50. Mare
Mare
How did I carry on when I’d seen how evil this world truly was?
Pulling my knees up, I tucked myself against the willow. My hands trembled.
I’d been there with Brighid, through her suffering. How did I face her again, knowing what that man had done to her?
The wooden walkway creaked, and I looked up. A flickering black shape moved toward me, visible only when it passed beneath a white fire lantern. The flames dispelled its shadow cloak, revealing black scales and bone-white antlers.
Brilliant pink and purple scales coated the undersides of its double wings. The scáde spread them wide, as if bidding hello, before tucking them against its body. I shifted back against the tree as it came near.
The enormous beast sat beside me, like a loyal hound. Lowering itself, it laid its head across my lap.
I felt its throat vibrate against my legs as it sang. The tune was unlike anything I’d heard before. Wavering, sad, comforting.
Reaching out a tentative hand, I placed it on the beast’s head. It had no eyes, and yet . . . it peered into mine—a beast of the shadows, a monster born from evil, and saw me for who I truly was.
A woman without a home, cursed by the darkness. Broken and battered. Afraid of the truth inside.
Desperately in need of a friend.
“I came at you with a sword,” I muttered, stroking its head. “Why do you like me so much?”
The scáde huffed. Warm air billowed across my chest.
“I think.” Bláth’s warm voice emerged from the night. “She might have bonded with you.” The Solheart woman ducked into the lantern light, hands tucked in her deep purple coat.
“Bláth.” I sat up. “How did you—”
“How do you think we get to our base and back?” Bláth nodded at the scáde and sat beside me. Her warmth spilled over me like a blanket.
Brighid wasn’t far behind her, though the redhead elected to remain under the lantern.
My throat tightened at the sight of her.
A gale tore through the city, nearly soundless. Brighid wrapped her cloak around her, red skirt billowing in the breeze.
“How many scádes does this place have, anyway?” She asked.
“Fifteen, I think,” Bláth answered, shifting to sit cross-legged. “They don’t bond often, but when they do, they stick around forever.” She sighed. “Out of all the Solhearts here, I still can’t believe Quinn is the one who bonded one.”
Looking down, I swallowed. “Alistair is part of this, then?”
Bláth’s eyes flicked down to where he'd wounded me. “Yes. He's . . . aggressive. Overly so.”
“I’d say.” Brighid placed a hand on her hip. “He risked everything—notably Lady Ethna’s ire— to get petty revenge on Reese.”
“I can’t wrap my head around you knowing everything we’ve been through.”
“The part where you rolled around in an alley with Liam was most entertaining.”
Lifting my head, I arched an eyebrow. Bláth made a face. “It was not like that, and you know it.”
Brighid chuckled.
"But . . . ” Bláth wrung her hands together. "Alistair isn't a bad man—far from it. He's passionate about what we do, about saving others. He led the Sun Chasers before coming here."
"Sun Chasers?" I echoed.
"Quinn, Alistair, and Reese were its founding members, along with a woman you haven't met.
" Bláth leaned her head against the tree and stared up at the starless sky.
"They fought back against the Lecovair. Against the nobles, the corrupt priests, and anyone who hurt those who lived in the slums. Half-bloods. Whores."
"Yes." Brighid rolled her eyes. "Valiant heroes who protected the innocent and vulnerable. Futile idealism."
My hands tightened around the scáde's neck, and I let out a small gasp.
"That's what his tattoo is, then,” I blurted out.
"Mhm.” A half-smile tugged at Bláth's lips.
The horrible, twisting vines of envy wrapped around my chest. Of course, she'd seen it before.
"What happened?" I asked. "Between you two."
Bláth sighed heavily and pulled her knees to her chest. "I only courted Reese to spy on him. I seduced him to gain access to the capital and the Lecovair. It was easy to hate him at first, knowing him only as a Solheart noble."
"I can't imagine you kept up that hate for long."
"It lasted a few days," she admitted, chuckling. "He seems . . . irritatingly perfect."
It felt strange to hear Bláth say the words I'd felt so intimately.
"But he's not." Bláth's eyes sharpened. "He's dangerous, and he keeps too many secrets. One day . . . we fought, and he said he was fed up with it—with the secrets." She lolled her head to the side. "He asked me to perform a rethaite with him."
Rethaites . . . I'd gone so long without hearing of one, I'd almost forgotten.
We could share memories, should both parties wish to. No one in Aenir did. We loved our gossip, our secrets. Our scandals.
"You said no, I take it?" I asked.
"Of course I did. And with my denial, he knew I didn't trust him, and never would." She raised her heels and dropped them heavily. "It ended that night."
"Hm," Brighid hummed. "I think you would have been torn into tiny pieces had he learned you'd been using him from the beginning."
Bláth winced.
Brighid's ruby gaze locked on me. "If you're smart, Mare? You'll take that as sufficient warning."
"Warning for what?" I played dumb. "I haven't any clue what you're talking about."
There I went again, hiding myself inside, pretending to be anything but the truth.
"Of course not," Brighid drawled.
My eyes flicked around her face, and I could no longer hold my tongue.
