Chapter 47 The Outsider’s Eyes #2
With a sigh, I pull the tunic on and savor how good the clean fabric feels against my skin. Then my trousers, no longer covered in piss. As I lace up my boots, a single thought comes to mind: When will I get the chance to get this crystal out of my arse?
“I’m done,” I say, but the vólkin is already walking out of the cell.
Hesitant, I follow. One of the guards growls low, and I cower, then pick up my pace to stay close to the dark vólkin leading me.
It’s already evening. The sun has set, and the cool breeze sends a shiver over my damp skin. As we walk, I notice small vólkin children peeking out from the towering trees.
ávera’s trees are like nothing I’ve ever seen. They’re massive, ancient, and alive. They look older than the world. Older than the statue of the first tsar that stands in Tárnov’s square.
The little vólkins scamper after us, curious but keeping their distance. The dark vólkin ahead doesn’t seem to care. He just walks like he owns the ground beneath him.
I was scared for my life before, so I didn’t get the chance to take a close look at these creatures. Like this one in front of me. His muscles ripple with every step, shifting under his black fur like living stone. How does someone get like that?
Even the most elite soldiers under the tsar’s command, the ones trained to perfection, could never look like this. Human bodies aren’t made for it. I swear I’m seeing muscles I didn’t even know existed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice more vólkin females. They’re sitting under a tree, weaving flowers into the children’s fur. A calm and peaceful scene.
It hits me . . . The sheer amount of color here in ávera.
I’ve been so overwhelmed by everything—the danger, the strangeness—that I didn’t grasp how vibrant this place is.
The bark of the trees is a deeper, richer brown than any I’ve seen.
The greenery is lush, every leaf full of life.
The crystals on the male vólkins’ foreheads shine in different colors, each unique.
Glowing orbs, light blue, move lazily among the branches alongside birds.
It’s nothing like the human villages. Not the bleak, crumbling corners of Róstan. Not even the grandeur of Tárnov with its polished stone and orderly streets. ávera is something else entirely.
In the distance, a massive stone, thick vines wrapped around it like a cocoon, comes into view. It stands tall, and all around it, blue roses. Real blue roses. I’ve heard the stories. That the tsar keeps a garden of them. That the blue rose is the essence of life, of nature. Maybe it’s true.
We walk for a long time. ávera is massive.
There aren’t streets or proper roads, but there are clear paths. Wooden platforms form bridges in some areas, both on the forest floor and high above to connect the tree houses nestled in the canopy.
Everywhere I look, there are small figures carved into the trees. Each one has a different face and a unique shape. They’re oddly charming, almost . . . cute.
Lost in thought, I step wrong and stumble, hitting the ground hard on my hands and knees. Pain shoots through my bruises, and I grit my teeth against the sting.
The vólkin grunts. Before I can move, he grabs me by the arm and lifts me to my feet.
Wincing, I brush dirt from my palms. “You didn’t have to—”
“You talk too much.” Without another word, he continues walking, leaving me scrambling to catch up. We barely spoke . . . I don’t talk too much. Maybe I feel more comfortable now. Maybe it’s because I feel safe. These vólkins listen to Noel.
“So, you’re Gregor,” a female vólkin says as she steps out of what looks like a room—or is it a house?
This isn’t the same female who brought the basin earlier. This one has piercing yellow eyes and an air of toughness that makes my stomach tighten. She doesn’t look like someone to mess with.
“I am,” I reply.
She looks me up and down, then smirks. “Just as Na?a said, you’re a disaster.”
“A disaster?” I stop in my tracks, my brow furrowing.
Her smirk grows wider, and she waves a paw dismissively. “Her Majesty said to heal you, so come on. Hey, Or?on! Want to join us? Maybe we can find you a new eye while we’re at it!” She bursts out laughing and disappears inside.
My heart thuds in my chest. Did she just joke about his missing eye?
I glance at Or?on, expecting rage or violence, but he doesn’t react the way I expect. He simply grunts and walks away without a word.
“Or?on will be your nanny!” the female laughs, dragging me into the room.
My nanny? Like a caretaker?
“This is his punishment for going against Theron. If it was up to him, he’d be dead by now.”
A shiver runs over my skin. I look at the female who said these harsh words without even sparing me a glance. This is the female with those beautiful green eyes.
I stand awkwardly just inside the open entrance. It’s spacious, with furs scattered in the corners, and the furniture . . . Actual wooden cabinets that wouldn’t look out of place in Tárnov. How did they get here? Did humans make them?
Shelves line the walls, carved and filled with jars of herbs and powders. It’s so out of place in a world I thought would be all raw and primal.
Bard told me that, centuries ago, human women fled to the vólkins for refuge. It seemed far-fetched at the time, but . . . he might have been right.
Not about the part where there are no female vólkins. That’s clearly false. I’ve already seen two here and more earlier. But he was right about humans and vólkins living together.
Well, Noel and her mate seem to prove that. I doubt he hasn’t bedded her already.
