Chapter Forty-Two
We are led through the forest of trees, each of us with our hands fastened behind our backs by one of the men who had shot arrows at us.
After Eliaz’s statement, they surrendered, but only on the terms that we are to be taken as prisoners until the emperor deems us otherwise, and since we seem to have nothing to lose, we may as well try our luck.
It is odd though, that Eliaz would allow them to handle us as so, when it is well within his power to have them walk us there without our wrists bound by rope.
Perhaps it would cloud their directional facilities, and maybe because Eliaz does not know the way, then they have to be fully conscious in order to get us there.
But still, it seems out of character for him, considering how easily he controlled the minds of the Reyheni guards, how his conscience did not falter once as he did so.
His display with the granphids was nothing short of extraordinary, and even now, as they trail behind us, disappearing every now and then to hunt or investigate rustling in the bushes, they are calmer, still showing all the signs of being under his influence. His hand tight and firm on their minds.
I still cannot tell if he was bluffing or not, when he told the men we have the emperor’s son in our midst. There are only three options, and not one of the men will look me in the eye.
Diarmid’s ear has thankfully stopped bleeding, although the gash is still open, the crusted trail of blood emphasising the wound.
His foot gets caught on stray branches or exposed vines, which holds us up quite a bit, as he is at the front of our line, and we keep having to stop while he finds his footing again.
Lillienne is behind him, and has accidentally kicked her captor in the shin at least four times, and trampled on his foot twice, muttering under her breath that he hasn’t seen the worst of her.
Then it's Calli, who walks on with no protestations, clinging onto the arm of the man who guides her so that she does not fall, as Diarmid does. Cole keeps tripping slightly on the back of her heels, unable to keep her pace, to take smaller strides behind her. Then it’s me. Then Eliaz.
He won’t look at me when I try to catch his attention, whistling with infuriating nonchalance and an exaggerated fixation on the greying sky above.
I want to ask him if he had noticed my luck with the arrow, in all the commotion on the beach. How it had disintegrated into fractured metal and woody ash before it had a chance to taste my flesh. He shows no signs of it if he does.
‘Stop looking so worried, Princess. They have to believe they have all the power here.’
His voice is as clear as if he is speaking directly into my ear, with a slight reverberation that sounds as though his words are rattling around in a tin.
But that is not what stops me in my tracks, causing my personal captor to trip on my boot.
I am stunned into place by the fact that his mouth doesn’t move.
The bastard starts whistling to add to the aggravation. I guess that is another part of his power I had neglected to pay any thought to, because of course he can make me hear anything he wants me to. He did it at my presentation.
With an aggressive grunt, my captor places a hand on my upper back and shoves me. I look to the man who pushes me forwards, the lines of his face, on his eyes, around his mouth.
He has a hostile hand, and a stern look about him, but I know from those marks that he has known happiness here, enough for it to leave evidence in his skin. His eyes flit to me, aware of my gaze.
‘Look where you are going, girl.’
I can see his breath escape his mouth, the way it twirls there before dissipating into nothing. His exposed arms are red from the cold, mottled with a worrying purple.
‘You must be freezing in that,’ I say to him. ‘Do you not feel the cold?’
The lines around his mouth deepen as his lips curl upwards. ‘It is a privilege to feel anything, is it not?’
‘You may be right. But would you not – if anything – rather feel warmth?’
He chuckles, all the severity fading from him. ‘Sometimes we must endure a small amount of discomfort in order to feel the value of life’s comforts, no?’
‘It’s a bit of an odd way to go about it, you have to admit. Nevertheless, I admire your commitment, even if I do not understand it.’
The man nods, looking ahead again. ‘And I appreciate that, especially from a stranger.’
Another question rises up through my anxiety, and springs from my tongue before I have the chance to catch it. ‘Is he a kind man, your emperor?’
There is a pause, a briefness where my question seeps into him, and he meticulously constructs an answer. ‘He is a fair and empathetic ruler,’ he says, before quickly adding, ‘it is a weakness he detests in himself, I’m sure.’
I’m not sure I would consider kindness a gap in strength exactly, but then, perhaps it is this na?ve outlook that has had me blinded so easily in the past. Sometimes people find strength in being unkind, or dishonest, but I know enough to believe that extending kindness should never be considered a quality attributed only to the weak.
We approach a clearing, a circular gap in the forest that bleeds out in a river of grass, an exit into fields of grass, and upturned soil. Farmlands.
‘Halt!’ The man in beige shouts from the centre of the clearing, bow raised to gather the attention of his men. Lillienne pretends to trip on a stone and elbows the man that guides her into place, he screws up his face, quelling his anger.
There we stand, encircling the leader, staring at one another, all anxious flitting eyes and quickened breathing. Apart from Cole who looks severely pissed and Eliaz who leans his weight on an unsettlingly cuddly granphid and yawns.
The man in beige eyes him, harsh and unamused. ‘If you are tired, we will be very obliging in returning you back to your ship should you wish to settle down for a nap.’
Eliaz rights himself on his feet, an air of pleasant surprise about him. ‘And miss out on all this lovely gallivanting? I am quite awake, thank you, although I am growing rather bored of being dragged through the woods.’
‘Need I remind you, that none of us recognise any one of you. We are taking extra precautions, until your claims of the emperor’s son are confirmed, because as it stands, you are simply criminals of the sea wishing to embroil us in your scam.’
‘My heart aches so, that you do not believe our pleas.’