“The wedding you invited me to,” I blurted out. “Is it soon?”
Sighing, she stepped off the walkway. “Far too soon, yes. We’ll need to leave shortly. Rather without the triumph I’d hoped to gain for you.”
In a sense, I had found Tirnanog. But the city remained shrouded by storms I could not clear.
My jaw tensed as I chose my next words. “You never mentioned who you’re marrying.”
“Lord Sorley,” Brighid said, kneeling to examine the scádes' wings. “Illustrious member of the Lecovair, owner of a sum of land in the capital, hails from a prestigious line of knights . . . ” She flicked a hand.
Bláth tensed beside me, hands clenching around her knees. There was a hollowness in Brighid’s eyes. A matching shadow hid behind Bláth’s beaming, golden smiles.
How had I not seen it before? Their pain, the lasting scars from their youth. The kind that never healed.
“Stay here,” I said. “The rebels might not let us leave, anyhow.”
“Oh, I’d love to.” Brighid sat back on her heels. “But people, we’re . . . ” She turned to me with a cracked, pained smile. “We’re strange, aren’t we? Just leave, they say. Walk away. It should be easy, shouldn’t it? But it's not.”
Bláth took a heavy breath. “No, it’s not.” She gave me a small smile. “When we heard Cierthine had chosen you, Ethna sent me to watch over you. We hoped you’d join our side. You still can.”
Join the people who’d slaughtered Paragon Killian. Who’d destroyed Galasvar. Pain shot through my side, where Alistair had stabbed me.
I ran a hand along my side, remembering the vitriol in Alistair's words, the delight he'd taken in hurting Reese.
“Give me some time alone,” I said. “To think things through.”
“Of course.” Bláth stood, hands dipping back into her pockets. “You’re in good company, anyhow.” She nodded at the scáde. “Want a tour, Brighid? There's an alehouse down the way, and oh! The orchards.”
“I’d love one.” Dusting herself off, Brighid moved to stand.
I grabbed her arm. “I . . . ”
A flurry of emotions flashed in Brighid’s eyes. She laid her hand across mine. “I do not like to be pitied. Be instead thankful for what you have—and do not squander it.” Slipping from my grip, she stood and followed Bláth.
The hum vibrating in the scáde's throat shifted. Soothing, calm. It had no eyes—but I swore it looked up at me.
“Is this your home?” I murmured.
Lifting its head, the scáde pulled itself back to its feet and trotted a few feet away. It paused, glancing back, waiting for me to follow.
Standing, I wrapped myself in my cloak and followed the dragon through the quiet streets. A few people still roamed at this time of night, but they did not seem surprised or troubled by the presence of a scáde.
We reached a crossroads, where a bridge spanned a shallow stream.
An orchard stretched into the distance. Black leaves nestled pale moon-shaped fruits, their branches swaying in a light breeze.
Squinting, I gazed up into the bleak, black sky, wondering how anything could grow without the nurturing light of the twin moons.
My scáde spread its wings and shaded me beneath them. A faint lavender glow drifted from the butterfly patterns, crowning me in their light. I looked up at the creature, flummoxed.
Was she answering my thoughts? If so, I didn’t understand the metaphor.
Huffing as though offended, she folded her wings at her side. A smile crooked my lips. I felt strangely at ease around this large, dangerous creature. Perhaps we had bonded, after all.
Perhaps, then, she needed a name. It felt strange—wrong— to name something so intelligent. A task for later, when I'd had more time to understand the color of her being.
Footsteps startled me from my reverie. A couple and their young son walked past me, hurrying home from a social affair, most likely.
I stopped and watched them.
The mother must have hailed from this place—she had painted skin like others I’d seen, and large, nearly glowing eyes. Her husband was a man of Tirnanog. He wore the crest of our tree on his vest.
While he was a fair-skinned Stormborn, the wife had dark skin: an Earthborn. The son clinging to her skirt shared features from both: light brown skin, bright green eyes, and dark curly hair.
He reminded me so much of Liam as a child.
Back home, Liam had been shunned. Here? Here, this child walked hand in hand with his parents, bound in marriage, laughing.
I searched the sparse souls around me: a baker closing up his shop, a passing pair of guards on patrol, another couple strolling the night, hand in hand.
Not on any of their faces did I glimpse disgust or contempt.
Breaking from my frozen stance, I turned to see the scáde watching me. “We’ll take a tour later,” I breathed. “I need to go somewhere, first.”
Humming, the scáde followed behind me as I jogged through the streets, retracing the path Quinn had taken me. I flew past the violet-leafed tree and ascended the steps leading to the manor behind it.
A Tirnanog guard stood vigil by the doors. He pushed them open and bowed his head respectfully.
My heart thundered as I stepped into the manor and looked around. Fire still flickered in the candles mounted to the chandelier.
Voices drifted from the parlor to my left.
Following them, I passed under an arch into a beautiful sitting room. A harp rested on a stage, its chair empty. My mother stood by the window, wine glass in hand. She was shooing off a servant.
Hearing me enter, my mother turned toward me. The servant bowed and hastened away.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said, voice trembling. “I want to help.”