Chapter 6
The Eastern Peaks were merciless. The cold grew more bitter by the hour, and by the third sunrise, Soren could hardly dismount. Lanor had given her the name of the enormous black mare she rode midway through the second day of riding—Sgàilsuil.
Shadow Eyes.
When Soren heard the name, her heart began racing.
It was likely just a coincidence; surely, the mare had been named after her dark coat and nothing more.
Yet still, the memory of whispered folktales around a crackling fire echoed like phantoms in her mind.
Kelshie had held her hand as Papa explained some creatures acted as portals between their world and that of the gods, thin veils one could not step through but perhaps see behind.
People could be shadow eyes too.
On the morning of the fourth sunrise, as Soren was braiding the princess’ hair, the leader of their party, Sir Helq, announced a storm approaching.
“We should consider sheltering until it passes,” he said gruffly to Princess Cion.
The princess’ gaze drifted to the darkening horizon, but she shook her head. “We cannot. We must make the journey in time. This is only part of the test.”
“Princess—”
“I must insist, Sir Helq.”
He bowed his head. “As you wish.”
The princess turned to Soren, her face softening. “Do not worry, Soren. I am fated to be chosen in two days’ time. The gods will protect us as we take these final steps.”
Soren had lost faith in any of the gods, much less their protection, long ago. Still, she bowed her head. “Of course, my princess. Is there anything else you require before we begin riding for the day?”
The princess paused, hesitating. “Do you…” She trailed off and shook her head. “No, Soren. I think we are ready.”
Soren bowed her head once more then made her way to Sgàilsuil. Lanor was already atop his horse, and she bit back a request for him to help her mount, instead struggling up on her own. A ghost of a smile graced the knight’s face.
“Yes, sir?”
“That was a test, which you failed.”
Her brow creased. “My apologies, sir?”
He laughed. “None required, but remember, Soren, it is not a weakness to ask for help. A wiser man chooses to rely on a friend.”
She nodded but could not bring herself to meet his kind eyes.
They were a mocking reminder to her, for she had no friends.
Despite his kindness, it was temporary. They would arrive at the temple and then part ways once the princess had her dragon.
Soren doubted she would receive much kindness from then on—likely only suspicion and disdain once they were in the war camps.
“Onward!” Sir Helq called from the front of the party just as a strong wind whipped through the clearing.
She shivered, a foreboding feeling curling in her gut like a great, slumbering beast. Each step Sgàilsuil took pushed her closer to something dreadful.
She was sure of it, even as reason tried to shout her thoughts were created by fear and nothing more.
For as the storm began to rage around them, the knights shouting and forming a tight ring around Princess Cion, the suspicion that fear itself was the logical one now grew.
Ahead, through the pelting rain, Soren swore she saw shapes moving in the mist. Sgàilsuil suddenly kicked up speed, and Princess Cion screeched Soren’s name as the horse shot past the rest of the party.
Soren was breathing hard, the icy air like daggers in her chest. She clung to the beast as it began to buck and rear, but it was no use.
She flew into the air then landed hard on the cold, muddy earth, the impact knocking the breath out of her and sending a rattling pain through her bones.
As she lay on the ground, shaking, her breath catching in tiny heaves, the mist grew thicker. Whispers surrounded her, overlapping and insistent. Soren slowly stood on shaky feet, trying to see through the thick air.
“Hello?” she called tentatively. “Princess? Sir Lanor?”
You…
Soren froze at the sound of the rasping, inhuman drawl. Animal instincts told her she was correct. Then, there was something else inside her chest, an ember of suspicion that had perhaps always been there…
“Are you afraid, Mamma?
Soren froze.
A child’s laughter echoed in the mist. The rain had stopped.
“Not of you. Never of you.”
“Then of what?”
“Stop,” Soren whispered to nothing and no one as the children began to scream.
Peals of harsh laughter joined in, merging and melding with the sounds of terror until it was all that remained, the cackles growing louder until they surrounded her.
She sank to her knees, covering her ears.
Something brushed against her back, and she jolted, bolting up and running as fast as she could through the mist, her eyes half shut.
She did not want to see what had made those sounds.
She only stopped when she collided with something hard.
“Soren!”
She opened her eyes, her breath catching as Sir Lanor caught her, keeping them both from toppling over. She was in a clearing, a sliver of sun peeking through the clouds. But as she turned and saw the last tendrils of mist creeping away…
Three figures lingered at the tree line.
Waiting. Watching.
Whispering.
She shuddered, and Princess Cion set a firm hand on Soren’s shoulder. “Soren. What did you see?”
“I…”
“Just now, you looked back as if something was there. What was it?”
Soren looked at the princess’ hard eyes and thinned mouth, realizing the question was not a request but an order. So, she swallowed her terror and replied, “Three forms, my princess. They…whispered things to me in the mist, reminding me of memories no one alive but me should be privy to.”
“Holy gods,” Sir Helq breathed just as Sgàilsuil galloped towards them.
“I named that horse well,” Lanor murmured, his face pale.
Soren wasn’t sure what they were referring to and had half a mind not to ask, but the princess pushed, “What is it?”
Sir Helq swallowed hard. “Have you ever heard of the Three Sisters, princess?”
Princess Cion hesitated. “I… Yes. But they are a legend, nothing more.”
The two knights exchanged a look, but Lanor said, “As you say, my princess.”
“You disagree?”
Soren tamped down the temptation to ask what exactly the Three Sisters were. Half of her didn’t want to know at all.
Princess Cion sighed sharply through her teeth, looking to the horizon. “The storm has delayed us. We need to move.”
The knights merely nodded. They could act as friends all they wanted, but when it came down to it, the princess was their master.
On shaky limbs, Soren mounted Sgàilsuil once more. The princess pushed them ahead at a brutal pace, stopping for only a few hours in the night. Soren didn’t sleep at all, the ground hard beneath her thin pallet and the echo of the whispers she had heard swirling in her mind.
The final day of the journey came with a flurry of snow and gray skies. The knights pulled heavy cloaks from their packs for them, though the fabric did not do much to cut through the biting chill.
About midday, in the distance, Soren spotted spirals reaching up into the sky, disappearing into the clouds.
“The temple,” Princess Cion breathed, eyes shining when she saw it. “We are nearly there.”
A distant roar had Soren jumping and the horses neighing uneasily. The princess smiled, though, unafraid of the promise of dragons ahead.
“Do not worry, Soren,” she said. “You’ll be kept safe.”
“Yes, my princess,” she said on instinct, her eyes on those spires.
Princess Cion laughed. “Let us finish this. I need to change before the Ceremony.”