“Come sit here,” the livelier female says, gesturing to a large, cushiony seat. I move to where she’s pointing and settle down. Oh, it’s softer than it looks.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Essin,” she replies, then gestures toward the other female. “And that’s Na?a.”
“Nice . . . nice to meet you,” I mumble, shifting awkwardly in my seat.
Essin seems approachable. But Na?a—well, she won’t even look at me, and the tension in her stance speaks loud. She clearly resents me. I doubt either of them knows why I’m here, so their guarded behavior makes sense.
Na?a grabs the front of my tunic and pulls me close. “We’re doing this because Her Majesty ordered us to. Don’t mistake it for kindness. No one here likes you. Not even Essin, she’s just smiling for some reason.”
I nod, swallowing hard as the lump in my throat grows heavier.
“Na?a, I’d never expect such harshness from you,” a calm voice interjects.
We both turn to the entrance. A new vólkin steps inside, a tall female with beautiful green eyes, like emeralds polished to perfection. A necklace with crystals hangs around her neck, glowing as she moves.
She approaches, and Na?a immediately releases her grip on me, stepping back without a word.
“He is our guest. As you know, we treat guests with respect,” she says, her calm voice directed at Na?a.
Her green eyes move to me, but her gaze has no warmth, not a hint of kindness.
“If he were a prisoner . . .” She walks to one of the shelves, and retrieves a jar filled with what looks like dried rosemary.
“We could handle him however you wished.”
The discomfort settles in my chest. I don’t feel safe here, not even a little.
“I am Mina,” she says, placing the jar on a cabinet beside me.
“Nice to meet you, Mina,” I reply, though my voice is tight. My eyes dart to Na?a. She doesn’t acknowledge me, her attention fixed elsewhere.
“Take off your clothes,” Mina instructs.
Are vólkin females as interested in human men as their male counterparts are in human women? Will they mock my body the way the males did?
I inhale and peel off my tunic. They look, but there’s no sign of disgust. That’s . . . something. I unfasten my trousers and push them down, then kick my boots aside.
Mina’s eyes scan the cuts and bruises on my torso. She gestures for me to turn around, and I do as she wants. My face burns hot. The last time anyone inspected me like this, it was during my army enlistment.
The healer—a predator cloaked in authority— would prod us, inspect us far beyond necessity, and even massage us under the guise of his duties.
Everyone knew he was a deviant, but no one spoke out.
He had powerful friends among the higher ranks, and challenging him would’ve cost us our futures. So, we stayed silent.
“I’ll apply vólkin saliva and rosemary to your wounds. They’ll heal in no time,” Mina says as she spreads the mixture onto my skin. The cool texture makes me frown. It’s . . . unpleasant, to say the least.
“Whose saliva is this?” I ask as I raise my arms to keep them out of Mina’s way.
“Just be grateful Her Majesty wants you healed,” Na?a snaps without looking at me, focused instead on adjusting a flower in Mina’s fur.
“Sorry,” I mutter, lowering my gaze.
“You’re not some kind of spy, are you?” Essin teases.
Oh gods. “Of course not . . .” The words come out in a rush as panic grips my chest. Was that just an innocent joke? Or do they actually suspect something? Everything has gone according to plan so far. Hasn’t it?
“He’s already scared, Essin. Don’t push him,” Mina says, her eyes never leaving my injuries.
The bruises and cuts on my skin begin to fade, disappearing even as I watch. “It worked . . .” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“Of course it did,” Mina says matter-of-factly. “Vólkin saliva is precious, and the rosemary helps heal the damaged nerves.”
I need to get some rosemary for myself if I want to send signals to Bard without the vólkin knowing I’m doing so. What a convenient ritual. I wish I had known of it when I was young. Being able to hide anything from unwanted eyes and ears. What a dream that must be.
“I have a very weak body,” I begin. I must be careful now. Every syllable has to count.
Mina closes the jar and turns to me, tilting her head.
“I’ve been beaten so many times . . . and . . .” I need the tears to come now. Think of Linnéa. Think of Noel. Parents dead. No food. You’re a failure, Gregor. You’re the disgrace of the Fenrówe family. Frail and pitiful. Unforgivable.
My throat tightens, and my vision blurs. They come easily—because it’s all true.
Mina watches me silently as I meet her gaze through my tears. It’s not just an act. It hurts. It hurts because every word is real.
“Oh, goddesses,” Mina whispers, her voice soft as she takes my hand. “You’re stronger than you think. Look at what you’ve endured.”
I close my eyes, letting the tears spill freely down my cheeks. Her kindness feels like a dagger to my chest. She doesn’t have to care, yet she does.
“I’m sorry to ask this, but . . .” My voice trembles. “Would it be alright if I kept some rosemary in my cage? To hold . . . close to where it still hurts?”
What a pathetic excuse of a man I am. Pathetic.
“Of course!” Essin exclaims, her own eyes glistening as she hands me an entire bunch of rosemary. “It’s all yours!”
I clutch the bundle to my chest, nodding as if it is my burden to bear. I’m so sorry, Mina. And Essin. You don’t deserve my lies.