Chapter 9
Iam completely and totally fucked.
The thought replays over and over in my head as I scrub away the mud that has buried itself under my nails, in the folds of my arms, and on the roots of my hair.
The magic and the tattoo weren’t omen enough, no, his name has to be the connective tissue in all of my nightmares.
The single syllable from his lips is the final nail in my coffin.
“Is that what you all sit around and do for fun?” I taunt the gods. “You just toy with people’s lives like we’re dolls. Is this all some big game to you?”
I don’t expect an answer, which is good because I don’t get one. The gods only care about their own amusement—and what better game for them than to bind my fate to the Captain of Corinth … to Cal.
Even thinking his name sends a shiver down my spine. I have to figure out how best to use him against Marks before whatever end the gods have planned catches up with us.
The coals under the cast iron tub are embers, the now chilly water cloudy with the dirt I washed from my skin and hair.
I grab the poor excuse for a towel and wrap the thin fabric around me before opening the door to the cold hallway.
I’m all but running to my room when the sound of a creaking door stops me in my tracks.
Out steps Captain Callan Murphy wearing nothing but a towel slung low across his hips.
We’re not indecent, but this moment feels too intimate.
I saw his tattoo from a distance last night, but it’s closer now.
The way the ebony ink ripples across his pecs as he stalks towards me makes the beast appear to open and close its jaw.
It’s tail disappears completely under the towel and, in a momentary lapse of judgement, I wonder where it ends.
I clear my throat and start walking to my door. “Captain,” I nod.
He follows suit, face gravely serious as we pass in the narrow hallway. “Princess.”
I’m unlocking the door to my room when I hear his footsteps stall.
“Godsbane.”
It’s not a question, but a breathed realization at the floral bloom inked between my shoulder blades and the thick scar it attempts to cover.
“Godsbane,” I repeat without moving.
The captain lets out a low, deep chuckle. “Fitting,” he replies.
I glance over my shoulder, curiosity written plainly on my face, only to see him swaggering into the bathing chamber.
“We leave at dawn, princess.”
It’s still dark outside when a loud pounding wakes me from my restless slumber.
“Give me a second,” I groan out as another, louder knock sounds.
I dig through my bag quickly searching for my oversized cotton shirt and slip it over my naked body. The impatient knocker pounds a third time, causing me to completely abandon my search for pants. The hem of the shirt skims the bottom of my ass, but it’ll have to be enough for now.
Just before the fist can pound again, I jerk open the door to find a young woman holding a steaming mug and an envelope.
“Are you Ivy?” she asks, clearly annoyed at me for reasons unknown.
“I am.”
“I was told to give these to you.”
She extends both hands and stares at me. When I don’t react quickly enough, she shakes the objects she holds, signaling for me to hurry up.
I force a saccharine smile and take the mug and envelope from her hands. The scent of fresh coffee hitting my nostrils elicits an audible moan before I can snap my lips shut. The mysterious inn employee vanishes before I can thank her.
I take several sips of the coffee while I walk back to sit on my bed, carefully stepping over the pile of clothes unceremoniously scattered across the worn rug that covers the floor. It’s hot and rich, a little bitter, but I don’t mind.
Despite the perception that I live a life of luxury, coffee is one of the few indulgences that I allow myself. My father always has exotic beans from the island nations shipped in for my birthday and I know they’ll be waiting on me at the governor’s manor when I return.
Or they will be, if I return.
That if feels heavier and heavier each passing day. Another night filled with haunted dreams turns into another day on the road with my fated doom. There’s no escaping what awaits me.
I slide my finger under the wax seal and read three sentences scrawled across the parchment.
Storms knocked down trees over the road. No travel today.
P.S. The rats say hello.
I read, what I presume to be, Captain Murphy’s scrawled words again.
Storms knocked down trees over the road.
If the storm was powerful enough to uproot trees, there’s likely damage to homes, shops, and schools.
They can spread whatever stories they want about me because of my disapproval of their gods and their forced religion, but I have never abandoned my people when they were in need and I don’t intend to start now.
