Chapter 34 #2
Three paces. Two paces. One. The boat rocks violently as we cross.
Darvy draws his sword, and Vera grips the edge of the boat with white knuckles.
Rhosse and I work in tandem, oaring with focused rhythm learned through years of teamwork and training.
On the way to the Field of Tulips, the current works against us.
On the way back, at least it will be in our favor.
Vera stares at the water as if she expects something to appear on the surface, and I’d laugh, except… it’s possible. Other than a soft bump here and there, it would seem we merely travel a filthy river, but we all know what lives in the depths.
I train my focus on the rhythmic oaring and search for the arrows. Odella said it wasn’t far from the boundary, but with the stress of awaiting an attack, it seems as if we float on the gloam water for a long time.
Darvy points to a tree just ahead on our right. “Three gold arrows.”
Rhosse and I easily adjust our pattern to navigate our way to the shore.
“I’ve got the rope,” Darvy shouts as he jumps from the boat to the bank, slipping slightly on its muddy surface before gaining his footing and knotting the rope expertly around a solid tree near the shore. With quick efficiency, the rope is attached to the boat, and then he’s helping Vera out.
Rhosse and I jump to the bank next.
I lean down to grab the boat and glance at Darvy. “You grab one side. I’ll grab the other.”
We drag the boat as far up the muddy bank as we can get it while still staying close to the river. Never know what sort of gloam creatures we’ll find near the Field of Tulips, and we may need a quick escape.
“That’s quite the path,” Vera states dryly, looking ahead through the trees as she frees Rupi from her pocket. She quills up and huddles near Vera’s neck, eyeing the way ahead and rustling her feathers nervously.
“It was considered a bridal path, meant to be beautiful for future queens to traverse so they could bestow a tulip on their king before they wed. All very honorable and steeped in tradition,” I say as I check my weapons. “There’s a drawing in the journal, put there by a more recent grandfather.”
“It looks like the path to certain death, if you ask me,” Vera mutters.
Rupi cheeps quietly in agreement.
Feeling pleased with how my weapons are situated, I rest my hand on the pommel of my sword and turn to see what she’s looking at.
Immediately, I frown. A steep set of rock steps covered in thick, slippery black moss leads upward through what once was a bounteous green canopy of tall ancient trees with thick, twisted trunks.
Except now, the steps have begun to crumble, and sharp rocks have knifed through…
and instead of branches weighed down with healthy greenery, flowers, and birds, spindly tree branches look like skeletal fingers waiting to stab at passing travelers.
To add to the deathly image, there isn’t a single ray of warm sunshine lighting the path, as shown in the picture.
It’s filled with clouds of foggy, dark gloam.
I start forward. “Staring at it won’t get us anywhere. Let’s go.”
Vera grudgingly follows without another word.
I take the first steps two at a time, calling over my shoulder, “Vera, we’ll lead, but stay behind me.”
She mutters something about how I act like a king beneath her breath, and I know she didn’t intend for me to hear it, but I can’t help but respond.
“That is what I am,” I say. “Should offer you comfort, knowing I’m so predictable.”
“Must you hear everything?”
“It’s a gift.” I flash a grin I know she’ll frown at before grabbing her hand to help her up a particularly tall jagged outcropping of rocks.
My magic rushes against its bounds when she puts her hand in mine…
and though it was annoyance I just heard in her voice, her eyes tell otherwise when they meet mine.
All at once, guilt for the way I feel for her and dread for the day she leaves washes over me, and that leads me to question my worthiness again.
I grit my teeth as I help her up and release her as soon as she’s found her balance, then continue picking my way forward. Neither of us says anything else as we finish climbing the rest of the way up the overgrown path. Darvy and Rhosse follow silently as well, alert and watchful.
The air is brisk at this elevation, made worse by the dense gloam hovering around us, stinging any exposed skin, but the steps improve the higher we climb, and we make good time.
My heart pounds with anxiety. There’s no way to prepare myself completely for the moment I have feared since this plan came to fruition.
If we find the field, if the tulips are still there, my worthiness will be decided.
It doesn’t seem likely to be successful with the state of my mark—there are only the smallest bits of gold left at the ends.
I consider my backup plan, since I’ll likely need it—offer myself up to Lucentia.
We’ll be at the field already, and it will be more than convenient.
I set my jaw. My companions will be confused, probably, but they’re resilient, and they trust me.
Well, Rhosse and Darvy do. Vera is still yet to be determined.
But I know if I told them my plan, they would do everything they could to dissuade me.
As king, I often carry heavy burdens alone, and this is one of them.
After the crumbling, overgrown stairs end, we stop. The canopy of naked branches above our heads has ended, but we can hardly see ahead. Patches in the foggy gloam clear for fleeting moments, enough that I catch sight of the thick evergreens the journal mentions far ahead across a rolling field.
I grip my sword and continue onward, my gaze swinging wide as I pull lucent from Vera to increase my vision.
It seems if we are to encounter another gloam attack, right before the Field of Tulips would be the place, but we’ve nearly made it across the field, and nothing appears.
All I hear is the crunch of the prickly field grass beneath our boots, a chill breeze whispering through the gloam, and distant howling.
Towering fir trees form a thick border before a small majestic mountain peak that grows more imposing as we approach.
I rub a hand against my tight chest, feeling as if I can’t quite inhale enough breath.
A quick glance at Vera shows that she looks as pale as I feel.
Does that mean she doubts my worthiness as much as I?
The thought stabs like a knife between my ribs.
I don’t look at Darvy and Rhosse; if I see doubt in their expressions, it may ruin me and have me heading straight to sacrifice myself to Lucentia rather than attempt to retrieve a flower.
The imaginings of my ultimate failure becoming reality is mental agony.
I find my steps slowing. No matter how fair a king I try to be, no matter how expert I am at wielding my sword, no matter how much lucent I can pull, no matter the width and breadth of my kingdom, Lucentia is the only one who deems me worthy or unworthy. The unknown threatens to overtake me.
The next moment, I find Rhosse at my side.
He doesn’t say anything, merely gives me a firm nod and walks beside me, his battle axe in his grip.
Darvy is at my right. They may not have been born with the responsibilities that I was, but their friendship eases my burdens more than they’ll ever know. Their solidity buoys me up.
I set my shoulders; it will do no good to draw this out.
With my friends at my sides, and Vera trailing silently behind, my stride lengthens.
We reach the outskirts of the trees as the first of the three suns has set.
The smell of fresh pine overwhelms my senses in the best way.
The smell of a living, healthy forest is an enjoyable reprieve from dry grass and moldering vegetation.
As we make our way deeper into the small forest, the scent begins to mix with another—the first indication that the Field of Tulips is truly there—drawing us forward with dark floral and deep honey-musk fragrance.
The branches of the evergreens are thick with strong needles that brush against my armor roughly as we weave between them, and the gloam fades until I don’t see any at all—even in the shadows.
Then, through the trees, I spot a dark ocean of gently waving tulips.
“It’s actually real.” Darvy’s voice is filled with awe.
I can tell by the low tone it was intended only for Vera, who walks by his side. He should know better than that. I hear everything.
“Maybe.” Her voice is indifferent, bored even.
I’ve never met a woman who’s harder to read.
As I step from the trees and into a small clearing, I’m not sure whether to smile with triumph that we’ve found the tulips, Lucentia’s personal garden, or be consumed with the dread held at bay with only the strictest self-control.
A stark line of tulips marks where the field begins, and it extends acres both long and wide. A garden fit for a goddess.