Chapter 17
Seventeen
Rana
“ W hat do you want me to do with her?”
“Strip her naked and examine her like the supposed doctor you are. I’ve been told she’s defective.” Locren’s voice is crystal clear though my vision is cloudy and limbs useless.
I shift my eyes upward—the only part I have control of—at the sound of a sigh above me. A tall, lean man with a soft blue complexion and honey brown eyes has his arms extended out in aggravation. “Can you at least give me an idea of where and what I’m searching for?” There’s so much power in this voice I can almost see his magic coating the walls with each word.
One would expect a doctor to wear a lab coat or any kind of top, but this man is completely bare chested. His abdomen and chest are well defined—shadows form between each cut of muscle. Sprouts and vines dance along his body, seeming as if they were growing out from beneath his flesh. I’ve never seen a being like him before—he looks like he was birthed from the earth itself.
Locren hisses at the doctor. “I thought you dryads were all knowing beings. I want to know everything . But mostly why her wings have not appeared nor her ability to wield fire,” he snarks, before stomping off.
The dryad’s wild cobalt hair drapes around his face while peering down his long, arrow-shaped nose at me. My eyes feel like they are vibrating from how fast my heart is racing. The paralysis has yet to dissipate, leaving me with absolutely no way to escape or defend myself. I’m at the mercy of a forest fae.
“Oh child, I don’t wish to harm you.” His voice is much softer when directed at me. I search his eyes for a blip of truth and sorrow stares back at me—he really has no choice.
“I do have a choice, though. It’s either you or my daughter, and I’ll pick her every time,” he says dejectedly.
So he can read my mind. It’s just going to keep getting worse.
Placing his hands above my chest, vines slither down from his fingers and begin multiplying. Thorns form along the greenery as it sprawls across my chest and the table beneath me like the side of an abandoned home. Tighter, and tighter they wrap until the thorns pierce my skin.
The dryad takes a deep breath, becoming deathly still. An ‘I’m sorry’ is the only warning before the feeling of a thousand roots burst under my skin. I feel them weaving their way through my organs unrelentingly, searching for something. The roots spread further and further until I feel them tangle around my heart—I swear it stops beating. Just as I resign to the fact I will die, the roots recede in search of a new destination. My back.
The searing pain I once felt from my father’s hands returns with a vengeance. The roots push and dig, entwining within my ribcage, or at least I think that’s what it is.
“Oh.” The dryad’s heavy brow shoots to his foliage filled hairline. “Well, aren’t you an interesting little thing,” he mutters. Wiggling his wild fingers, the man looks up to the pitch of the beige tent. A soft yet eerie creaking sound tingles my ears, gradually getting louder sounding more and more like bones breaking. The louder it gets the more pain I feel, and that’s when I realize the sound is coming from within me . With one final tug, I find my voice.
The scream that ricochets from my throat could wake the gods. The sound is agonizing—closely resembling that of a banshee.
The roots that once resided in my marrow release me, turning back into fingers as they retract into the dryad.
“You may hate me for what comes next in your journey but we all have to make choices in our lives that are difficult. For me, I choose every day to be the villain—but in my story, I will be my family’s hero.” His voice is apologetic but holds no regret. “Now it’s your turn to figure out what you’re willing to live for. That one thing that is worth waking up every day and fighting for.”
Resting on shaky hands, I push myself upright. Dizziness sends me tipping over the side of the table. Thankfully, the dryad has quick reflexes, catching me before I can hit the ground. A—most likely false—sense of safety washes over me being cradled into his bark like chest and arms.
He gently lowers me on the cot in the far right corner of the tent and kneels in front of me. “What name would you like to be called?”
A strange question, but something I need to take into consideration seeing as I have been disowned. Do I even need an identity when I have no future?
“What name makes you feel alive? A name that makes your blood hum with pride and your magic grow with just the mention of it.”
The only time I’ve felt truly loved was…
I know the skies have been dark
And the nights so long
But I will always protect your heart
“Thorin. My name is Thorin. And it’s time to fight for me. ”