2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
W hen my feet carry me back through my bedroom window, I wish I had never left home in the first place.
Normally, when I return after a night of bliss with Loren, I wish the night would never end. I often wish I could lay in his arms forever, even if it meant I would never see daylight again.
That is not how I feel tonight.
Tonight, I want morning to come quickly and wash away all that happened within the past few hours.
If only it could.
My worn leather corset falls from my hands, and I don’t care to pick it up. Instead, I turn around and pull the window closed, blocking out the wind.
“Cryssa!” Acantha huffs, sitting up. “You’ll break your neck sneaking out that gods-forsaken window.”
“Never mind that,” I tell her, stripping my dress from my body before replacing it with my nightgown.
“Well, do tell!” Her voice turns giddy. “What has Loren been up to this time? More romantic gestures? Has he asked Father for your hand yet?”
I approach my bed, wrapping my arms around my torso. Loren’s romantic gestures are the farthest thing from my mind.
Acantha’s brows knit together, suddenly ripe with concern. Even though she’s newly nineteen, only a few months younger than me, she wears a motherly expression. “What is it?” She takes my hand, pulling me closer. “He hasn’t done something to hurt you, has he?”
“No, no,” I assure her. “It’s nothing like that, I promise.”
“Then what is it? You can confide in me, Cryssa.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and put on a brave face. “Tomorrow. I’m too tired to talk tonight.”
Acantha’s hazel eyes search my expression, and by the looks of it, she doesn’t like what she sees. But she nods and lets go of my hand, watching me while I climb into bed.
Under the covers, I turn onto my side and curl my legs toward my chest .
It takes me too long to fall asleep.
I t’s been nearly a week since I’ve spoken to Loren. Nearly a week since Theelia’s blessing made it known that the foreign nobleman and I were fated.
I’ve managed to go about my chores without running into either of them, but I can’t shake the dread that lines my stomach, even now. The will of the gods isn’t something to be ignored.
I pray the nobleman didn’t get a good enough look at my face, that he won’t be able to find me. After all, it’s been a week, and he hasn’t come to claim me.
Yet.
Balancing a basket of eggs from the market on my hip, I step past the threshold of our small house. Father sits at the table, chewing on a bite of bread and cheese. Acantha stands across the room from him, tending to the hearth. Not yet spring, the warmth has yet to come.
“Cryssa,” Father says with a smile. He glances down at the basket. “That’s quite a few eggs.”
“A dozen,” I tell him proudly, putting the basket onto the table. “It seems the farmer can be bargained with.”
“If you’re stubborn enough,” Acantha calls, stifling a snort.
Putting my hands on my hips, I throw her a pretend scowl.
Father laughs, but then his expression darkens.
“What is it, Father?” I ask, pulling out a stool to sit with him.
“Manfred is sick,” Father says, taking a breath. “The physician says he likely won’t live another week.”
“Oh, Father.” Acantha leaves the hearth and drapes her arms around his neck. “That’s awful.”
The same, long expression adorns both of their faces, emphasized by their shared eyes and mouth. Acantha has always taken after our father—inheriting his chestnut brown hair and infectious smile. With my rusty auburn hair and fair complexion, I’m the one that stands out.
“How many have gotten sick this week alone?” I ask, leaning forward. Manfred is one of many miners who’s succumbed to the mysterious sickness this winter. Even though spring is nearly upon us, the numbers of miners falling ill, and dying, has been steadily increasing.
“More than I can count,” Father says, rubbing his forehead. “Those of us left will need to work double time to make up for our losses.”
Fear takes hold of my stomach. “Is Loren all right?” Oh gods. Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen him.
“Loren is well,” Father tells me. “Busy, is all. You have no need to worry, my darling. ”
My shoulders relax a little. But the worry I felt mere minutes ago morphs into frustration.
I stand, the force of my movement pushing the stool back with a screech. “You would think the Head of House would do something. After all, it’s the hard work of the gold miners filling her coffers.” Crossing my arms, I start to pace. My voice rises in volume, dripping with sarcasm. “But of course, how silly of me to expect the Pelleverons to care for the lives of the lowly humans living under them.”
“Come now, Cryssa,” Father’s voice is calm. His expression soothes me in an instant. My anger dims but doesn’t fade. And why should it? It’s not as if the Pelleverons—or any noble fae, for that matter—act like humans aren’t anything but a means to an end. “The Gold Court isn’t the only one affected by the mining sickness.”
“It’s not?”
Father shakes his head. “We’ve heard rumors that it’s happening in the Steel and Silver Courts as well.”
I swallow, realizing the implications of this rumor, if true. Made up of five Courts, each territory in Inatia belongs to one of the five Noble Houses. And each noble house has a leader, the Head of House, that reigns over their court. The Gold Court, my home, is loyal to House Pelleveron. The Silver Court, House Larmanne; the Steel Court, House Wynterliff; the Copper Court, House Tarrantree; and the Bronze Court, House Avanos—the current ruling house of all Inatia .
Each of the five Courts produces the metal of its namesake. Each, a vital piece of Inatia’s overall prosperity. Here, in the Gold Court, we’re lucky we can afford what we can. In some other Courts, others aren’t so lucky. If some or all of the Courts stopped producing metal…
I shudder to think about what would happen to the unlucky ones at the bottom of the hierarchy.
“I’m worried for you, Father.” Acantha tightens her grip around him, lowering her head so it’s parallel to his. “What if you fall ill?”
