Chapter Fifty-Four
F orgotten for now, I stumble a moment before finding my footing on the wreckage surrounding us. The room spins around me and my only thought is I must get away . I run as fast as I can but it feels like wading through mud as I trip over my own feet and make slow progress. The area surrounding the confrontation is completely destroyed. The stone hallway surrounding us is filled with holes where the vines pierced through stone now works against me, halting my progress as I step around holes wider than my waist. The vines themselves though, they’re bigger than I’ve ever seen before. They have the same look of a cucumber vine, but the smallest sections are bigger around than my wrist.
I step carefully around the sleeping lianas, the carnage of my brave vines everywhere I look. But I try not to disturb them in their eternal slumber. The tapestry lined hall clears the farther I get from our exchange, but I can hear Killian’s sobs from here. I can’t bring myself to turn around or stop, but I know those cries will bring guards in droves.
The door to the stables is straight ahead. I’m almost there. But dizziness overcomes me, unconsciousness looming too close for comfort, and I fall smack into a solid stone wall. The sweet, heady scent of cake greets me, confirming I’ve made it as far as the kitchens. I try to lean back into the hallway to continue the most direct route. But the sight of what has to be my wedding cake stands before me, stopping me in my tracks. Layers and layers of fluffy white icing, so much that I can smell the sugar and vanilla from across the room. The cake is large enough to feed all of Merula.
I guess the news hasn’t traveled as far as the kitchens yet.
Good.
For me.
I have to gather my wits about me. I’m so close, but so many things could still go wrong. There’s a door in here leading out to the gardens. If I can make it through the gardens and to the stables, I know we’ll make it out of here. Gone under cover of darkness.
A sharp pain washes over me, dizziness clouds my vision for a moment and I have to fight through the urge to pass out. The coppery scent of blood overpowers the sugar, reminding me that I’m bleeding—profusely. I have to stem the steady flow of blood before I pass out.
I almost lost my head today. I almost lost my life.
Grabbing a handful of flour-covered kitchen towels, I pat my collarbone, pressing more firmly after testing the area. If only I had time to stop and make a poultice. But I have to keep moving, there’s no time to do anything other than staunch the bleeding with pressure.
It feels tight where he cut, and my optimism that it’s not too deep dims slightly when the towel comes away bright red. Still bleeding then. I grab a few more towels, tying them awkwardly around my shoulders and back to keep the towels in place.
Just as I tighten the last knot, there’s a shuffling of hurried footsteps, the sound getting closer by the second.
I must get out of here before I’m found. Killian must’ve snapped out of it long enough to have everyone in the castle searching for me.
The garden. If I can just make it outside to the cover of the sinking sun, I’ll be safe. As I spin on my heels, I’m surprised by the amount of blood I’ve tracked around this small space, but I push the thought aside. If I can make it out of here alive, I can worry about poultices and bandages later.
The footsteps grow. It sounds like it's more than one person. The guards are close.
The door to the gardens—to my freedom—looms in front of me, but it seems so far. I step toward the salty sea air, calling my name, but instead of stepping out into the setting sun, darkness creeps across my vision, swallowing me whole.
A small nudge and a tug from deep within awakens me. Wait, that can’t be right.
But the incessant poking is enough to wake me from the darkness. They’re pulling my hand, no that’s not quite right either. My ring. They want my ring.
I open my eyes enough to look around, clutching my hand to my chest to keep my ring safe. There’s no one here. But I felt it. Felt something. Was it just the breeze coming off the bay? The open door causes me to doubt what I felt.
Pushing up on my elbows, I realize I didn’t even make it all the way outside. I at least made it to the doorway, but must’ve fallen across the threshold before making it completely out of the kitchens. Did I pass out on the entryway from blood loss? The cut is bad, but maybe passing out on my face actually helped slow the bleeding. The blood beneath me makes it difficult to sit up without sliding, but finally I manage, leaning against the door jam, partially outside and partially able to use the lights from the kitchen to assess the damage .
I’m no stranger to a wound like this. And with this much blood loss, I’ll be lucky if I can manage to stand again, let alone escape from here. Luckily, the guards passed me by this time, but I need to figure something out, and quick.
A red petal catches my attention. Another vine. That’s what was tugging on me. It winds its way up my wrist, past my elbow, and shoulder of my left arm. Over the wound itself, careful not to disrupt my makeshift bandage, which is now as red as the flower trailing down my other arm, stopping only once it rests on my finger. The pearls of my ring sparkle underneath the movement of the vine.
“Yes, it really is a beautiful ring,” I say to the vine, half amused, half worried about my sanity. “But now isn’t the time to be admiring primeval jewelry pieces.” I hold the ring up though, momentarily entranced. That statue, the one where I found the ring, isn’t too far away. I mentally follow the path looking toward where she should be, in the back corner of the garden.
Standing tall, illuminated by the last of the afternoon glow, is the Fae warrior herself in all her glory. Squinting, I can make out there’s something on her outstretched hand, the one that wore the ring. I look down at my right hand where the vine still sits curled around my ring finger. The flower blooming next to my ring matches the one in the distance, wrapped around where the ring used to rest.
My thoughts are interrupted by another sear of pain from the wound high across my chest. I need to figure something out, and quickly, or I’m not going to make it.
I’ll let everyone down.
The disastrous thought is met with another— know yourself, know your path .
I know myself now.
I’m a healer. I can do so much good with my hands, helping others and bringing wonders to life. I’m Fae. And my people, the people of Merula, and all the people of Everguard, depend on me now.
I know myself. And now I know my path. If I could just heal myself—wait, could it be possible to heal myself? I don’t have anything to create a strong poultice, but maybe I have something better—the power within me.
I tug on the now fragile threads within and they respond. I’ve never directed my power toward myself, and it feels overwhelming pulling it into so much pain. The power within bends away from my own pain, searching for a way out.
It doesn't work. There’s no hum of energy. I can’t do this. Even if I can hold onto the threads, I can’t direct them firmly enough, my head’s too foggy to be convincing. The wound is too large and I’m losing too much blood too quickly.
Just as the threads start to fade and the darkness threatens my periphery once again, the vine at my finger quivers, focusing my attention on my hand for a moment.
The ring. The Fae warrior’s ring. I look back toward the statue and the last rays of sunshine play across the statue’s fierce gaze.
I look back to my hand raising it, bringing the ring closer. I rest my hand over the bandages, placing the ring close to the bleeding wound. Hoping against hope for something to happen.
The threads of power within me come alive at the movement. More power gathers beneath me, pooling in the ground below, waiting for a direction to flow.
I gasp at the raw power that begins to flow through me and position the ring directly over my wound. It’s as if pure sunlight shines straight through me. The smell of fresh grass on a summer day fills my senses as the light passes through, up, and around me. It’s everywhere at once. The hum rises in my ears, like a colony of bees hovering around their hive.
As the humming within crescendos, I can feel the exact moment the bleeding stops. It tickles when the skin around the wound stretches and pulls back toward itself, regrowing and healing all at once. As the power thrums through me, the ring helps focus the swell of power. As I direct it, the ring pools it, like a warm blanket wrapping snug all around me in comfort.
Finally, it’s done. There’s no more pain. I collapse against the door frame, gulping down heaps of air.