Chapter 6
Rheave
The horses’ hooves clop across the forest floor at an even rhythm that I’d delight in if I didn’t have so much distracting me from the simple pleasure.
Even when I’m not looking at her, every inch of my skin quivers with the awareness of Ivy’s presence. I do look at her quite a bit, because some part of me needs the extra confirmation that she’s really here.
My hands tighten around the reins, but I resist the impulse to urge my horse closer to hers. I’m already riding within a few feet of her as we pick our way through the forest. There are spaces two horses can’t squeeze through side by side.
If we hadn’t managed to borrow a couple more mounts from a farm we passed for the royal heirs to ride on, I might have shared Toast with her like we did from time to time on our journey before. I could have kept one arm wrapped around her waist as we rode, had her slim body pressed up against mine and my chin tucked over her shoulder as if there was no way I could ever lose her again.
Of course, that would have worn Toast out much more quickly.
I can’t suppress a pang of regret all the same.
We pass through a clearing, and I nudge my gelding to keep pace. Ivy’s pale reddish-blond hair catches a glimmer of moonlight that looks almost like a flare of magic—and a different sort of pang lances right through the middle of me.
For an instant, my body seems to squeeze tight around me, cold and hard as the cooled clay before the scourge sorcerers brought my prison to life. My lungs ache with my next breath.
If something else happens to her—if I did lose her again?—
I don’t know how I will continue to live.
I’ve been injured in this body. I’ve felt shame over actions that harmed my companions to the point that I considered destroying the form of conjured flesh that makes me almost human.
But I’ve never felt any pain like the agony of the past day, not knowing where Ivy was or what our enemies might be doing to her, not knowing if she was even alive herself after the story we heard from the royal children of how she defied her captors…
Is that the other side of the joy being with her brings me? Like the backlash that balances her magic, my delight in her must come with equal anguish?
Last night, there wasn’t anything I could do to cast off the frantic, searing emotions. They radiated all through my body, from the thoughts whirling in my head to the constricting of my throat to the listing of my stomach.
For the first time since I gained control over the body the scourge sorcerers made, it felt like a prison again. Just remembering the sensations gives me a chill.
I’d never been apart from Ivy for more than a few hours before, and then always by our own designs. I never realized the unsettled feelings that would rise up in her absence could become so much more intense.
Why do humans care so strongly about each other if the sensations can turn so debilitating?
I thought following Ivy wherever she went would ensure my freedom. I thought she was the path to escaping the torment the scourge sorcerers put me through.
But somehow the adoration that’s grown in me can lock me up and send me into harsher torments than I felt under our enemies’ sway.
That’s not her fault, though. It’s something in me.
And the only thing worse than knowing how my heart’s ties to her imprison me is the thought of having to go through that agony again.
So I keep glancing at her, checking for any sign of distress. I ride close even though it stirs up the unsettling memories, so I’ll be near at hand to leap to her defense if necessary.
I simply won’t let anyone wrench her away from me again, and then we can have nothing but joy.
Ivy peers over at Petra, the woman it seems is now supposed to be queen. She’s the only one of us riding with company, I’ve noted more than once with a twinge of envy—her brother sits in front of her on a large stallion’s back, leaning into her arms with a droop of his head as if he’s a wilting flower.
The prince’s eyes have closed, his wan face gone slack. The royal children have been through plenty of agony of their own in the past day.
At least Ivy returned to me. Their parents are gone forever.
I wasn’t born, and I have nothing but revulsion for the people who trapped me with the intention of making me their slave, so I’m not sure what a regular human would feel toward a mother or a father. From the few times she’s mentioned them, Ivy’s connection to her parents has seemed mostly unpleasant.
But clearly that isn’t always the case. Even if I don’t understand, I’m sorry these three have had to experience such a permanent loss.
Ivy keeps her voice quiet, I assume to avoid waking the prince. “What exactly will we need to do once we get to Florian? You said there’s proof of your claim to the throne?”
Petra’s mouth tightens, but she nods. “We expected that Father would be able to announce me and then there’d be no question… But he kept a blood-sworn letter confirming my identity in a secure area of his private quarters. We’ll want to retrieve that if possible. I’m not sure what’s going on in the Palace of the Crown now.”
Princess Klaudia shivers. “All our things—all Mother and Father’s things—they can’t just take our home…”
She trails off with a miserable expression.
“We’ll get your home back for you as quickly as we can,” Casimir says softly, but his worried expression tells me that he suspects “quickly” is probably not going to be very quick at all.
