Chapter Thirty-Eight
“ T hat prick,” Marcella sneers. “That stupid, pretentious, stuffy-ass, Fjolla prick .”
We walk through the eastern woodlands located within Anatolé’s borders, the day already fleeting. Soon, we’ll need to stop and set up our camp for the night.
“Look on the bright side,” Griff chirps. “At least Kiran managed to get me assigned as your aether-wielder.” He wears a cropped, white fighter’s jacket trimmed in gold with matching pants. The uniform of the Castaria aggregate, I’ve learned.
Which would explain why he told Gray and me to choose Castaria the day we arrived at Bathara. It’s because he’s a part of the aggregate, and Kiran is its captain.
Marcella clenches her fists at her sides and whirls around on Griff. She jabs her finger into his chest. “A bright side coming from someone who doesn’t have to wrangle and behead a Blue-Horned Adder doesn’t go very far.”
Ever since learning of our assignment, Marcella has been rather…on edge.
Griff makes a show of lowering Marcella’s finger from his chest, pushing it away slowly with his palm. “News flash, fiery one—I had to complete the same test.”
“Oh, and what creature did you track and eliminate, then? Hm?”
He lifts his chin. “A troll. ”
She barks a humorless laugh and crosses her arms. “I rest my case.”
Griff’s face pinches together. “For the record, trolls are incredibly difficult to manage.”
“No, they’re not,” she fires back. “They’re ignorant barbarians who are easily ensnared.”
Griff leans toward her, leaving little space. “Yes, they are.”
She humphs triumphantly. “Great. So you agree with me, then?”
Griff’s brown eyes crinkle with confusion as he shakes his head. “No. I meant, yes, they are difficult to manage. Not yes to what you said. Stop twisting my words.”
Nuri leans over to me. “Should we separate them?”
I glance between the two of them—their faces frozen with challenge—and laugh. “They’ll be fine. Let her use him to blow off some steam—it’ll be better for all of us.”
The moment we arrived at the outermost edge of the woodlands—Marcella already fuming—we strategized the most logical route through the area.
Based on the captains’ instructions written on the scroll, we figured the Blue-Horned Adder must be somewhere near the southeastern border, causing issues near one of the outlying villages.
So after a long conversation weighing our options, we all agreed the best approach was to travel east, looking for any signs of the creature as we go.
Marcella’s frustration seems to have only increased since then.
Griff and Marcella somehow manage to bicker for the rest of the day, only stopping when we set up camp under the cover of dense trees, near a large collection of jagged, lichen-covered rocks.
Nuri and I scour for firewood to last us through the night while Gray clears the grounds and pitches tents.
Marcella and Griff each decide they’re the superior hunter, and they set off on separate journeys to compete over who can catch the better meal.
Within an hour, right as darkness formally sweeps the light away, Griff returns with two squirrels.
Marcella returns with three rabbits, a pouch of fresh berries, a quail, and a very, very large smirk.
Griff doesn’t attempt to compete with Marcella again.
“Is it true nobody has ever seen the princess of this kingdom?” Griff asks with a mouth full of food, biting into the squirrel meat he hunted.
The fire crackles and pops as we spin more meat slowly over the flames. Griff and Gray sit on one side, Marcella happily wedged between the two, and Nuri and I sit on the other.
Marcella snorts at the question. “People exaggerate.”
“Well, have you seen her?” Griff presses.
She clicks her tongue. “Please. I’m from Rolfbear. Of course I haven’t seen the princess.”
“So has anybody?” Griff raises his eyebrows for emphasis and looks around the circle. “How do we know she actually even exists ?”
Nuri pops a fresh berry in her mouth. “When the princess was a little girl, it is said she made many appearances. But you’re not entirely mistaken.
My father was in the capital city recently, and the gossip about the princess was as thick as ever.
They say her last public appearance was at the Ardoris Festival many, many years ago. ”
She hands off the jug of commoner’s wine Marcella smuggled in her pack.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lip. “When I was a little girl,” I confess, “for years I used to wish upon a violet star every night that, someday, I could witness the Ardoris Festival.” I huff a laugh, and I jerk my chin toward Gray.
“I read about it in one of his books, and there was even an illustration on the page. It seemed magical.”
Nuri listens with soft eyes. “It is,” she confirms. “The Ardoris Festival is a wondrous event, and one I hope everyone can experience at least once in their lifetime.”