My father turns, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be all right.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “This sickness will die down come spring, girls. You’ll see.”
Still holding his hand, I nod like I believe him.
In reality, I’m not so sure.
But I don’t have time to consider the matter.
Pounding sounds at our door. The thin wood rattles against the doorframe.
I move to answer it, but Father holds up his palm, mouth wary.
Blood pounds in my ears. I’m frozen, staring at the door.
Father stands and crosses the room. He opens the door and all the color drains from his cheeks.
Two armored guards wait outside. I don’t need to see their pointed ears to know they’re fae.
“Grorth Thurdred?”
“Yes.” Father nods, eyes dropping to the swords sheathed at their hips. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here for your daughter, Cryssa Thurdred.”
My father shifts his weight, shielding me from view. “Has Cryssa done something wrong?”
“Not at all. She’s been personally chosen by her fated to be his bride. With Theelia’s blessing, the High King bids it.”
If I’d eaten a heartier meal this morning, it would have wound up all over the floor. My stomach threatens to empty itself, and I force myself to swallow the growing lump in my throat.
He found me.
Acantha covers her mouth and grabs onto me with her free hand, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Is Cryssa home?” the guard asks gruffly.
Father hesitates.
“If you’re hiding her, we are authorized to use force as needed.”
“I’m here!” I cry, rushing forward. “No one’s hiding me.”
The guard tilts his head back a little, still eyeing Father with suspicion. Then he turns to me. “You’re to come with us.”
My heart rams against my ribcage. I think of my beloved sketchbook upstairs, filled with drawings of home and the people I love. “May I have a moment to pack my things?”
“That won’t be necessary,” the other guard tells me, much kinder than his companion. “All you require will be provided at the castle. ”
I choke. “Castle?”
“Yes.” The guard nods. “In Keuron.”
My throat burns from holding back the tears welling in my eyes.
Keuron. They’re taking me to Inatia’s capital.
To marry some noble fae male I don’t know.
I puff my chest, forcing myself to be brave, like Mother always was when things were uncertain. “Then may I have time to say goodbye?” I hope they’ll at least give me that.
The gruff-sounding guard opens his mouth to speak, but the kind one cuts him off. “Very well. We’ll allow it.”
I throw my arms around Father and hold him close. He does the same, pressing me to his chest. Father sniffles, pulling away from me only to place a kiss onto my forehead. He extends his arm to Acantha. She crashes into us, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Cryssa,” Father says. The severity in his tone unnerves me. “Cryssa, there is something you must know. Something I have been meaning to tell you. You are—”
He doesn’t have time to finish before the gruff guard interrupts him. “Time’s up.”
“Father,” I say. “What is it?”
Ignoring me, the guard takes me by the arm and pulls me out of the house.
“Father!” I shout, twisting my body to keep him in view.
Father, with a sobbing Acantha on his arm, follows me outside. But they quickly get swallowed by the crowd gathering on the streets, and I lose sight of them. Loud voices close in around me, echoing off the cobblestone beneath my feet.
With both guards at my sides, gripping my arms, they lead me farther away from home.
Humans and lesser fae alike gather in the town square. Shop doors stay open while more people pour out of them, wiping their hands clean of their work on their pants or skirts.
Some faces, I recognize.
Others, I don’t.
But they all look at me.
The humans look horrified. The lesser fae, shocked.
None of them could have even fathomed something like this happening to a girl like me. A girl like their wives. A girl like their daughters. Their sisters. In the crowd, some people pull the women next to them closer, as if they have the same thought.
More guards stand in the center of the town square, surrounded by onlookers. Though the angry faces spread throughout the crowd tell me that the guards aren’t just here to take me away.
Oh gods.
My chest constricts.
Loren.
Two guards restrain Loren, while a third clamps heavy, steel handcuffs around his wrists. Black and blue bruises mar his handsome face, his right eye swollen shut. Loren bucks against them, knocking his head back into one of the guard’s noses. The guard in front of him lands a punch to Loren’s jaw, but he doesn’t stop fighting.
“Loren!” I cry out, finally letting the tears fall.
He whirls his head around, his good eye widening in shock when he sees me. “Cryssa!” His voice is a desperate, strangled cry. “Cryssa!”
The guards shove him into a prison wagon and chain his hands to the ceiling. They slam the door shut once he’s inside and lock that, too.
“Make way!” a guard orders, and the crowd parts for the wagon. He hops up onto the seat and takes the horses’ reins, urging them forward.
A coach moves ahead and stops, taking the prison wagon’s place.
The guards at each of my sides move me forward, and I stumble.
I look at the crowd. Fear-stricken, Loren’s mother, Catia Grayweaver, clutches a sobbing Jemetha, his younger sister. The girl clings to her mother’s skirts, her eyes puffy and red from crying.
“What’s happened?” I ask Loren’s mother as we pass by her. “What are they doing with Loren?”
“He’s been arrested,” she tells me, voice breaking. “For trespassing and the contempt of a royal.”
“A royal, ” I breathe.
The guards urge me ahead. They open the coach door for me, and I step inside. Without giving me time to react, they close it. A click sounds. Then, the coach shudders when they climb on. Dread lines my stomach and tightens its fist around my throat. I almost forget how to breathe.
Sitting in the ornate bronze coach, the gravity of my situation hits me all at once, like a tidal wave.
The stranger that interrupted Loren and me that night—the stranger whose fate is inextricably bound to mine—wasn’t just any noble fae.
He was the Crown Prince Viridian Avanos.