Chapter 35
The measly gash across my palm will never atone for the sins of the mages. Nothing I do will ever be enough to compensate for the lives they stole from Aldorin.
Still, it is all I can do to try to feel their pain as my own. It is what my parents would have done. It’s what I must do. I must try to understand.
The farther I am from Ramiel, the more my mark protests. He must feel it too. But he hasn’t come after me. And I won’t go to him.
This is how it should be.
The day passes with me wandering along the treetops, gulping in fresh air and imagining last night as just a nightmare, far away from reality. It’s easier to pretend when I can’t smell the soil of the forest floor, the blood mixed with smoke and earth.
Aside from the pressure in my arm urging me to return to the prince, I push Ramiel far from my mind.
And to my credit, I try not to think of what has become of Pluto. Had he been in Nwatalith during the insurrection? I hadn’t seen him, and with his duties outside of Nwatalith, I can only hope he wasn’t caught in the attack.
A sob sends tremors across my shoulders and I stumble into a crouch. Tears trace my cheeks.
I bend over the trees, and the breeze plays with the loose ends of my braids. Usually, I feel so free in Aldorin’s canopy.
Now, no matter where I go, I am trapped.
My thoughts teeter when they swerve to Ronan, to the grief he’s worn all week. Could he possibly know this kind of hurt? Disappearing in the night, thinking neither of us noticed, maybe he was dealing with something he didn’t want anyone to judge him for.
Had he visited his family? Is he also secretly working with the king?
My heart stings.
My body lurches forward, and I willingly tumble through an opening in the trees.
Instead of letting me fall, a branch catches me hard, bruising my spine. Soreness spreads across my shoulders and along my limbs.
I can’t even fall without the protection of Aldorin.
Or, rather, her punishment. To live with this anguish, this heady reality that came to be, all because of me.
I wonder, is she watching down from above or below? Is she disappointed in me for rejecting her erroneous blessing? Have I messed with fate so much that I deserve to see my people perish?
Salty tears flow into the corners of my mouth.
My mind weakens, and my elven brother slips into my memory. The leafprint of his likeness is still at the castle, under my pillow. I am already beginning to forget what he looks like.
“Pluto,” I moan. Simply saying his name is enough to break me. He is gone. He has to be. My closest friend. My only family.
Gone.
The acceptance of this fact is enough for my sobs to begin choking me. I try to calm them with my breathing, squeezing my eyes shut to hum our song of mourning.
The forest goes silent, listening.
The melody rises and falls in all the wrong areas as the cries that billow from my throat warp its cadence.
As I sing, I am unraveled. The world comes undone. Truth stings me to my bones.
I am all alone.
At dawn, the forest awakens. But there is no birdsong or wind to rustle the branches. The sun simply kisses my skin and drenches the yellowing leaves in its light, whispering its reveille.
My arm bleats in pain.
I’ve been away from Ramiel for too long.
Damned blessing.
I smooth my hand over the soreness, hoping the cold in my fingertips soothes it a little. Squinting into the sun, I sigh against the silence.
How much longer will I stay here? I feel aimless. A part of me hopes to be discovered by rogue fairies and netted and tortured. If only?—
My ears perk up at a subtle shift of leaves on the ground below.
Not a woodland creature. It’s too heavy to be an elf. Not a human.
The crack of dark magic crashes into me like a wall of jagged stone.
I stiffen, searching the forest floor without turning my head or body. If the mage hasn’t noticed my presence yet, I want to keep it that way.
The creature walks in swaying steps, as though drunk. Its cloak hangs in tattered scraps around its body. Rips and scrapes reveal sallow skin beneath blood-stained bandages. Ragged breaths huff hoarsely from its mouth as it continues moving, slowly, to a makeshift camp I hadn’t noticed before.
For a fleeting second, I am curious. The next, I am absolutely mad.
My dagger shifts easily into my palm, warm. All it takes is a quick inhale to fill the obsidian blade with magic, enhancing its sharpness and ability to hold blood and emotion.
Fire burns my neck and ears, and flames flare from my hands, unable to restrain themselves any longer.
I jump from the tree, making no sound as I land.
With the blade raised, I take one step forward and?—
A cold hand violently slaps against my mouth, hauling me away. When I try to breathe, all I smell is rain and flowers…
I let the owner of the hand remove me from my vengeful plea and carry me back to the treetops.
The cold hand warms against my skin, tugging me closer to stroke circles on my back.
“They’re all—” I gulp, but no more words come.
Pluto holds me tighter, pressing his cheek to my forehead. “I know.”
I take a few steadying breaths, relaxing in his arms. “Then you know what I need to do. Why that…that thing needs to be killed.”
Pluto sighs. “No. It doesn’t.”
“What?”
