44. Elara
Chapter 44
We had been traveling for days through a winding road surrounded by long grass fields, a thick line of forest in the distance. The long stretches had been broken up by villages and farms made of houses of sod and sticks, but other than that, it was all the same. Our carriages had lumbered along with the forest on one side and the bay in the distance on the other, those fabled Qits somewhere beyond that. It was all beautiful, but it was all nothing compared to what rose over the horizon as we crested the last hill, the white stone blossoming out of the ground as though they were clouds against the red skeletal trees of the Forest of Ok behind.
The vermillion trees were spines of red lightning that forked up from the ground, their branches bare save for the tiny buds of the golden leaves that hadn’t unfurled in centuries. The forest had been barren since the Black War, when the Goddess vanquished the Sister and the Fae.
Knowing that, and seeing the red slashes of bark in the dark, should have been horrifying, but there was something about it that was calm, made more so by the temple that rose up before it in a tower of white stone.
All of it, the calming clearing, the graceful beauty, it was all in opposition to the frightening black knife-like spires of the Runturin we had left behind.
The Runturin looked as though it was going to carve a line in the sky. The Temple of the Sister looked like clouds and fog of white stone billowing out from the reedy forest.
Smaller dwellings of the same stone dotted the ground around the column of clouds, little puffs of white that were nestled against pink and yellow violets and lavender moss that made it all look like we were looking down at a morning sunrise instead of up at it. As we approached, the priestesses who cared for and worshiped in the temple emerged from the small puffs of stone clouds like wisps of fog. Each one of the holy women wore billowing robes that flowed over their bodies in yards and folds of soft white fabric that nearly covered them completely. The large ruched hood that completed their uniform was pulled down low over their heads so that I could only see the tips of their fingers and the tiniest bit of their chin. The entire effect made them look as much like clouds as their temple.
Before they had all been excused, one of my tutors had told me that the Temple was supposed to look like the clouds above the garden that the Goddess cultivated in the afterlife, the red trees behind a symbol of the death we all must travel to reach such a holy place. Seeing it now, and not only in the crude drawings in my books, it certainly looked like that. Not only that, but it felt that way. It felt as though the world was suddenly made of calm and clouds.
As though everything in the world was as it should be.
As though I was as I should be.
Even the bone chattering cold seemed to wane, if only for a moment.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said, my hands flat against the window frame as I stared out of the back window in our carriage. Heat waved over my skin in a low rumble of soothing energy, calmer than anything I had felt before. The magic that had been so cold and elusive in me the last few days had been chased away. The warming waves grew the closer the carriage lumbered toward the temple before all of that glittering warmth centered to my wrist and the twisted braid of Fae hair there and vanished.
“Do you feel that?” I glanced to the bracelet, shivering against the cold that returned as quickly as it left.
A slight shifting of leathers and a rustle of fabric was the only response I received as we moved closer to the temple. His silence had been unwavering since my mother’s warning had been cut into my skin. My arm was now mostly healed, something I was sure had to do with how the Boy wrapped his bare hands around my forearm each day when he changed the bandages. I was sure it had something to do with Fae blood, but I had no way of asking. Not that he would answer, anyway. He didn’t whisper, didn’t click. He had even stopped nodding.
I tried to ignore the way my chest attempted to crack and break apart at the thought, at the way that feeling of blissful perfection wavered and the heartbreak I had been ignoring for days tried to creep in. Not just heartbreak. Loneliness. He was right there, yet somehow, I had never been more alone.
Never been so lost.
Shoving the thoughts and emotions as far away as I could, I pressed my forehead to the glass, watching the temple shift as the line of carriages curved around behind us to circle that calm little meadow. Horses galloped as the carriages took their place, revealing the massive gilded carriage that held my family at the end, and that frail figure that was stumbling behind it.
Aeinya.
Even from there I could tell that she was struggling to walk, her agony practically screaming. Her feet dragged, her head lulled, her body swayed from side to side as she fought to stay upright. The priestesses were already running for her, a few people from the pilgrimage of peasants that followed behind rushing forward to catch the future Queen.
The doors to Batian’s carriage before her didn’t so much as crack open as the priestesses ran after Aeinya.
“No!” I yelled and lunged for the door. Even though I knew I would never get there in time. At least I would try. It was more than Batian was doing, anyway. It was more than he had done this entire time.
I tried the door, but the lock didn’t budge even as I slammed against it, pain lancing up my arm. I screamed, the Boy pulling me from the door in a panic. He checked my arm, but I gazed out the back glass, watching as Aeinya crumpled.
