Chapter 30
Our journey to Hearthstrom is filled with dry dialogue and too much silence. Clove sways beneath me, the change in weather confusing her—a blend of moist warmth and the chill of autumn. I stroke her cream-colored mane, expecting soft hair and frowning when it’s no softer than my own.
I have avoided facing Ramiel during our ride. Whatever happened between us last night is too much for me to bear. Seeing him now will reignite the flame I’d felt.
I can’t let myself think about him. Not in that way.
I can’t think about the way his green eyes scraped over me as though he’d seen me, as though he burned for me as I burned for him in that moment.
There was no reason for me to pass energy onto him. It just happened . I’d kissed him. On impulse. And then I lied about it. Thankfully, my symptoms from the curse haven’t surfaced yet. I haven’t lied enough for them to do more than dry out my throat.
That isn’t my current problem, though. Thanks to last night, I can’t keep Ramiel’s curly brown hair and foggy jade eyes out of my head. The marred skin over the left side of his face slowly melting away, revealing the cut of his jaw and the dimple I’d been shamelessly interested in.
I’m lucky to be leading them to Hearthstrom so I don’t have to face the prince during our ride, and he can’t see the shame and torment warring across my features.
Besides, we learned about more last night than our growing intimacy. Even eramire cannot cure the effects of the blight on Ramiel’s eyes. If that famed herbal remedy is useless, I’m beginning to wonder if his blindness can be cured at all.
I shake my head and keep my focus forward, trying not to let my thoughts slip into fantasies about the prince I’ve sworn to train and still haven’t made any progress with.
The two men murmur about unimportant topics while we travel past towns and villages. Strangely, the woods are quiet. Only two traveling merchants pass us, carrying bulging bags on their backs. They don’t regard us specifically, instead grunting scornfully at the clear signs of wealth.
I tug my cloak over my ears, despite the heat. I’ve never been wealthy or seen as such, so this level of disdain is unfamiliar, daunting.
Ronan’s voice carries over me at one point, though I can tell he’s still talking to Ramiel. “...if you’re so concerned about how they view you, you’ll never be able to view yourself properly.”
I dare a glance at him, ready to spit fire if he’s mocking me.
When I turn, he holds my stare, his expression grim, and, for the first time since I’ve met him, not filled with hate.
Hearthstrom is exactly as I remember. Once-glorious stone buildings are in shambles, fallen from a raid long passed.
The ground is dark, hard, and dusty. We’d often bring the children here to learn the arts of magic, since there aren’t many surrounding villages that would be bothered by miscast spells.
With the current climate and uptick in violence, though, the ruins haven’t had many recent visitors.
A well stands erect at the center, but I know there’s no water. The village might still be thriving if that were the case.
Instead, the well leads to a crypt, where the elven dead are kept if they’ve proven themselves worthy of the honor. I always hoped I’d be recognized in this way, to deserve a place among my legendary ancestors.
I shake my head, not thinking too long on the goals I’ve put on hold for now. With a gulp, I nod to Ronan. He helps Ramiel from his horse and leads all three to some notched posts and ties them.
The energy rolling off the prince nearly knocks me off my feet. He doesn’t seem to know how to contain it. With a deep breath in, I allow my fingers to settle in the open palm hanging at his side.
His hand is rough and soft at the same time. It isn’t a warrior’s hand, calloused from battle, but a well-studied and strong prince ’s hand. A hand that is slowly growing clammy next to mine.
He must still be thinking about last night too.
I swallow.
Ronan returns, a sour expression aimed directly at me.
His eyebrows crinkle over dark brown spheres as he steps toward me, swings his hand out, and violently pulls me away from the prince.
I hold in a snarl and glare at him as he steps between us to place a hand on the broad center of Ramiel’s back.
“This place is barren. Let’s go find some firewood, aye?” Ronan’s voice exudes a confident roughness that makes me want to dig my nails into my arms. “I’d wager we also need to have a bit of a chat .”
Gone is the empathy he’d given me earlier. I must have imagined it.
Without another word, they disappear into the forest, and the thickness of the trees consumes them.
A weight lifts from my chest. Ronan hadn’t seemed hostile toward the abandoned village, as I thought he might. Instead, he seems bored with it all. As though this is all a game, and he knows the outcome.
I sigh. A part of me hopes they run away or get eaten by some beast, to create a reason for me to also disappear. But I know Ronan won’t let that happen, not with the admirable and equally annoying sense of duty he has to his fairy people.
