Chapter 33 #2
“I had a strange dream,” he says softly. For a moment, I swear he meets my gaze head-on. I break eye contact before his focus drifts—I want to savor that attention, even if it isn’t real. “Will you take me somewhere?”
“Where do you want to go?” I ask, clenching my teeth as his hand curls around mine.
He pushes himself up and slides next to me. We haven’t sat and chatted since the night at Pally’s. The memory of our kiss stings my lips.
Now sitting taller than me, he straightens his torso and tilts his head down.
Leaning forward ever-so-slightly, he whispers, “Your village.”
I’m not against him visiting, but we’d have to be stealthy, and I’m not sure how capable the prince is when his sight limits him.
I decide to devour the challenge in his words, tilting myself toward him. Our foreheads nearly touch.
There’s a dangerous line hovering between us, not yet drawn and not yet crossed. The crackling in the air remains alive as I click my tongue.
“That would be nearly a day’s journey on foot, Your Highness.”
He sighs, a nervous grin spreading over his features. “And by treetop?”
I raise my eyebrows.
There’s no skirting around the fact—he may not have the ears or our sharp bite, but he undoubtedly has elven blood.
We’ve talked about who his mother might’ve been between sessions, and even Ramiel thinks it would be strange for her to know certain elven hymns and rituals if she herself weren’t an elf.
The pieces are gradually falling into place.
I still haven’t told him about the prophecy I’d discovered, which I’m pretty sure his mother had written. I’m not sure what good it will do him, anyhow, other than make him either incredibly anxious or overambitious.
It disappeared for a reason.
“Would you like to try?” I ask, biting my tongue as I peer into the silhouetted canopy.
Ramiel’s eyes twinkle. Even with his cursed mask, he still retains some of his handsomeness, which I now understand to be the elven blessing coursing through him. A short, dark beard has started along his jaw and above his lips, but where his skin is marred, there isn’t much new growth.
I want to hold the smooth side of his face in one hand and caress the rough side in the other. I want to give in to the tugging at my heart, the heat glowing in my forearm, the feeling of torment at the distance I keep between us.
But I cannot. At least, not until this is all over.
And only if he forgives me when he loses.
Because he has to lose.
“Yes, let’s try,” he chuckles, picking my hand from the ground and lifting me to my feet.
With my other hand, I gesture from the base of the trees upward, and my cheeks grow even warmer when I realize I’m reverting to how I was when he was first blinded a few weeks ago…using physical gestures to communicate when I know full well he can’t see anything.
Get yourself together, E.
I level my breathing the best I can and guide his hand so his fingers are splayed toward the forest. Best to show him by making him gesture too.
“The trees will invite you,” I say. Though their voices are something I’ve grown used to, I wonder how he might react to them calling him by name.
I hadn’t considered the possibility of his eluviam limiting the extent of his elven nature, rendering him unable to communicate with the forest, but now I do.
Before I can say anything, he tells me he can hear them in a voice filled with awe.
My breathing grows heavy. “What are they saying?” Of course, I don’t need to ask, but it’s one thing for Ramiel to claim he can hear them, and another to decipher their tangled words.
Ramiel is silent for a moment before he cracks a smile. “They’re saying my name. Yours too.”
“You’re right,” I say dumbly. He laughs. “Hold tight. You may be able to do this, but you’ll need a guide.”
I grip his hand tighter as we near a tall and skinny oak with branches that spin around its trunk like a ladder.
Ramiel bounds next to me as I lurch toward the tree. He’s not at all clumsy, but rather graceful. Somehow he’s able to match each step I make, and with such airiness that I can’t find the words to start any meaningful conversation. How he’s able to match my pace is beyond my comprehension.
Not even full-blooded elven children (and some adults) can reach the treetops with such grace.
We make it to the top of the canopy, and I help him the rest of the way with a quick lift of my hand.
He stands steadily atop a thin branch, which I’m surprised doesn’t snap under his weight.
Elves are naturally light-footed and thus can be carried along with the wind.
But humans are weighed down with bodies filled with water and food.
He’s been eating the fish from the stream and drinking gallons of water, so where has his weight gone?
Not even elven magic can convert one’s weight to nothingness…
His eyes shine with novelty, and his lips quiver into a delighted smile as he shoots his arms out for balance, grabbing at the air to search for me.
Since when did I let go of his hand?
I interlock my fingers with his, and he steps forward to join me on an even thinner branch.
For a moment, I’m dumbfounded at how both of us are able to stand on the short stick, but then I hear the threads of the tree’s limb bend beneath us. Without a second thought, I throw Ramiel’s arm around my shoulders and we leap to the next tree to avoid a guaranteed catastrophe.
We glide across from one tree to the next, each of Ramiel’s steps gaining more confidence as we go.
The travel is more seamless than I would’ve ever expected, though it becomes clear as we continue that Ramiel still carries much of his human weight.
By the time we’re halfway to Nwatalith, I’m exhausted from carrying him along, and I’m sure the trees are too.
We take a break so I can catch my breath, though the sky immediately steals it away once more. Tonight, the black sky is smeared with purple and blue, and the stars peek through like sparkling gems at the bottom of an abyssal lake.
“I can feel it,” he says quietly, tilting his chin to drink in the sky. The cosmos reflects in his irises, sparkles swimming in deep green. “The beauty of the night. Anytime I’m with you, I know the world around us must be magnificent.”
