Chapter Twenty-Eight
G olden rays seep through my fluttering eyelids.
I glance over and find Gray still sleeping, my hand still securely tucked in his.
Some of the heaviness from last night has lifted from my chest, though weighted fragments still linger.
But I inhale a deep, pine-scented breath and blow it out slowly, determined to do better today.
And that starts with scavenging some breakfast.
Yet when I sit up, all promises of peace shatter as my heart rate spikes at the sight of coppery-red curls twisted back into a braid, its tip blowing in the morning wind.
“Good morning,” Marcella chirps.
I rip my hand away from Gray’s and press it against my chest. “How long have you been sitting there?” I ask, remnants of my temporary fright leaking into my voice.
She picks at her nails. “Oh…I don’t know. Only for a little while.”
I arch a brow. “‘Only for a little while?’” I repeat back. “You realize how that sounds, right?”
Her flashing grin is her only response.
Gray rustles, jerking upright once he squints his eyes open.
He is silent a few seconds as his eyes dart around, his brain clearly trying to piece together the meaning of the scene before him.
His mouth thins into a straight line as he—quite unenthusiastically—asks Marcella, “When did you get here?”
She puckers her lips, as if thinking about her answer. “That does seem to be the golden question around here.”
Gray presses a hand to his shaking head and blows out a sigh, revealing his exposed arms and chest.
Marcella cocks her head and lifts a coppery brow. “Well there’s a sight I could get used to.”
I flick my eyes over to Gray, holding in a laugh. His tunic currently hangs on a tree, drying after being washed in the creek. I glance between the two of them, and between Marcella’s teasing eyes and Gray’s unamused expression, a small giggle slips out of me.
An action that results in Gray huffing a breath and rolling his eyes. Which only makes me giggle harder.
Marcella smiles, seemingly proud of herself, and saunters over to the nearby tree, plucking his tunic from an extending branch.
She tosses it into Gray’s lap and mocks a frown.
“Sure you want to put that on? I think I like you better with your shirt off, actually.” She tilts her head, as if really considering what she sees.
“Who would have thought you, of all people, would have such nice muscles?”
A full-blown laugh escapes my lips now, and Gray arches his brows even higher as he shoots me a pointed look that he soon turns onto Marcella. “I’m not entirely sure what to make of that comment, but I think I’ll put the shirt on, thank you.”
Marcella feigns disappointment and swats a hand at him. “Fun-killer.”
“Sleep-ruiner.”
She whistles low and under her breath. “Good one.”
I clutch my stomach from laughing so hard, water pooling in the corners of my crinkled eyes. It takes a moment, but I finally regain control of myself and clear my throat. “It’s not that I’m not thrilled to see you, Marcella, but what are you doing here? Better yet, how did you even find us?”
Marcella plucks a yellow flower from the ground and twirls the stem between her fingertips.
“Well you see, I played a game of riddles with some forest spirit and won, which prompted her to tell me you guys were in danger.” Marcella sweeps her cobalt eyes over the two of us.
“Though you both look perfectly fine to me.” She lifts an idle hand and shrugs. “Plus, the trees talk.”
“And what did the trees say?” Gray asks, half teasing. He tugs his shirt over his head and rises.
I glance at him and dryly mutter, “That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the casual mention of playing a game of riddles with a forest spirit?”
Marcella snorts a laugh and shoots Gray a look after. “They said little. Just provided me with a direction that helped me discover which part of the grove you were in. I tracked the two of you from there.”
“I didn’t know you were such a skilled tracker,” Gray replies, packing our supplies and tying half his hair back after.
She smirks and tilts her head. “You make such assumptions, yet you don’t even know anything about me. Is it because I’m a woman?”
Gray doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Two of the best trackers I’ve ever met were women.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Good. Because you will find, Gray Nightenjoy, that I have many skills to offer. Castles and estates aren’t the only places where one can learn things.”
“I never said you didn’t, and I never said they were.”
She hums, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer. Sucking in a breath, she turns her attention onto me. “Found your flower yet?”
My brows tug together. “It’s only been a few hours,” I mutter back. “Has anyone had enough time to find their flower yet?”
Her grin is sharp enough to cut. “I have.”
And the arrogance on her face…the confidence and pride mixing with the challenge gleaming in her eyes.