The man huffs through his nose, which he peers down at Eliaz, regarding him with the utmost displeasure.
Evidently finding him unworthy of further attention, he pivots on his heel and stares down each of his men, one by one, before landing on my captor.
His eyebrows raise upwards, his forehead creasing with deep grooves.
‘Finch,’ he says, but it sounds more like a question. ‘You are—’
‘Awaiting further orders, sir,’ he cuts him off, lifting his chin and straightening his posture to display confidence. The man in beige frowns at him, narrows his eyes, and grunts. ‘As I would expect.’
Stepping backward scans the rest of the men, hands held behind his back. He pauses for a moment, and I briefly wonder whether this is a sign of Eliaz’s tampering with his mind.
‘Untie our captives,’ he commands, with an unsettling grin taking over his features. ‘Let us bestow upon them a generosity in the hopes that they might see it as a plea for no trouble. That we are placing our trust in them.’
Mutters of confusion ripple through his men, some laugh as though they believe their leaders’ words were made in jest. But as the man in beige stands tall and expectant they soon realise there was no humour intended and spring into action.
As one of the men unravels the knot of rope on my wrists, my gaze drifts to Eliaz, who is staring directly at me, grinning from ear to ear.
‘You’re welcome, Princess.’
‘And you’re wicked,’ I mouth back to him.
And so, we venture onwards, trudging over the fields of grass and wildflower.
Although it is the height of the winter, nature remains unaffected by the cold as though we are deep into spring.
Nevertheless, the ground remains solid and unyielding underfoot, a reluctance to every threat of a footprint in the dark soil.
Cole and his captor lead the way now, and all the men in brown pull us along with a new urgency, hurried by the strange behaviour of their leader and our newfound freedom of movement.
My captor, who I now know to be called Finch, catches me running my fingers along the heads of the flowers as we pass, my silent wonder at their presence.
‘You have seen flowers before, girl?’
‘They do not usually bloom at this time of year. How do they do so here, what is the secret?’
‘There is no secret. It is the same that applies to all forms of life, sometimes we must choose to endure that which labours to defy us.’
The thought of thriving against all odds, of surviving where conditions do not usually allow, is beautiful and difficult to grasp, as a pessimist who can barely imagine a future in which odds are beaten.
That is what the gurgling, twisting, sinking feeling in my stomach indicates. That I cannot see an outcome where we all win. Where we can afford our people the choice to endure against all that labours to defy them. That they will overcome the affliction and thrive in a life made anew.
Suspended in the uncertainty of it all, is a tiny fizzing, glowing ball of all the hope I have allowed myself to indulge in, all the hope that he has deposited into me.
But much like that burning, unruly sphere of my power that almost befell my own mother, I have at least a semblance of control over where the hope goes.
And I choose to pull it inward, capturing it in my chest, savouring it there, holding it there – for later. When I allow myself to believe in goodness, and good fortune once again. It has been too long since I have made my prayers to Orlaith.
‘Halt,’ the dark-haired man in beige shouts out once again, the back of his straightened hand raised at shoulder height.
He keeps his back to us. We have reached the end of the field, and hidden beneath the guise of a willow tree, is the entrance to a cave.
Something undetectable until you batter through the vines and the horrid arachnids that cling to them, another world curtained by the arms of nature.
Lillienne shrieks as one of those eight-legged abominations tangles itself in the tousles of her hair, flapping like a crazed-woman until Diarmid cups his hands around the thing with utmost care before releasing it to its home, which we currently intrude upon.
‘I must warn you to keep your wits about you, should you wish to remain – well, living,’ the man in beige warns us as the granphids disappear into the cave with their tails between their legs, most likely free of the Umbrian king’s mental hold.
Eliaz appears behind me, his hand finds my lower back, protectively. ‘Stay close, Princess. We walk together.’
My body erupts into an earthquake of goosebumps, the hair on my neck prickling upwards, at what lies beyond, and his hushed voice in my ears.
His free hand tangles itself in mine, and I regard it with a nervous smile, and one grateful squeeze.
Finch steals a glance at the act through his peripheral vision, blinking profusely, then coughs before looking back at his leader.
For some reason, that sliver of attention makes me drop Eliaz’s hand, conscious of how many eyes are on us.
Eliaz wastes no time snatching it back up again.
‘They do not deserve the honour of a single thought in your head. Let me keep your hand in mine whilst we enter the pits of whatever hell lies in that cave.’
I do not feel his breath on my skin, as much as his words echo in my ears. He speaks again only to me. Something more intimate than any kiss, any touch of the body, his fingers in my mind more a tentative caress than a violating intrusion.
Lillienne holds Diarmid’s hand as I do Eliaz’s.
Cole sees this and scoffs, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly offers his hand to Calli, who seems less than pleased for him to be her only option.
She accepts with a deep sigh. And we are led into the gaping mouth of the cave, in twos.
Cole and Calli. Lillienne and Diarmid. Then Eliaz and me.
As if colliding with an invisible wall I find myself unable to enter the darkness.
‘It would seem I am frightened,’ I admit, as though it is the biggest epiphany to have hit me in my immortal life.
‘I would be lying if I said that I’m not,’ Eliaz tightens his hand around mine. ‘We will face anything from this point onwards, together. I promise you that.’
‘Together,’ I repeat, the light, sweetness of the word fluttering around in my breath. The comfort of it smothers the swelling fear before it gains full control.
Because I believe him. Trust him.
We take the step into the misting, dusted darkness of the cave. Together.