I push away from him, but for the first time since I’ve known him, his strength overpowers mine. He keeps me close enough that I can’t lean away to see his expression.
“You need to understand something, E,” he says softly. One of his hands begins patting the top of my head. “I saw everything. And I… Damn it, I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t.”
The fury returns to my ears, but the sorrow drains it from me, makes me cold.
I don’t say anything.
“They are not all on the same side, E. Some fought against one another. That one,” he says, tilting his head down slightly toward the mage below, “was trying to protect another village.”
I try to push away again, but to no avail. I huff, frustrated.
“Why would they do that? They serve the king.”
“Not all of them,” he whispers.
“How do you know? After you watched our people die ?”
Pluto is silent, even as tears begin to wet my scalp.
I grip my dagger and slide it into its sheath.
“I’m glad you’re alive, but I don’t think they would be,” I choke. “Children died, Pluto. We were supposed to protect them.”
“No,” he says hoarsely. “You were removed from Nwatalith. You were never supposed to return. You have no connection to them anymore.”
I grit my teeth. “How can you say that?”
More silence.
Finally, he forces me away. His eyes are, as I expect, unreadable. But the wrinkles between his eyebrows and the shininess glistening on his cheeks reveal all.
“There was nothing I could do. They were using magic I’d never seen before. All they had to do was speak, and it was like the forest bowed to their command. They destroyed Nwatalith as though it were made of crumbling sand instead of clay. Everyone was gone before I could do anything.”
His face doesn’t contort, which is the worst part of his account. Because he’s lying, and he simply doesn’t know it. Perhaps he didn’t bother to search for any survivors.
I won’t break his heart by telling him of the woman and her child.
“The mages are giving me a warning,” I breathe, averting his alarmed stare.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but when I arrived at the castle, the king threatened me.
He said he’d kill our people if I didn’t ensure Ramiel’s defeat against a dragon.
King Azriel knows I’m an elf. He said he’d spare me and our people if I uphold my end of the deal. ”
Confusion twists over Pluto’s face. His hand hovers, questioning, and he opens his mouth to speak, but gnaws on his lip instead.
“No, that doesn’t make sense. A warning? He’s already fulfilled his threat, if he did indeed lead the mages to our village.” Pluto blinks and presses his lips together. “Which means he has nothing to hold over you anymore. You don’t have to make the prince fail!”
“He is still the king’s flesh and blood,” I spit.
“Yes, but is he not also his mother’s?”
“We don’t know who she is?—”
Pluto’s smile cuts me short.
“I figured it out. Trust me, E. He is more his mother than he is his father.”
“Who is she?” I press. “How did you find out?”
I think of the prophetic note. Of the ancient elven signature I’d been unable to decipher.
“Knowing will not ease your heart,” he replies calmly. “Instead, let’s focus on your future. You are no longer bound to the king’s threats. What will you do?”
I make a face.
“We must mourn our people?—”
“No, you’ve done enough. We must move on. We must be strong.”
“But—” I catch myself, growling when I realize he’s right. Tragedy has the power to perpetuate itself as an unbroken chain of sorrow…unless you choose to sever it. I’ve held on to much of my pain, using it to fuel my anger.
I press my lips together.
“ That ’s the Ether I know,” he says with a grin. “I know you’re conflicted. You know I will always be here if something happens. But you have nothing to lose now. Go. Help Ramiel. Help him win. Prove that bastard wrong. Put the right man on the throne.”
My mark burns once more, perhaps in reaction to the mention of the prince. Pluto’s attention goes to the insignia, but it’s too brief a glance for me to read the emotion rippling across his expression.
“Who knows? Maybe Aldorin will remove her blessing after you’ve helped him. Have you tried asking her?”
I blink at him. Ask a goddess to remove her blessed mark? Is Pluto insane?
He laughs. Laughs .
I haven’t heard the sound in years. Yet, it doesn’t carry the roughness of disuse. It’s crisp and smooth, as if he’s been practicing in secret, like he has been saving it for the moment he could release it freely once more.
“You—”
“Yes, I know,” he says. “It’s alright. It takes a lot more to scare me these days. Like you, I have nothing to lose. So I have to laugh a little. It takes the edge off.”
I gape at him.
He nods behind me. “Leave the mage alone. Return to the prince. I’m here when you need me.
I will be doing my best to protect our villages here.
” A smile lifts his eyes, which are now the brilliant color of his hair.
“Train him so there’d be no way in the seven hells he’d lose. You’re both capable of that.”
His confidence in me sends my heart to my throat. He rarely praises me. And when he does, it’s usually done sardonically.
This… This is genuine.
I grip the mark on my arm.
I think of Ramiel.
He isn’t his father.
And for the sake of Arioch and all who live in it, he can’t become him either.