Petra’s tone firms. “Lothar and his followers won’t get away with their crimes.” She turns back to Ivy. “We can also reach out to the cleric at the Temple of the Crown who oversaw my dedication. She can vouch that I’m next in the royal line.”
Ivy lets out a rough chuckle. “That should be simpler than getting into the palace, at least.”
“What about all the soldiers?” Klaudia demands abruptly. “Aren’t they supposed to be loyal to us, not the traitors? They know Jacos and me, even if they won’t be sure of you right away. Why can’t we ride to one of the forts and get them to set things right?”
I know the horrible answer to that question. “There are daimon like me mixed in with the soldiers. But unlike me, the scourge sorcerers are still controlling them.”
Stavros grimaces. “Yes. The last thing I’d want to do is to lead you to a group of armed men and women with uncertain loyalties. The scourge sorcerers wanted all of you dead, and it wouldn’t mean much to them to sacrifice a few of their captured daimon to see it happen. Rheave can identify his fellow spirits, but only when they’re very close by. We’ll reach out to the military presence near Florian, but we’ll have to be very careful about it.”
Ivy looks over her shoulder at me, her brow knitting. “But maybe we won’t need to worry about the other daimon anymore. Lothar said that the woman who was controlling me had gotten ‘practice’ by directing the daimon. She’s dead now. Doesn’t that mean they’ll be as free as you are?”
My spirits lift momentarily at the idea that I might never have to worry about those bonds of magic yanking at me again. They sink just as swiftly. “I don’t think it can all have been handled by just one scourge sorcerer. There were so many of us. And they didn’t need to work their magic on us regularly. The commands would linger for days after they took hold.”
Alek has been taking in our conversation in silence. He interjects with his usual scholarly precision. “It must be much easier for them to manipulate people whose bodies they created and whose spirits they already harnessed than a regular person whose body is her own. And Ivy’s magic would have required so much more effort to contain. That one sorcerer could have been in charge of hundreds of daimon who haven’t felt her renewed influence in a couple of days already.”
Petra sighs. “But we can’t know how long the previous influence will last or whether other scourge sorcerers will enforce their will again. Ster. Stavros is right. We need to proceed with every possible caution.”
She glances down at her sleeping brother. “The consequences of a misstep would be far too great.”
We lapse into silence, broken a few minutes later by Casimir’s tentative question. “Did you have any idea of Lothar’s intentions? Obviously your father still trusted him up to the end, but now that he’s revealed himself—did anything show in his words or behavior, looking back, that might help us determine his next steps or how to undermine him?”
“I never liked him,” Klaudia mutters. “He always talked like he thought he knew more than anyone else possibly could. And he tried to get the festival for Signy cancelled, because he insisted we shouldn’t be celebrating heroes from other countries. But she helped all of us get free from the Darium empire!”
Ivy hums to herself. “He does seem to be obsessed with doing things the ‘right’ way—his Order of the Wild is built on a vision of how Silana is meant to be and what would bring the All-Giver back.”
“He wants to rewind history to before Dariu ever invaded,” Alek says. “As if that was any kind of golden age.”
Petra frowns. “There were definitely things about him that rubbed me the wrong way, but even now, I can’t think of any warning signs we missed. He always acted as if he wanted to support Father completely. But then, I wasn’t around him very often after my dedication ceremony. I don’t know how much I missed.”
Stavros adjusts his grip on his reins, his expression grim. “He’s had access to some of the innermost levels of the country’s rulership. There won’t be much he doesn’t know how to manipulate. It’s no wonder we’ve found the conspiracy so difficult to rout out.”
Ivy shakes her head. “But people can’t really want the kind of world he’s been working on creating—all wildness and violence. We know who and what we’re really dealing with now. We’ll expose him and his practices, and most of Silana will be on our side. It’s just a matter of getting the word out.”
She looks so determined that I have to fight off another urge to push closer, to hug her to me. It doesn’t matter how hard our journey gets—she’s always willing to keep up her own fight.
As we emerge from the woods and cross a large stretch of fields, we let the conversation fade. Ivy hasn’t risked using her magic to hide us like she did in the past, but we waited until night fell to start our trek, and so far we haven’t encountered any patrols. Staying off the official roads must help.
The thought has just passed through my head when my eyes pick up a figure on horseback cantering along a small country lane in the moonlight up ahead.
We draw our horses to a halt, but the man doesn’t glance our way. A thin flag whips about in the wind of his passage.
Stavros makes a sound of consternation. “He’s flying the banner of a royal messenger—and that looks like an official messenger’s uniform. What are the scourge sorcerers up to now?”
Ivy doesn’t even hesitate. She nudges Toast back into motion. “We’d better find out. He’s alone. We can defend ourselves if we need to.”
