling, despite the silent tears dripping to the ground.
He did that on purpose.
I pull my horse to stop for a moment, now that I’m several feet away, smiling back while I let my tears flow too and then I head into the forest.
“I’ve never seen my nephew like that,” the gruff Elven rider says. Bayaden comes by it honestly.
“Never?” I say, sniffling, wanting to turn around before Bayaden makes it back to the palace and beg him to run away with me.
He shakes his head. “I would bring you back to him myself if you weren’t already married to the Mortougian prince. We do have to get you back Tristan; Andothair never should have taken you, my brother should have made him send you back, but he spoils the boy.”
I like Uncle Taj already especially when his energy feels like Bayaden’s, it soothes me, but in a more fatherly way.
It also feels good to have a sword at my hip.
I look at the long scar on my arm from wrist to elbow, from one of the days I trained with Bayaden’s warriors.
Before I took up the bow with Deglan, I trained with his warriors, or as I called it, my daily beating.
I couldn’t keep up with them, especially when they showed me no quarter.
Even with Baya himself showing me the technique, they were still too fast for me, but I went over and over what he taught me with sticks, with real swords, with the broom I used to sweep out Bayaden’s chambers, anything I could get my hands on.
I thought that if I practiced long and hard enough, one day I could raise a sword to an Elf and give him something to remember me by.