She is telling the truth.
“God’s veins,” I drawl, rising from where I sit and shuffling toward her. “Will you show it to me?”
Her arrogant smile grows wider as she rummages through her pack. “I suppose I will,” she replies in a sing-song voice.
Gray is next to me within seconds, watching.
She unfolds a small linen cloth, and the air is sucked from my lungs.
“Shit,” I breathe. “It’s actually bloomed for you.”
Marcella smiles. “Of course it has. It is my essence flower after all. ”
And there is no mistaking that it is indeed an essence flower in Marcella’s hands, nestled gently between her palms. Still attached to a sturdy, thick stem—vibrant green leaves dancing along the stalk—the petals overflow with a riot of colors.
The bottom layer is the darkest, filled with a deep blue.
As the layers of the petals narrow and thin, the colors lighten—shifting from violets to powdery blues to pale yellows.
Along the petals runs a saturated green seam, the veins winding and extending like a network of rivers.
“Resilia,” I whisper with awe.
Gray and Marcella both glance up from the flower and at me. “Is that its name?” she asks.
I nod my head. “That is a Resilia flower. Its colors are meant to reflect the richness and diversity of the natural world, carrying the scent of the earth itself within its petals.” I pause and sweep my eyes over Marcella, observing her closely.
“That flower supposedly only blooms for a true daughter of earth. Of Amala, one of the Four Goddesses.”
Marcella covers the flower with the cloth and carefully places it back in her pack. She meets my stare. “Well, I’d say all of that sounds about right.”
I tilt my head in silent question.
She sighs and holds out her forearm, pushing back the sleeve of her shirt, exposing her wielder’s mark.
From the base of her wrist, a slender vine with budding leaves winds up and around her forearm and bicep, stopping as it meets the base of her shoulder, where the symbol of earth lies.
“Flora magic,” Gray muses, a hint of shock leaking through his words. He glances at me before looking back at the mark wrapping around the entirety of her arm, inspecting it closely. “I can see why you choose to hide it.”
Marcella smiles. “Guilty as charged.”
Something like hope and excitement courses through me. “I’m a flora-wielder, too.”
Marcella’s brows scrunch together. “You are?” She cocks her head and slowly sweeps her eyes over me, frowning. “That could explain why I felt something from you when we met, but…you don’t have the same feeling as flora-wielders.”
“Like there’s so many out there,” Gray retorts under his breath. I hush him, but he shrugs. “What? It’s true. Not even Bathara has had a good flora-wielder in ages.”
Marcella’s brows lower, and she jabs her thumb at Gray. “How does he know that?” she asks me.
“I’m right here,” he drones flatly.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “Gray knows just about everything when it comes to magic and the history of Solaya.”
Except, he doesn’t. Not the true history, at least.
I shake the thought away.
“Hm,” she hums, eyeing him. She turns her attention back onto me. “Can I see your wielder’s mark?”
Despite myself, I wince. “Uh, funny thing about that… I don’t have one.”
She studies me for a long moment, clearly unsure how to react. Finally, with a carefully neutral tone, she replies, “You’re being serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
Her brows twitch. “Then what are you doing here ? And I won’t even start on my questions about how the hell it’s possible for you to not even have a wielder’s mark, yet still claim to be a flora-wielder.”
I chew on my lip. “I’ve told you about my past as a night attendant, but there are a lot of details I left out.” I blow out a sigh. “Look, I’ll tell you everything about me. The magic, my wielder’s mark, my blood wager—”
“— blood wager ?” she interjects, her brows rising to her hairline.
“Yes,” I murmur. “A blood wager.” My shoulders sag. “I’ll tell you everything, and then I will swallow my pride and ask for your help after I’m finished. I’m not so dense that I don’t realize how royally screwed I am with this test.”
She observes me for a very long, very silent moment. “Tell me everything.”
I don’t withhold a single detail from her.
Well, save for Casimir’s journal and the truth behind why my magic manifested so late. I do omit that small bit of information—revelations that would shock even Gray.
I start from the beginning. From when Gray wandered into my room, and suddenly, it felt as though everything was changing. I stop only once I reach the part where Gray and I traveled through Foreigner’s Valley.
That, to me, just feels like a story for another day.