Chapter 12
CHAPTER
The journey from Basdie to the Artume border would take us five days.
Our small caravan was meant to look inconspicuous, for thieves occasionally patrolled the main roads searching for easy targets.
Despite our carriages being well-armed, they did not appear well-maintained.
Unfortunately, the drab appearance also meant a less-than-smooth ride.
Unlike the carriages of the High households I was once accustomed to, these were outfitted with large, thin wheels that seemed to magnify every rock and rut.
There were moments I almost told my companions I’d rather just fly the whole way if it meant avoiding the nausea.
But a group of Fae flying overhead was certain to draw unwanted attention, since the everyday Cambrian would never do such a thing.
Each night we’d make camp deep in the woods, setting up portable, lightweight tents and cooking meals over an open fire.
Idris travelled ahead of us, while Saryn and Theory remained with the group.
The experience travelling south was strange.
Not only because we had finally departed the mountains, but also because the last time we were transported, we had been asleep thanks to some elixir Idris had provided.
There was a strangeness to watching the lands of Cambria recede through the carriage window, knowing it was home, longing to take in the scent and scene of it, but also knowing it was goodbye.
Hopefully only for the time being. The farther south we went, the signs of winter began to disappear.
If I were honest, I was grateful to be rid of the frigid chill that made my bones feel like they were chattering.
While making camp, Varro and I maintained our facade.
When it was just us in the carriage, or even when we cramped ourselves in with Nori and Cairis, they did not make an ordeal of our handholding or miniscule flirtations.
They knew it was all coming to an end soon, and we knew it too.
We cherished the small gestures as long as we could.
Riding with Saryn, however, was exhausting.
His constant prying about the Dark Wielders that came before me was never-ending.
Part of me felt that if the tomes were bound by blood magic to only be read by someone who shared the power, didn’t that imply the knowledge wasn’t meant for others?
But he was not going to relent, and I wasn’t about to tell him anything about the Drift, so I shared innocent tidbits here and there just to get him to shut up.
Though a Dark Wielder had existed amongst his Order’s class, it became abundantly clear that she did not speak of it often or share details with him.
I wondered if it was frustration or intrigue that motivated Saryn’s interrogation of me.
Perhaps she had shared truths with other members of his class, like Theory, and did not include him for some reason.
Theory never spoke of their Order, either.
It could be reasonably assumed that, since they did not return to Basdie to train us, they were all dead.
The possibility of some of them being alive but deeply embedded on other missions sat at the tip of my tongue nearly every meal together, but I never got the courage to ask.
Theory and Saryn were so plainly private people that I feared they’d react unfavorably to my prying.
Varro and the others knew I had these questions—we all did.
We’d speak of them quietly during the long, bumpy ride to our next destination.
We joked about flipping a Lorc to see who’d be delegated to ask—well, anything really, about the former members of the Imperi.
But each time we settled into a silent embrace of unknowing.
That silence was the black cloud of our own realization that the Order of the Imperi meant death. Death was the only way out.
On the last evening before our arrival at the border, Saryn explained that he would be setting up a safehouse just outside of the Nasallus castle walls, within the bustling village that surrounded it.
The word “safehouse” sent me down a spiral of memories from the treehouse with Trace, and everything we’d done there in the days leading up to us both being delivered to the Offering.
I swallowed the anxious feeling in my throat and tried to listen intently to Saryn, but he had created an unwelcome distraction I couldn’t seem to escape from.
He noted that once we had set our sights on the surroundings of our safehouse, we might be able to portal to and from, as long as we were careful not to get caught.
If we could not portal, we’d need to find a way to make passage there undetected.
In some cases, like Gia’s, it would be more difficult.
Playing the role of a noble lady meant she couldn’t be seen wandering about the poorest parts of Nasallus without an escort.
Varro would need to make sure he did not cause trouble amongst his clan and bring about any unwanted attention.
Trace would likely face the most difficulty getting to us, and suffer the worst consequences if he were to be caught wandering far from his militia’s encampment.
If there was one group of people they’d be watching for treachery from, it would be those in armed positions.
The purpose Silas’ Hand had bestowed upon Trace’s group meant they were impersonators; separated from the conventional military.
If too many untrusted individuals found out the attacks on Artume were staged by the king himself, a coup might unfold.
We were instructed to deliver regular reports to the safehouse and, if we were able, hold small meetings as a team to plan our next steps.
Though the idea of getting to and from the safehouse without getting caught sounded intimidating, it also brought me relief to know there would be an opportunity to see Varro and the others.
Saryn was in charge of relaying information to Theory, whose clandestine maneuvering between borders allowed her to pass along reports from Idris and, effectively, the king himself.
On the last night of our journey, Varro and I both pretended to head in opposite directions of the forest for some privacy to relieve ourselves, but our true intention was to walk in a circle until we were reunited.
When we finally arrived, our handheld lanterns created pillars of light amongst hundreds of smaller glows flitting about.
Fireflies swirled and swarmed, illuminating the winding branches and leaves of the forest surrounding us.
Their beauty was arresting, not only for the wondrous acrobatics their tiny, frail bodies performed, but also a distinct reminder that this lush landscape would soon be left in our wake.
Creatures as gentle and fair as the firefly could not survive the harsh climate of Artume.
Slowly, deftly, I waved my arms through them, their magical glows spiraling with my movements.
Varro approached me and hung his lantern on a nearby sturdy tree branch, while mine sat on the mossy forest floor.
I inhaled deeply, mesmerized by the complex aromas of our setting.
We were in the Riverlands now, just a few days ride to the west from House Blackthorn.
The possibility and temptation prickled at my eyelids as I fought back thoughts of my family being so nearby.
Varro’s bond was ever still, just hovering beneath mine.
Steady and gentle. He knew the grief of the moment I was processing, and he let me have this silence.
His steps toward me were quiet and even until I could feel the heat of his broad chest radiating against mine.
He slowly lowered his forehead to mine, resting it there, and as our eyes closed, he intertwined our fingertips.
We breathed each other in, committing our scents to memory.
Varro’s was complex. It ebbed and flowed like waves, carrying with it a faint mixture of elements hiding amongst the more powerful features wrapped up in a hint of the sea mist. If I closed my eyes and relaxed, I could imagine the feel of the breeze, the sand between my toes, the whipping of the ship’s sail catching the wind and the creaking of the wooden frame as it bobbed against the Endless Tide toward its next destination.
There was a slight hint of lemon intertwined with the sea breeze, as golden and bright as he was.
“We’re apart only moments and you’ve adopted a flock of fireflies,” he said.
“Sparkle.”
“Hm?”
“A sparkle of fireflies. Not a flock.”
“Well, you’re native to the Riverlands. I am but a humble servant of the sea.”
“Only the sea?” I said coyly.
He drew me closer. “And uniquely gifted Fae,” he added.
“That’s better,” I teased, my mood turning from playful to sincere.
His smile faded as he met my gaze; we searched each other’s eyes for what to say next.
I had not yet found the courage to seal the bond, or to say the words my heart wanted to but, in the morning, there would be no time for words such as these.
“Just know that I do…Varro, I really do,” I whispered, so close that my lips brushed against his between each syllable.
“As do I,” he said back without a moment’s hesitation.
He pressed his lips to mine, enveloping us both in a long kiss that needed to last us a lifetime—because it might be our last.