Chapter 21
21
W atching for any messages from Major Stone drove Aven out of her mind.
As if her days in the palace weren’t enough to do the trick. She leaped out of her skin at shadows. She saw enemies waiting to pounce around every corner. When she wasn’t scoping out the scenery for missives, she was trying to find a way to send one of her own and came up irritatingly short.
“You’re jumpy,” Cillian remarked a week after she received the first and only communication. “Is everything all right?”
“I have a lot on my mind,” she snapped back. Instantly contrite, she smiled at him to smooth over the bite. “Sorry, I shouldn’t snipe at you. It’s been a long day.”
Every day bled together into the next. They were all long, by that count. Each one spent looking for weak points in the palace and around the grounds, marking the best places for an ambush and where security might be lacking.
As she suspected, the princes did not let down their guard. Any friendly chatter only masked their observations of her in return. Although she had hoped after all this time with Cillian she might be wrong on that front.
“It has been a long day for me as well.” Cillian stared straight ahead, and his expression went distant. “Are you ready to go home?”
They’d taken a winding walk through the forest tonight. The moon overhead cast enough light in front of them that they hardly needed the ball of magic the crown prince had taken to calling to life when the night pressed too close to them.
Home? No. This place would never be her home, no matter how prettily they dressed it up, finishing with Cillian’s presence like a bow on top.
He must have understood something about her change in mood because he laughed.
They strolled out of the woods and back toward the manicured grounds of the palace. Up ahead, the spires of crystalline towers gleamed. Her beautiful golden prison. For some reason, the sight of it curdled her stomach.
“I think I’d like to stay out here for a little longer,” Aven blurted out. A home? Cillian might call it that, but it didn’t matter how badly the Fae King wanted to force her into marrying one of his two sons. Or both. She wouldn’t do it. She refused to live out the rest of her life in Mourningvale.
And marriage? Forget it. She’d rather?—
Cillian narrowed his eyes on her. “What’s wrong, Aven?”
“Nothing.”
“You would tell me if there were?” Less a question than a statement, on the energy between the two of them.
“Things are fine,” she repeated drolly. “I just don’t want to be in my room.”
He looked at her in silence for what felt like a full minute. “What’s wrong with your room? You’re not going to try to run away again, are you?” He craned down to draw the tip of his nose against her. “Because if you are, I’m going to catch you.”
They’d go around in circles this way if she didn’t play her cards right.
Aven felt a strange tick in her lower abdomen and kept walking. “Cillian, we are always together. And if I’m not with you, then there are always a handful of people trailing me. Like I haven’t noticed the extra guards you’ve set on me. Perhaps I want to be alone.”
“It’s not like I’m making a secret of them,” he explained. “They’re meant to be in plain view.”
When he was being accommodating, his handsome face smoothed of any lines of tension, and his lips lifted in an easy smile. Like now. They were close enough for her to smell the sweet fruit from dessert on his breath and the slightly spicy soap on his clothes.
“Of course. I understand the precaution, but I’d love to have some time by myself. Where am I going to go? Really?” She gestured out toward the expanse of night-drenched forest behind them. “There are creatures out there capable of tearing me limb from limb. I just want… a moment.”
He looked ready to argue with her. Feeling terrible for taking advantage of the situation, she rested her hand on his elbow and let it linger.
“Please,” she repeated.
He softened and turned a pleasant smile on her. “Don’t stay out too late.”
Aven knew she’d won then. “I won’t.” It shocked her when she lifted on her toes to press a swift kiss to his cheek. On her own.
Cillian’s eyes widened in astonishment as she did, but rather than stay to speak to her about it, the way he clearly wanted to do, he gripped her hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips for a peck of his own before he took his leave.
Aven shivered in the sudden hush and wrapped her arms around her torso to keep in the heat. Her skin tingled where he’d kissed her. What made her so brazen to do what she’d done?
Survival.
What wouldn’t she do to find a way to get out of here before her men mounted a rescue mission? From what she’d seen, they would be led to the slaughter if they so much as attempted to breach the palace. Which meant she needed to find a way to get to them before they crossed over the territory line.