I down the rest of the coffee quickly and search the unruly clothing pile for something inconspicuous to wear.
I leave behind any trace of my identity or status in the small room, choosing to wear the brown of the common folk over the Emerald Region’s green.
I fix my hair into a simple braid before pulling the cloak’s hood down over my eyes.
I don’t need or want their recognition. I am not a politician looking to garner favor, just an unworthy heir hoping to help without being turned away.
The rising sun showcases just how much of a complete mess Eida has become in the wake of the storm.
Inhabitants emerge from their homes to survey the damage.
Branches, leaves, and trash litter the streets.
Houses are missing their shutters, wagons are overturned, and the fountain in the center of the village is filled with rubbish.
The elements were not kind.
Few villagers spare a look in my direction as they distribute brooms, shovels, and rakes.
Men push wheelbarrows and wagons through the streets to collect the debris.
Crews form to start the clean up and I silently fall into their ranks.
Hours pass quickly as we work, no one engaging with me except for the occasional directional command to place a limb or a leaf pile in a different wagon.
The sun is nearly completely overhead when the village baker sends a child with a basket to pass out small pastries as a treat.
Mae comes by shortly after to pass out cups of water and ale.
The heat of the sun combined with physical labor has caused me to ditch my cloak.
I know that without it, Mae will instantly recognize me.
My heart hammers in my chest as she approaches.
If she calls me by name or title, all of the good I did here today will be for nothing.
I’ll be dodging the very sticks I’ve helped to clean up.
The cool water does little to extinguish the panic rising within me. Mae offers me a soft smile as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Another cup, sweets?” she says with a wink.
I nod and she hands me another cup of the cool liquid before moving to the next person in line. That was close—too close. The clean-up effort in the center of town is nearly finished, so I decide to walk around to find another job, preferably one with less attention.
Life in a village is truly something amazing.
I always loved the days that my mother would take me into town as a child.
The shops, the smells, and the people all coming together to paint an idyllic picture of what life in Corinth could be.
I linger in front of the bakery windows reminiscing on a simpler time, a simpler life.
Before I was heir.
Before I had secret magic.
Before I was hated by most of Corinth.
I wasn’t Poison Ivy then, I was just Ivy.
“Come hear the word of the gods! Let us beg for penance and praise Nobus for sparing our homes!”
The shout rings out through the village streets. The priest, an old man with a long white beard, herds the crowds towards the temple like a flock of sheep. Blind masses worshipping a god who couldn’t care less about them.
I put my cloak on again and slip through the throngs of people moving in the opposite direction. I’m met with a few sidelong glances, but they mostly pay me no heed.
A bell peals through the village, echoing off the stone buildings and calling all to worship.
A tingle traces its way down my spine, a pulling sensation settling somewhere deep inside me.
I follow the strange tug down an alleyway, across broken cobblestones and buildings worn with age and the elements.
Magic reaches a crescendo in my veins as a hooded figure steps out from the shadows.
The body, shrouded in darkness, is female.
Lithe and delicate—and completely out of place.
Everything about this figure feels as if they do not belong here, as if they’re trapped here.
Piercing eyes cut through the darkness, a deep shade of indigo that vacillates between blue and purple.
Stepping into the sunlight, she removes the shawl covering her head to reveal raven-colored hair in an intricate braid. Freckles pepper her face in tiny constellations that seem to dance across her pale skin.
“No desire to worship? Have you no love for the gods?”
Her voice is lilting, a haunting hymn echoing through the stone halls of a temple.
I open my mouth to form a pretty little lie about being lost or having urgent business to attend to, but each one turns to ash on my tongue before I can give it voice.
The hue of her eyes shifts again demanding the truth from my lips.
“They have no love for me.”
I expect a sharp retort, a scold for my insolence towards my makers and keepers. I don’t expect the chuckle that tips her mesmerizing mouth into an amused smile.
“Nobus has no love for them, but that doesn’t stop their prayers or offerings. He doesn’t send the storms that plague them, nor does he protect them from their wrath. There’s only one reason he hasn’t completely forgotten about this realm.”
“We’d be better off if he did.”