Chapter Five
Iris
Iwas in a mood.
I had been trapped in it for some time now, unable to release the bitterness that gripped me.
It wasn’t the same dreary, hopeless mood that had come immediately following Lorelai’s death. No, this mood was somehow… darker. It was a mood filled with impatience, irritation, and a general sense of disgust.
Disgust at Clay, at myself, at the whole Gods damned world.
Moods like this had become more common than not lately, and they made it impossible to pretend to be the cheery, enthusiastic girl my friends all expected me to be.
“You’re not a very good riding buddy,” Rankor complained.
I grumbled unintelligibly in his direction.
His hair had lightened during our days riding, the sun pulling out some of the copper hues. He tied it back hours ago, but the wind had pulled out strands that now fluttered about his face.
A face that was grinning wildly at me with waggling eyebrows.
I fought the sudden flash of frustration.
What in all of creation was there to smile about at a time like this?
“Come on, Iris.” He drew out the words, his tone pleading. “I’m bored out of my mind; give me something fun to talk about.”
I lifted my brows, adjusting my grip on the reins in my fingertips.
“Like what? Should we discuss how we’re a band of rebels without a home, on our way to beg for allies in a war we stand no chance of winning?
Or should we talk about how Lorelai’s murderer has somehow earned a place at the front of this little riding party?
No, perhaps we should discuss how our friend is trapped with the God of Death and his evil minions, and we don’t know if they are holding her prisoner or if she is helping them. ”
Rankor huffed, his lips pushing forward in a pout. “You used to be more fun.”
Yes, he didn’t need to remind me of that.
We had all been more fun once.
The fun had died out a long time ago, though, and I didn’t think it was going to come back anytime soon. He might as well resign himself to that fact. I certainly had.
A hawk’s call sounded from above, and I tilted backwards, taking in the sun's position in the cloudless sky. We’d likely only have a few more hours of daylight to make it out of these woods to wherever we were traveling.
I had, admittedly, not paid much attention to that part of the plan. Once Camilla had started talking, and Clay had started agreeing with her, it had taken all my strength and dwindling self-control to see past the ring of burning red rage that had clouded my vision.
Fucking Camilla.
Lorelai wouldn’t want me to be holding on to this anger.
Good, sweet, pure Lorelai would go so far as to even encourage me to forgive my former friend.
Lorelai had always been more understanding of others than I was.
She would have listened to Camilla’s story quietly, before taking Camilla’s hands and apologizing to her for the fact that she’d had to live through Pasnia’s manipulations.
But Lorelai was dead.
Good, sweet, pure, innocent Lorelai had been killed.
And I couldn’t just forgive her murderer as if it had never happened at all.
I rolled out my neck, eager to release the tension I’d been carrying between my shoulder blades.
Truthfully, it never would have worked between Lorelai and I, anyway.
As much as I had loved her—and I did really love her—I wasn’t sure Lorelai had ever fully seen me for who I was.
I don’t think she would have been able to allow herself to see me in the light of all the things I’ve done.
Lorelai always saw the best in everyone.
When she was alive, I had thought that was an admirable quality.
Now, I thought it was overrated.
She saw the best in me at the expense of even acknowledging the existence of the worst.
And I’d just let her view me that way.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Rankor mused, before looking down at his steed with instant regret. “Not literally.”
A small chuckle shook my chest as I tried to force myself back into that teasing, joyful role he wanted me to play. It was an old routine by now. A smile here. A wink there. “When this is all over, I say we go to that bakery down in the village and stuff ourselves.”
He groaned, eyes sparkling, as his tongue darted out over his lower lip. “The one with the cherry tarts?”
I nodded. It had only been a few months since I’d last been in that bakery, but it felt like a lifetime ago. I could still see it as clearly as if I were standing on the pastel tiled floors, though. I could almost taste the crystalized sugar atop the puffed pastry.
“Do you remember the days when the baker’s niece would visit from the Republic of Inanis?”
Rankor moaned. “She would make those cinnamon buns with fresh spices from the Republic. Gods, I would sell my left leg for one of those right now.”
I laughed in agreement.
“That’s the hardest part about war.” Rankor’s voice went distant. “You never realize what things you’re going to miss most until you’re sleeping on the cold ground and fighting for your life every day. Then, all the sudden you wish you had bought just one more cinnamon bun.”
My gut cinched with sadness as I looked at him. For all the horror that lay in my memories, Rankor had seen more battle than any of us. In fact, no one had mentioned it, but I was sure the others had noticed that his nightmares had come back.
Although, to be fair, we all seemed to have nightmares these days.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one struggling to pretend to be okay.
“You can have the cinnamon bun,” I quipped. “I’d be happy for one night with the baker’s niece.”
He laughed, appreciation for the change in topic layered under his next words. “Fair enough. That girl was definitely something to look at.”
Forcing a smile to remain on my face, I scanned out over the woods once more, assessing for any threats. Our travels had been relatively easy so far. There was a gentle breeze in the air, rustling the leaves of the trees around us. Just ahead, a chipmunk bolted over the top of a tree stump.
Wait.
My eyes narrowed on that stump, tracing over the weathered cracks along its top, the moss growing around it.
I inclined my head as I considered it, feeling an odd sense of familiarity sparked by that tree stump. Familiarity that was quickly followed by a strange feeling of impending doom.
I knew that tree stump.
I knew these woods.
“Where did you say we were going again?”
My chest grew tight as Rankor cleared his throat. “Eagirton.”
Eagirton.
An estate in Eagirton.
There was only one estate that I knew of in Eagirton that could be large enough for our group.
We couldn’t possibly be traveling to—
There was a sharp stomping against leaves, and before I could react, men poured out of the woods, raising weapons and surrounding us. My hand flew to my thigh instinctively, and I palmed my dagger just as Rankor pulled the sword from the scabbard on his hip.
“Well, now. What a pleasant surprise!”
I froze.
That voice.
Gods, I knew that voice. I would know that voice on my deathbed.
An icy pang, cold and unforgiving, struck down my spine, and without even thinking I was turning my head—drawn to him like a moth to a very dangerous flame.
He emerged from the group of men to my left, wearing his characteristic leather trousers and cuffed tunic.
Even after all this time, he still adorned his fingers with those various golden rings.
His hair was just as brilliantly copper as the last time I’d seen him, although it hung a little longer, dangling past his shoulders now.
Nikolai Legum met my eyes with that damn crooked smile of his, and his hazel eyes didn’t even blink as he held my gaze. “I’ve found my little bird again.”