They had locked us in, the same as they had for days. I didn’t know why right then was so much more painful than every other time in my life I had been locked away.
I was left to watch in horror through the fogged glass of our carriage as one of the men from the group of peasants who had followed us barely caught her. He was dressed as darkly as the Boy, his hair a shag of black tangled curls, his clothing torn and ebony cloak in tatters. He stood out like an inky smudge against the light, dust-coated clothing of the rest of the pilgrims he stood with.
Ripples of gasps hit the carriage as though it was a solid wave, the sound as firm of a pressure as the thunder of my heart in my chest. The priestesses rushed forward, grabbing Aeinya’s limp sagging body from the man who stood in horror as they carried her away. They all stood in differing states of shock, everyone clutching each other and crying. Still, the doors to that gilded carriage did not open.
My brother did not even peer out to check on the status of his bride.
It was hard not to let that boiling rage build. Where was the kind, caring man that Aeinya had told me about as we huddled under the carriage? Where was the thoughtful Prince that always went out of his way for others?
Where was my brother?
The questions burned and boiled, but I already knew the answer to all of them.
I couldn’t leave her alone, not like this.
I rattled the handle of the door again. I wasn’t going to ram it with my arm again, so I kicked at it with as much weight as I could muster. It didn’t budge, it didn’t even creak. There was only the dangerous chuckle from the other side that I instantly recognized. Silas.
The lock was the least of the problems. Of course I was being guarded.
“Let me out,” I hissed through the door with as much hatred as I could muster, shaking off the soft leather glove of the Boy as he tried to pull me away from the door. I pressed myself against it as though I could move through it, wishing I could call on that explosive fire. I tried to focus on it, on the heat, on moving it through my body, there was still only ice in my veins.
If I was going to reach her, I was going to have to find another way. I gave the door another shove, the answering sound like a dark wave as I kicked again before falling back on the seat. I was sure I looked a mess, but I didn’t care. I was still in better shape than Aeinya
“Aeinya?” I whispered, watching her in those priestesses’ arms. She lifted her head weakly, trying to wave to those who had gathered like the Queen she was about to become. At least she wasn’t dead, but that was a small blessing to what I had witnessed.
I stared at Aeinya, willing her to be well, until the hustling priestesses had taken her inside one of those domed houses. I would have tried the door again, I would have rushed to them, but it all would have been pointless. It all would have led to more problems.
To more threats, to more injuries. My arm ached at the thought and I shifted with a hiss, the Boy sitting up straighter as he once again leaned closer, his hands raised in the familiar gesture of question and concern. For the briefest breath of a moment, I thought he would talk, or click or gesture, but he dropped his hands, leaning back in the seat with nothing but the creaking of his leathers, the slow beat of his breathing the only sound in the carriage as he sat forward, each of his breaths the slow metronome of our defeat.
Sagging against my seat, I turned back to the window, to the gilded carriage and the mass of peasants who still stood there. Most were on their knees now, mumbling and praying to the temple and to the Goddess, but that cloaked man still stood. His tattered cloak billowed behind him, his curls whipping over his face as he turned. His eyes were so bright and blue I could see them from where I was across the clearing. He wasn’t looking at the line of carriages, or the servants.
He was looking at me.
Zings of energy ran over my skin, every inch of me prickling in a wave so familiar, yet so foreign.
It was as though my magic recognized him. I hadn’t felt that since… since…
Tobin?
It was impossible. I knew it was. The thought vanished as his mouth turned up. It wasn’t wicked like the grin Mother would give me, but it was dangerous, full of something that I didn’t quite understand.
Something that I could have sworn tugged at me.
“Boy–” I began, my voice shaking as I leaned away from the window. The Boy rushed beside me, hand already drawing his sword. By the time he reached me, the man was gone, only the praying worshipers remained, all of them facing the temple and the carriage that was now being moved closer to the largest of the domed houses.
They were all covered in dust, their too big clothing revealing half-starved frames and pale skin. They didn’t seem to care about any of that, however, they only moved toward where Aeinya had been taken as they prayed and worried. Still, it was more than my brother had done. It wasn’t the people who were praying to the sky at the front of the group that caught my eye, however, it was the children in the back.
The children who laughed and played and danced in the dirt, their bare feet pink in the cold, not that any of them noticed. They were happy. So, happy.
Even those who prayed and followed after Aeinya were smiling. I had never seen such joy.
The Boy gestured to them, pulling my focus from the children as he sat beside me gesturing in question as to what I had seen.