The wine jug reaches Marcella, and she takes a long pull from it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after.
“My brothers took me when I was thirteen. We started making more money, so they could afford to bring me along that year.” Her cobalt eyes come alive as a happy memory dances through them.
“In all my life, I still don’t think I’ve ever experienced something as remarkable. ”
Griff snatches the wine jug from Marcella and takes a swig. “Clearly, you need a good lay then.”
Marcella rolls her eyes and scoffs at Griff. “Right, and are you going to be the one to give it to me?”
He leans toward her, waggling his brows. “I could be. At least, I am more than happy to oblige, if that’s what you mean.”
Shameless flirt, indeed.
Marcella clicks her tongue and shoves him off the tree stump they’ve been sharing.
After, she swipes the wine jug away from Griff—who grumbles as he rises from the ground—and takes another drink before passing it on.
Her face softens, and she leans forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs, resting her chin in her palm and staring at the fire like it encases distant memories.
“You know what I would kill for right now?”
Griff opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it as Marcella shoots him a razor-sharp glare. He hunches over and also places his chin in his palm.
She swivels her eyes back to the flames. “I’d kill for music. In my hometown, there was always music.”
“Gray plays the double-flute,” I offer.“He’s quite talented, too. Had he not been gifted with magic, I’m convinced he would have been a musician.”
“Historian, actually,” he corrects with a soft smile.
Marcella nudges Gray in his side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You could have ended my suffering ages ago.”
He glances at her through the sides of his eyes. “It hasn’t exactly been a relevant topic of conversation.”
She huffs, eyeing the satchel on the ground beside him before jerking her chin toward it. “It’s in there, isn’t it?”
The flick of his eyes and the thinning of his lips are the only answers she needs.
“Oh, it’s in there alright.” She leans over Gray and grabs the satchel, plopping it in his lap after and arching an expectant brow.
He sighs. But ultimately, he flips the leather open and pulls out a dark-wooden instrument adorned with carvings and thin strips of beige and white leather twine.
Marcella lets out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
Gray chuckles. “Well, any requests?”
She pinches her chin. “You don’t happen to know any Anatolian folk songs originating from the south, do you?”
He considers before shaking his head. “Not by memory, unfortunately.”
“How about “The Boy and the Wolf”?” Nuri suggests. “It’s an old folk song that sounds haunting on the double-flute.”
Gray nods, wearing a tilted smile. “I know it.”
And I have to bite down on my growing grin.
Gray doesn’t just know it—it’s his favorite song to play. The song that made him want to learn the instrument, after my mother sang it to us one night. It’s also his best song, stirring the heart with the sort of filling emotion only music can bring.
Gray wets his lips, puts the wooden mouthpiece up to them, and plays.
As soon as the notes flutter into the air, I am transported to another place. To another time. I am here, but I am nowhere. I am ensconced in a sphere of sound, living multiple lives, multiple moments, through the breaths of these notes.
Within a few beats, Nuri opens her mouth and sings, her warm alto piercing through the air, sending the hairs on my arms rising. I didn’t expect her to sing, but I’m glad she does.
“ A wolf that lurks in the blackest of nights, his glowing eyes are a stream. Alone, he wanders lost in this life, awaiting sweet release.
“ A child, a child, he finds deep in the trees, washed in mud and weeds. A child, a child, a knife deep in his skin, awaiting sweet release.”
Chills rise and fall along my skin. The moon freezes time while the trees hold their breath.
Even the fire rests its bow against its vermillion strings, straining to hear the sounds of Gray’s playing and Nuri’s voice.
Only the wind moves—its sole purpose to sweep the tune to the stars, perhaps even to the gods themselves.
“ The voices, they crow, in the moonlight. Until the child believes. The wolf will keep him locked in this life, awaiting sweet release. The moon, it shines through the frost light, and now, the child it sees. Fading to ash, the stars, they cried. No longer needing to be.”
Nuri’s voice softens, her final notes a shade above a whisper.
“ A wolf that lurks in the blackest of nights, his glowing eyes are a stream. Alone, he wandered lost in this life, until he was released. But not until he exchanged his eyes for a child that no longer breathes.
“For now, he remains lost in this life, unable to be released.”
It takes us two more days to make it to the far-east end of the woodlands.