I tap my heels to my steed’s sides to follow her. We’re too far off still for the messenger to have noticed us, as focused as he seems to be on his mission.
He appears to be riding toward the nearest town, where a few faint lights glimmer in the distance. Along the way there, several farmhouses stand at a distance from the road.
The nearest of the farmhouses has a candle burning near one of the windows, indicating someone in there is awake. As we close the distance, the messenger slows by the wooden fence along the road. He dismounts to open the gate and leads his horse past it, heading toward the house.
Ivy slows her horse to a walk, watching. She pitches her voice in a whisper. “We need to know what message the scourge sorcerers are spreading across the country. I’ll go listen in—I can make sure the messenger doesn’t notice me if I’m on foot.”
She’s barely finished speaking when she hops down from Toast. Stavros sucks in a breath as if to argue, but I slide from my horse first.
“I’ll make sure she’s all right,” I tell him and hurry after her form darting through the night.
The others don’t follow, presumably realizing that more people would be more difficult to hide. Ivy spares one glance at me with a hint of frustration, but I’m not hanging back and letting her go alone.
I need to be in arm’s reach in case the worst happens again.
She sprints across the remaining fields, keeping her stance low. I copy her pose.
We reach the fence just as the messenger is knocking on the farmhouse door. Ivy nimbly clambers over the boards and lands with barely a sound on the other side. I do my best to mimic her stealth.
We creep through the thicker shadows along the fence until we near a wagon standing in the yard. Ivy darts over to it so she can get closer to the house, with me at her heels. She presses her finger to her lips, as if I don’t already understand that we need to keep quiet.
The door is just squeaking open. A weary looking man peers out at the messenger, jerking straighter as he takes in the royal uniform. “What is it?”
The messenger bobs his head. He must have delivered this announcement dozens of times already, because he speaks at a clipped tone, fast and without any hesitation to the practiced words.
“We’re crossing the country to inform the people of Silana that a new age is upon us. The Melchioreks who forced their rule on us and defied the will of the gods have been vanquished. King Konram is dead. A new ruler will rise who will see that the gods favor us again and the All-Giver knows it’s time to return. May the Great God shine on all of us who are worthy!”
The farmer stares at the messenger, his mouth dropping open. “I—the king is dead?”
“The false king,” the messenger says with an edge of menace even I pick up on. “We must celebrate the chance to see our country returned to its former glory.”
Ivy sucks in a strained breath. We both know what he’s saying isn’t true.
But the farmer doesn’t appear to believe he can argue. He stiffens but bobs his head. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
The messenger makes a brisk gesture of farewell and hustles back to his horse. As the farmer closes the door with a bewildered air, Ivy tenses next to me.
“We can’t let him keep making those claims,” she whispers, her hands clenched. “They’re making it sound as if King Konram was killed justly through the will of the gods instead of murdered in cold blood by a traitor. And they’re spreading their story everywhere they can as quickly as possible before anyone can find out the truth.”
Her tone is so fierce that panic jolts through my veins. I can so easily picture her launching herself at the man—tackling him physically and leaving herself open to another injury—or hurling her magic at him and addling her mind, simply to protect the rest of Silana?—
Every particle of whatever kind of a soul I have recoils in horror. The man strides up to the gate, gripping his horse’s reins, and Ivy leans forward.
Without another thought, I snatch a stick from the ground and whip it forward with a heave of my own power.
My daimon energy crackles across the projectile. It doesn’t fly as fast or far as an arrow I launched from a bow, but I don’t need it to.
The stick smacks into the messenger’s back with a crackle like lightning. He jerks and topples over, his shirt and flesh charred.
I spring forward, hurling another bolt of energy at him the moment I’m closer. His body disintegrates into ash.
A gust of breeze disperses most of the evidence of his death across the yard.
Ivy jogs up behind me and grasps my arm. “What are you doing?”
“You said we couldn’t let him spread the message. I made sure he couldn’t.”
I glance at the horse, who sidesteps with a snort but doesn’t outright run. Animals seem to take well to me most of the time. “And now Prince Jacos can have a mount of his own. We needed another horse, didn’t we?”
Ivy sputters a dark laugh, muffled by her hand. “Come on, then, before the farmer notices us.”
As she grabs the horse’s reins, I find myself glancing toward the distant town. A sense of melancholy drifts over me.
The people of that settlement won’t hear the scourge sorcerers’ claims right away, but how many other messengers have our enemies sent hurtling across the countryside?
I can’t burn all of them up. The poison is spreading too fast for us to stop it.