“I don’t know…” I began again, my words stumbling around a body that felt far too heavy as I sat there, staring at the pilgrims. Watching them pray and whisper and dance.
My mother would pray to the Goddess almost daily, she would go to worship with her ladies’ maids in the small chapel in the Runturin. I had been required to go with her for a time as a small child, but the devotion I had seen in her then was nothing compared to this.
Nothing compared to that freedom.
Watching them, I knew what I had to do. I had planned for this, but now I knew the exact path to take. It was almost as though the Goddess herself was laying it down before me.
The Boy sighed and made to move back to the other side of the carriage but I grabbed his arm, holding him in place. He stiffened below me, his body growing rigid as I leaned in. I was well aware that if anyone was standing outside would see us, but I really didn’t care. I clung to him, my grip tightening and he tried to pull away; although the motion grew lax as I pressed my cheek against the dark fabric that covered him. His breathing was deep and warm against my ear as his cheek pressed against mine. I leaned into him, his warmth like a fire even through the fabric.
“I’m leaving with them,” I whispered so low that I wasn’t sure he could even hear me. Even if he knew who I was talking to. I would only hope he would piece it together. “Tonight, after the ceremony. I’ll slip in with them. Come with me. Please. Your mother will understand, we can’t live like this. We can find another way to fight my mother. We can find a way to save them all.”
He said nothing, he didn’t click, he didn’t even move. He sat there, his cheek pressed against mine, his breathing slow and stuttered in my ear, as if each breath hurt him. As if each one was pulling something out of him that could not be replaced. As if each one was attempting to strangle that hope that had risen in me.
“Please. Come with me,” I whispered again, his body stiffening before he shifted away. His deep shaking breaths caught as his hand wrapped around my waist, the wide pressure of his palm firm against my back as he froze. Without warning, he pulled me into him, so close his shoulder was against mine. Everywhere his body pressed against mine that feeling of starlight and magic rumbled underneath my skin, begging me to move closer.
Oh, how I wanted to move closer. How I wanted to feel his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. Every moment that need grew into a volatile desire, and sitting so close, after so many days with him far from me that sensation was agony.
We sat there, the cushioned seat bowed below us as he held me to him, his body firm against mine, his breath warm and broken in my ear. Every inch of my body was hot, that prickling heat growing as I waited for him to whisper his answer; waited for him to promise that he would come with me.
Instead, he moved away, his cheek pressing against mine as he shifted back, his hand still against my waist, his body still so close to mine.
He didn’t leave completely.
His breath rattled over my cheek in a shaky exhale of hot heat that flowered over my jaw to my lips. My breath caught at the feel of his breath on my lips, my stomach tightening into a knot as I suddenly fought the will to breathe. I stared into the black mask that covered him, that shadow that was him. Before I could move, before I could react, he leaned in, pressing his covered lips against mine.
The fabric that kept him from me remained between us, the constant barrier unmoving. For one brief moment, however, I swore it had vanished, that it was nothing but his lips pressed against mine. That there was nothing between us, and I had seen his face every day of my life, that I had known every inch of him. That I knew each scar, and the way he looked when he smiled, or when he cried. It wasn’t true of course, the shroud was still there, but it didn’t matter because I knew him, without even seeing, I knew him. All that mattered in the world was this kiss, was him.
Screw breathing, I would breathe him in for the rest of my life and be completely satiated.
The entirety of the Realm fell away into smoke and light, leaving only the two of us in that carriage as his lips pressed against and danced with mine. Heat flared over my skin as he pressed against me, held me, as everything in the world went taut and perfect.
His hand pulled me into him as he deepened the kiss, the pressure of his lips firm against mine, his touch soft as he kissed me again and again. My lips, my jaw, the corner of my mouth where the sighs of shock and need and want that were escaping me sounded more like sobs.
Before I was ready, before I had remembered how to breathe, he pulled back, his hand still curved around my back. My heart was thundering in my chest, even as everything knotted as I waited, watching him desperately for an answer.
He didn’t shift, didn’t move, didn’t click, even as the steps outside the carriage moved closer.
We were out of time.
“Meet me in the Forest of Ok after the ceremony,” I gasped, barely able to catch my breath enough to form the words, to allow my stomach to stop tangling in need and desire. “I’ll leave when they move to consummate. No one dares go in there because of the stories. No one will see us. We can slip away. We will be free.”
That time I leaned into him, pressing my lips against his, his answering kiss deep and furious before he pulled back as the door to the carriage was thrown open. The Boy was back on the other bench before I could so much as inhale and turn toward the vile hooked nose and leering eyes of Silas as he stood snarling in the door.