For a second, though, I entertain the thought. I focus on the wide sky, on the puffy white clouds skittering over the spindly canopy overhead.
If I were to run, I wouldn’t return to Nwatalith, no—I would probably take the opportunity to travel to another kingdom, as far from the king’s control as I can get.
Maybe I’d even fake my death so he wouldn’t send soldiers for my head.
Then, I’d learn a trade or settle into another elven clan in a kingdom where magic isn’t outlawed, where elves and humans coexist. This is the stuff of dreams, I know, but perhaps there is a place where people won’t stare at my ears, scream at the sight of my elongated teeth, or banish me simply because magic disturbs them.
If such a place exists, I’m envious of those who were born there.
I lean against the side of the well and arch my spine until it cracks. All that horseback riding has sored up my muscles. A sigh puffs through my lips as I cock my head forward and stare into the dark trees beyond Hearthstrom’s crippled buildings.
Though this will be a tough few weeks, I cannot leave Ramiel to his father’s wrath, not when it’s my fault he became the way he is. His blindness, the darkness in his arm…all because of my fear.
My ear perks at the scuffing of shoes on the dirt. The prince and fairy grunt as they each carry several medium-sized logs on each shoulder. Ronan’s hand shifts against Ramiel, guiding him carefully over cracks in the old road.
“That was quick,” I shout when they’re near.
Ronan snarls. “I see you’ve been day-gazing while we’ve been out. Are you planning on helping with anything, or are we expected to do it all?”
I push away from the well, moving to Ramiel to help him with his firewood. He passes each log to me smoothly, and I stack them against the wall of the well. I ignore the way his muscles flex each time he grasps a flaky branch.
“I was waiting for you to return,” I mumble, remembering myself. “I made a promise not to leave unannounced.”
Ramiel tenses.
“Why are you still standing around then, you lazy?—”
“Ronan, why must you provoke her? She’s done nothing wrong.” Ramiel’s voice cuts through the fairy’s insult. Finally, he’s realizing how patronizing his aide can be. I can only hope he discovers more about the fairy who’s still desperate to keep his identity hidden.
He turns to me, eyes wavering as they fail to find mine. “I’m sensing something below us. Is it magic?”
I tap my foot and smile. So he can sense it. “A crypt. Elves have been buried here. I’d like to go down and pay my respects before we begin training. It’ll help me clear my head.”
“I’ll go with y?—”
“No, I will go alone. Stay here with Ronan. Maybe he can help you perfect gripping the hilt of your sword.” I tilt my head to the sky.
The sun has passed its peak, but we will still have at least an hour of daylight before the forest goes to sleep.
“I won’t be long,” I say. When Ronan and Ramiel both raise their brows at me, I almost laugh.
Ramiel concedes with a sigh, and he reaches for Ronan, who stabilizes him as they bend to place the firewood into the shape of a pyramid.
The prince’s hands are careful, touching all surfaces of each branch.
Ronan focuses on Ramiel’s movements, watching for any dangerous slip of his hand.
The fairy is poised and ready to assist if the prince asks, which almost makes me forget what an ass he is. Then his eyes briefly flick to mine.
He nods at the well behind me. “Aren’t you leaving?”
I flash my teeth at him, then whip around and lift a foot to the rim of the well. Rock dust crumbles away and drops into the pitch.
With adrenaline lifting my cheeks into a smile, I fall over the edge.
Ancient Aldorin magic cushions my fall. Seeing the few non-elf bodies strewn about, it’s clear that only my kind can venture down here unscathed. A good thing Ramiel hasn’t followed.
Underground, there is a magical stream running between dusty sarcophagi and heaps of elven burial boxes. Worthless relics and dull gemstones twinkle beneath the light shining into the well.
In the walls of the crypt, vines cling to crumbling dirt and stone, yellowing from malnourishment.
With a healthy stream nearby, why aren’t they flourishing?
I step toward the glistening water, but when I wave my hand through the liquid, it vanishes.
Dry.
In the distance, playful laughter echoes off the walls. I follow the sound cautiously. Responsibility sets in the rigidness of my shoulders.
Visions of charred skin and raw flesh, broken bones and torn limbs flash across my memory. Children . Destroyed by forces working for the king. The Sanvira. Fairies. Whatever other beasts he has leashed and made loyal to him. All because of their laughter.
My heart pulses in my throat as I search the darkness for the source of joy.