I hold my breath. How am I supposed to react to that?
“The gods are in a festive mood tonight.” I laugh, savoring his smile before it has a chance to drop. Beneath the awe, I can tell something troubles him.
A silence yawns between us.
Ramiel drops his head and looks at me, though his eyes miss their target. I try to reposition myself so I’m looking into his pupils as he intends.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about my heritage. If I’m half elf and half human, who was my mother? And why had she never mentioned anything?”
I place a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think your father wanted the entire kingdom to know he had a child with one of the beings he was supposed to despise?”
Ramiel quiets at this.
“She was probably trying to protect you. I’ve heard the power in a halfling is great. If she loved you as you claim she did, I’m sure she was just trying to keep you safe.”
I don’t mention the prophecy I found. I’m still not sure if it had been meant for him anyway.
When he doesn’t respond, just closes his eyes, I clear my throat. “I’m not sure who your mother was, but if I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that you take after her way more than you do your father.”
He smiles, but it is pained.
I wish I could read his mind, but the bond doesn’t run that deep. So, instead, I ask what’s on my mind to change the subject. “What did you dream about that makes you want to visit Nwatalith?”
He thinks for a moment before sighing. His shoulders relax, as though he has to consciously force them not to tense up. “I don’t remember everything. Just pieces here and there. I… I will tell you if my dream proves incorrect. I wouldn’t want to worry you because of a dream.”
I swallow, deciding not to press further.
We continue along the treetops in silence. The trees rustle gently around and beneath us like the soft crashing of waves on a calm beach. But instead of feeling comforted by their familiar sounds, my heart thuds to my stomach.
Dread makes me stiff.
My thoughts swim with guesses as to what Ramiel may have seen of my village. The gift of prophecy is rare. Could his dream have predicted the future?
Two more trees away, and we’ll be on the outer edge of my home village.
The hair on my arms pricks up, and my eyes widen.
There’s no smoke billowing from a hearty bonfire, nor can I hear any noises—voices, cooking, nothing.
Not a scent lingers in the air, though I’m certain there should be some kind of liveliness, as this is the perfect time to celebrate the beauty of the night or to tell stories to one another. Never has Nwatalith been so silent .
We leap hurriedly to the last two trees.
I lean over a fan of leaves to get a better view of my village.
The world drops from under me.
No. No. No. No. No.
This isn’t real.
Close your eyes, E. This is a dream. Wake up!
My hand flies to my mouth, and my breath grows heavy.
Village houses have been crushed flat, everything dark and damaged and burned from some unknown source.
Not even fairies could create damage this severe.
Even though every instinct is screaming at me to leave, I link Ramiel’s arm through mine and drop into the destruction.
Dark marks spray across dirt and rubble, like blood but without the smell.
My heart has stopped in my chest along with my breath as I survey the huts that were once well-loved and lived in.
The world turns black and white as death hangs around us in a dense fog.
Still attached to the prince, I scrape past debris and littered limbs.
I’m not sure whether I’m looking for something or if I’m simply checking that this is real and not some nightmare I need to be shaken awake from.
Ramiel doesn’t speak. Maybe this really is just a nightmare.
Then there’s movement.
My hand jerks to the blade on my thigh as I stare carefully into the blackness, allowing the starry night to reveal the intruder. If they’re the fiend who did this, I am ready for them.
After tugging Ramiel over a stretch of broken wood and stone, I find a cowering elven woman and her baby nestled against the remains of a leaf-stuffed cushion.
Under the light of the moon, she is yellow-haired and skinny.
I recognize her as one of the women I’d seen scarcely over a week ago.
She’d been pregnant then. She holds her newborn close to her chest, but it moves only with the rise and fall of her labored breaths.
The baby has been dead at least a week, judging by its gray, rotting skin.
The woman tightly hugs the corpse to her bosom. Her eyes are empty. Colorless. She stares into nothing. The light has left her. Now she waits to die. Perhaps she’s too afraid to perform the act herself.
I don’t describe this depressing scene to the prince. Instead, I directly address the mother and child.
“What happened here?” I snap, not affording myself a wince at my harshness. “How long ago?”
The woman beholds me with a numb gaze, her hollowed cheeks moving side to side as her mouth drops open. Fractured words slip dry through her thin lips, filling the air with a wicked energy that clicks together like the final pieces of a puzzle.
“Creatures in dark…cloaks. It’s been…a week.”
As soon as she’s spoken, death steals her last breath, and her head drops against the cushion. The child slips from her grasp and tumbles to the dirt, limp and lifeless.
My insides churn with sadness and anger. The only thing grounding me is the warmth of Ramiel’s hand in mine—the aggravating bond that can soothe me when I don’t want to be soothed.
I want my anger. I want to mourn.
Mages killed them. Destroyed the village. Murdered many elves. Murdered a Sanvira too.
They serve the king, don’t they?
So they must have acted under direct orders. They’re giving me a warning.
My heart fractures as loathing pours into it, as the mark on my arm fights against it.
It will lose this time.
The king is Ramiel’s father. The same blood courses through him as it had through his brother.
Not even a blessing from the forest can overcome the wretched malice drowning me.
Now I see the truth. What I felt for the prince was never real. How could it have been, when my hatred for his bloodline far surpasses that of the blessing’s sinister illusion of love?
I crush his fingers in my hand.
If it’s a war they want, that’s what we’ll give them.