Chapter 35
Huntyr
They look like my hands.
They feel like my hands.
But they can’t be.
Because I’m a Mortal.
And Mortals don’t have magic.
But for that brief moment, I did. It poured out of me from some deep place in my soul that I didn’t even know existed.
Now I just stare at them, as if I’m waiting for them to light up and change my life again.
I hear the pounding of Kaia’s paws before she launches herself onto me, nuzzling into my neck, and I don’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around her and unleashing my sobs into her fur.
I did it.
I won.
I have no idea how I did it, but I’m alive. I’m still alive.
“It is not over,” Kaia says softly to me.
My pulse rushes again, stiffening. What does that mean? What else are they going to do to me?
“The prince speaks.”
I don’t even have to look for him. My eyes lock onto him the second I lift my head.
The crowd is riotous. Some are sobbing. Some are red-faced and shouting.
They’re all looking at me.
With awe.
With hatred.
With something that might be fear.
“Anyone moves against her,” Derian’s voice rings out clearly despite the thunderous roar of the crowd. He must be using some kind of Fae magic to amplify his words. “And it will be considered a direct move against me.”
There’s a beat of silence, a noticeable shift moving through the audience as their prince makes a decree.
He doesn’t notice.
Because he’s running.
Down the stairs from his viewing box, all the way to the railing that separates the stands from the arena floor. He doesn’t slow when he comes to the railing, he simply throws his legs over it, and then he’s stalking towards me.
I’m distantly aware of Roland and Caldren, following behind him. Even more distantly aware that while his words might have stilled the crowd, they didn’t cease their rumblings of discontent.
But neither of those facts seem to matter at all when Derian’s attention is locked so fully on me.
He kneels before Kaia and I, reaching for me.
But it’s not his hands I see.
I see fire, and blood, and violence.
I see another Fae hand with the capability of pain.
Kaia snarls at him when I flinch, and he pulls his hand back, meeting her golden eyes straight on, no trace of fear in sight.
“Let me help her,” he says softly to the Eshari. She stares at him, reading him, before lowering her head in agreement. He turns back to me. “Let me help you, Huntress.”
Kaia backs away, allowing him to move another few inches in my direction, still keeping her ears folded back and her teeth exposed.
“Please.” He holds his hand out towards me. His dark eyes stare into mine.
I feel frozen, stuck.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Maybe it never did.
“Huntyr,” Kaia speaks differently, too. Softer, gentler. Carefully. “You must trust the prince.”
“I… can’t.”
She stares at me.
She knows why.
“Then at least, for now, allow him to care for you. It is all he wants to do.”
Moving my neck to face him again sends waves of agony shooting down my spine. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed. He’s still just sitting there with his hand outstretched, begging me with his eyes to take it. I force air into my lungs and I place my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet.
He gives me a moment to steady myself, even when that means I end up having to lean heavily on him.
And while I’m trying to figure out how to breathe, he just stares at me.
His eyes trace across my face, over and over again, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
Then he lifts a hand and brushes back the matted hair from my forehead, his touch cool against my fevered flesh.
And then he’s kissing me.
In front of everyone, in front of the entire crowd, Derian is kissing me. He’s so gentle, so careful of every cut and bruise. It’s so unexpected and soothing that I want to start crying all over again.
And I do.
He pulls back, carefully brushing away my tears with the pads of his thumbs.
A throat clears behind us, but he doesn’t bother looking away from me.
“I would suggest we clear out sooner rather than later. I’m not interested in testing out mob mentality.”
Caldren. That’s Caldren’s voice.
“We can take her to the healers, your majesty.”
I seek out that voice. Rhen. I know Rhen. Rhen is my friend.
He’s standing to our left. When I meet his gaze, he smiles softly and steps towards me.
No.
Rhen is a Fae.
The Fae did this to me.
The Fae broke me like this.
I flinch backwards and only Derian’s grip on my waist keeps me from tumbling.
“Hey.” He pulls my attention back to him with a gentle tap under my chin. Derian stares at me with those brown eyes that block out everything else and I find myself stilling again, leaning into his touch.
“You are alive,” he reminds me.
I am alive.
“You survived.”
I survived.
“You are safe now.”
Safe.
No, I don’t feel safe.
I feel raw, ripped apart, and unevenly sewn back together. Seraphina didn’t just break my body, she took me to a place that ripped my very heart open and left it bleeding in shreds on the ground.
How is anything about this kingdom or these people safe?
“Huntress.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard before, edged with something I don’t recognize. “I need you to say something. I need to know the lights are still on inside that head of yours.”
Right. I have a voice.
My vocal cords feel raw, ripped apart by screams and sobs, but under that pain is the ability to speak.
“She might be in shock,” Derian says over his shoulder.
“And you might be a Fae bastard.” I choke out the words, barely recognizing the fragile sound that comes out of me.
His gaze snaps back to me, and it’s definitely relief that dances across his face.
He smiles. A real, genuine smile. “I most definitely am.”
“Derian, we have to go,” Caldren reminds him.
“Can you walk?” Derian asks me. Kaia growls at our feet and he laughs under his breath. “Of course you can.”
He keeps my hand locked in his while his other arm wraps around my shoulders, turning me to guide me out of the arena.
It takes me a long time to take those first few steps.
Because everything is different.
It’s just flat dirt now. All around us, it’s just fucking dirt.
No stones. No spikes or lava.
No bodies or blood splatter.
No evidence of what just happened here.
No indication of what I’d just barely managed to survive.
“I guess I still haven’t learned all your secrets quite yet, Huntress,” Derian says quietly when I start walking.
I think he’s trying to get me to talk again. And maybe I am in shock because stringing together enough words to make a sentence seems more impossible than the walk back to my room.
Rhen and Taric move in front of us, and I can feel the presence of others at our back. Parker, Roland, and Caldren most likely. They’re surrounding us. Protecting us.
“I don’t know how I did it,” I whisper, staring down at my hands again.
There’s no light anymore. Now, there’s just blood, still flowing from the open wounds.
I still don’t feel it.
There still isn’t any pain.
“We’ll figure it out,” Derian promises, his hand on my back moving in reassuring circles.
“How?”
“Well.” He pauses, sighs, searching for the answer he doesn’t have quite yet. “We can start with getting you cleaned up. Then, you can tell me who the fuck your mother was.”