Not only were the fae royals prepared, but their defenses were solid. Impregnable. Especially after the small band of rogues had made their appearance.
She had to do something. Anything.
The gardens worked wonders to clear her head.
Aven made her way steadily back to the bird fountain she’d used to save the fae male last week. This place might have been anywhere, not simply in Mourningvale. There was nothing magical about the garden except for the effect it had on her soul. If she closed her eyes and listened, she could almost convince herself she was back home before the war.
When the land thrived and the people with it.
She bit down on her lip and sank down to her knees in front of the birdbath. Sorrow knocked her out of orbit in the worst way.
Her family’s absence was a constant ache inside her that no amount of time spent with Cillian could wash away. Her family wasn’t just gone. They were dead. Killed. Slaughtered. It didn’t matter how this place soothed her. She didn’t belong here. She would never belong here, no matter how hard they tried to make it seem like she’d assimilated.
Nothing but pretenses.
Cillian probably pretended as well. If they all turned a blind eye to the truth, then they could profess everything was normal and right when it clearly was not.
Her mind raced to pluck a single thought from its tangled midst.
She balled her hand into a fist against a patch of pretty pink flowers. She’d gone from capable, confident, to utterly powerless.
An actual damsel in distress.
She’d never been helpless before. Even if it should have been her lot in life, to be a hapless princess who would only be of service to the kingdom through her marriage.
Was she anywhere vastly changed from where she’d started?
Different kingdom, very different suitors from what her father might have imagined, and yet there she crouched. It was only a matter of time before King Donal forced her into a decision, and his silence on the matter didn’t mean a reprieve.
Would she make it out of here before then?
Or would her men find a way in?
Her head ached from going around in circles. Rather than fight it, Aven sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Too much adrenaline and anxiety lived inside for her to keep still.
She’d never been good at drawing her own runes. Always had the healers do it for her, with their skill and precision. Always had people like the old hag magically tattoo them on her skin when she needed them to last longer.
Right now, she had no ink at her disposal. She only had her wand in her bedroom and hesitated to use it here, as if its pulse of magic would stand out. The last thing Aven wanted to do was alert someone to its presence.
Her fingers drew the familiar patterns in the dirt of the nearest garden bed.
She brought a handful of water into the dirt and mixed it until the consistency was right, then drew the runes on the tops of her hands. On her forearms. Runes for focus and calm which were more important than ever before.
She’d failed to see a way through this mess. Why hadn’t she thought about the runes before? The moment she completed the first set, the chaos in her brain evened out, and she let out a breath. The silence in her head felt foreign. Pausing a beat, she sat back fully, stretching her legs out in front of her. When her shoes felt too confining, she kicked off the slippers and wiggled her toes, warm against the cool night air.
The runes on one arm dried, the mud crackling on her skin, but their effects were immediate despite the medium. Her insides straightened out, and only now, marking the difference, did she realize how poorly she’d felt before.
“What the hell are you doing, mortal?”
Aven scrambled off her knees and whipped up to face the fae male, who wore the clothes she’d seen on the villagers during her visit rather than any of the palace garb. Not one of the soldiers, then, and no sign of the men who tracked her, her guards.
She swallowed, and her throat constricted at the violence in his eyes.
“You have no business using those runes. You bastardize them with your filth.” The male spat on the ground between them and took a giant step forward. “How dare you use them like it’s your right?”
“What do you want?”
Gods, no. Her voice shook. Undermining her entirely with those four words.
She met his gaze and held it as the man took her in. All that she was and all that she could be. Aven refused to give herself time to hesitate. Not when the fae moved, faster than her eyes tracked, launching himself to the side before swinging his fist at her face.
“I’ll rip those runes from your skin myself.”
His speed should not have surprised her.
She’d faced his type too many times.
The runes for focus clarified her intent, and she ducked away from the punch, swinging up toward his face and jumping, wrapping her legs around his waist.
The fae hadn’t expected her to strike.
Instinct drove her to attack, and she slammed her face into his nose. Shock turned her veins to lightning when he sent them both to the ground and pinned her between his body and the dirt. The hit blasted the air from her lungs. Her hit hadn’t slowed him in the slightest. In fact, she’d missed her intended target. His nose hadn’t broken.
“Filthy mortal scum.” He bared his teeth, breath hot. “You using those runes is a travesty. Where did you learn such things?”
“Get off me.” Aven drew her knee up between his legs, and the fae caught it before she made contact.
He pushed her back again, driving her harder against the ground before his hands crept to her shoulders, her neck.
“You’ll pay,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing in manic delight. “I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done to our kind. And then everyone will see how weak you really are.”
She saw stars when her lungs strained.
She had no weapons to protect her. In this position, she was little better than a dog forced on its back in a show of dominance. This was a fight she couldn’t win?—
Then she noticed him.
Roran.
He was there, and the fear in her eyes undid her. Her stomach doubled in weight and sank down. Like hell she’d let herself fall in front of him.
She dug her fist into the male’s belly, but he didn’t budge. She followed it with her elbow, digging it into his ribs, poor and ineffective attempts to stop him from strangling her to death. Her movements slowed with every passing second with no air.
“Get off of her!” Roran shouted.
The fae male finally staggered back, losing his balance and falling out of sight. She coughed and rolled to the side, sucking in deep breaths of precious oxygen into her laboring lungs. She seized, choking, until her vision finally cleared.
She blinked until the dual images of Roran fighting the fae male solidified into one. He landed a punch to the side of the man’s cheek hard enough to break bone, his teeth gritted in a savage sneer.
He made the mistake of glancing over at her, his attention fractured and his body language all wrong. He wasn’t going to continue the fight. He only wanted to get to her.
But… why?
She forced herself to stand straight.
This man attacked her out of nowhere. And she was clear-headed enough now to realize this threat needed to be eradicated.
Aven tackled the fae male a moment before he unleashed himself on Roran. They tangled together on the ground.
“I have this covered,” she told Roran breathlessly. “I don’t need your help.”
He yelled out her name as a warning, and she managed to duck and avoid a punch from the male. There was no time to think then. About how this would end or why he’d come to her rescue.
Her body understood exactly what to do.
Even when the fae shot her a horrible smile and his magic sizzled in the air between them.
Aven avoided the blast, but a hissed exhalation was her only warning before the sole of his boot collided with her hip. Roran was there in a heartbeat to catch her when she lurched sideways. The blow stunned her, but his hands were strong and sure around her waist.
“Are you going to let me help you or not?” he growled.
She twisted around to glare at him before she swung at the fae male. He would be her punching bag. He would be her target and the source of every bit of her outrage and frustration and sorrow. He met her hit for hit until she couldn’t focus. Her insides were nothing but one long, never-ending scream, as though every bit of her agony had coalesced into a single sound.
His fists buried in her cheek, and she spit out a mouthful of blood.
Roran was still there. Offering up encouragement to her when she held out a hand to keep him back. Magic became a palpable stench in the air, but the male refused to release the whole of his power with the prince there.
Good.
She took advantage of his hesitation. With a low growl, she gripped him around the midsection and brought them both to the ground. He snarled at her, his lips peeled back and much too close to her face when he snapped them. Aven shuddered and brought her face closer to his, slamming her head into his face. Again and again, until blood sprayed from his broken nose.
Ah, perfect.
“You little wench!”
Now that she had the upper hand, Aven slammed her knuckles into the side of the head. His eyes lolled back in a daze, and she prepared to snap his neck.
Out of nowhere, a knife glinted in the darkness. The fae slashed it toward her throat, and she barely had enough time to arch her back and avoid the hit.
“Enough.” Roran stepped up, no longer content to stay on the sidelines and let her take the lead.
He shouldered her out of the way, and Aven stumbled, regaining her balance in time to see Roran take her place. The fae male tried to get up, but the prince had his foot against the other male’s chest, pushing the breath right out of him.
Roran grabbed the knife, and half a heartbeat later, had it embedded home. The male choked, blood welling up and spewing from his mouth. His accusatory gaze lingered until life left his eyes, and he lay still.
She hardly dared to breathe before Roran removed the blade and stuffed it into his holster. Then he turned and shot her a black look.