TWENTY-TWO
brYNDIS ASHGLO
Light your candle with the flames of the bonfire and keep it in your window to call your deceased loved ones to you. Keep their keepsakes close to your heart.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
Slowly, I inch the cupboard door open to climb out.
The door creaks on its hinge, and my heart threatens to climb up my throat.
I freeze, one foot still in the cupboard while the other is carefully placed on the floor below.
There’s no movement, no break in the rhythm of his breathing.
He’s still asleep, so I slowly step out of the cupboard with my other foot.
Odhran lies face down and shirtless on the bed, the air thick with his scent.
Shadows graze across his skin, caressing their maker.
The sight is mesmerising. His left arm hangs from the edge of the bed, still holding his crystal decanter in a relaxed grip.
Amber liquor swirls within when his finger twitches.
Unlike earlier, the decanter is practically empty, clouded with the darkness spilling from his fingertips.
If I make a sound and he wakes up…
If his shadows somehow sense me here…
I should run! Run and never look back! Run until my feet bleed, and my body screams in rebellion. But I’m not sensible enough to take the easier route. No, I need to tempt fate.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger, and inhale a steady breath. I’ve got this, dammit. Just get it over with and go.
A golden shimmer catches my eye. Its lines are straight and edges sharp.
Slowly, I inch closer, feeling the floor before I weight my step.
Darkness gives way to colour the closer I get.
The Prussian blue cover of my mother’s book is on the bedside table, right next to Odhran’s head. Relief and dread wash over me together.
I can hardly see where I’m going as I walk further into the room.
Tendrils of Odhran’s shadows twirl at my feet as if in a dance as they swirl around my ankles.
The hard soles of Eadan’s knee-high boots make an unfortunate tick on the wooden floor, and I cringe at the sound, eyeing Odhran for the slightest sign of disturbance.
I take another step.
Then another.
Every hill and valley of his back is composed of pure muscle, as if meticulously sculpted by divine beings. Broad lines of ink mark his skin, black wings reaching over his right shoulder. How can someone so beautiful be so dangerous?
“Nature calls for balance,” Aed’s voice whispers, a phrase he’s uttered before.
“And the balance is a measure of cruelty?” I counter. “When has this balance been in anyone’s favour?”
He doesn’t answer. My concentration wanes for the briefest moment as I steal another look at Odhran.
The room’s energy pulses in time with his breath, night brought forth in the depths of the morning hours.
He may call himself The Bastard Prince, but I think he is The Prince of Darkness instead. His beauty is devastating.
I stumble on an object before me, my arms flailing in the air like a bird wanting to take flight but failing miserably.
Shit! Shock and horror lance through my chest. Three steps are all it takes to regain my balance.
Three rushed and unnecessarily loud steps.
The cursed object rolls forward with a series of tumbling thuds.
I freeze. My chest heaving with a laboured breath, I watch his muscles twitch.
Black inked wings flutter across his skin.
Hairs rise at the back of my neck as I watch his markings come alive on his flesh, my feet rooted to the hardwood floor.
Blinking rapidly, I look down at my feet.
It’s dark, too dark to be caused by the heavy velvet curtains.
Too dark even for night, but the outline of my boot shines ever so slightly.
A thin line of silver marks the rounded toe and…
a shoe. It’s a fucking shoe! I press my lips together, cursing my luck. A shoe almost cost me my freedom.
Odhran groans, dropping the crystal decanter as he turns onto his back. It meets the floor with a distinct clang, spilling its contents. “Stop! Let me go!” he rasps. Eyes closed firmly, a frown deepens across his brow, glistening with sweat. “No!” he roars, fisting the bedding in his palms.
Every muscle in my body tenses. The small pools of liquid reflect the traces of light from the open door behind me like droplets of glistening gold.
Swallowing, I take the final step toward the bedside table and my treasure,but moving allows the light from the passage to find a straight path to the bed and the man asleep on it.
If ever I thought Odhran’s back to be a work of art, his front puts it to shame.
Inked black wings stretch over his shoulder, skimming his clavicle before wrapping around his biceps.
Those wings belong to a raven, and even in the dark, its eye surveys me.
It blinks, tilting its head. An ache takes hold at the back of my throat.
Without wasting one more second, I give in to my instincts telling every muscle in my body to RUN. Run, run, run.
I snatch the heavy book from the bedside table, my knuckles whitening with the intensity of my grip, and pull the soft leather bag from the dresser as I turn for the door, not bothering to close it behind me and risk making another sound. My heart leaps and bounds as I race down the passage.
Stopping at the dining table and seeing the small rolls left on the serving tray, I manage to stuff thirteen into the bag slung over my shoulder and make my way to the front door.
I smile faintly as I look back over my shoulder. I made it. No one is here. The handle is cold under my palm, and for the briefest of moments, I hesitate, looking again toward the quiet passage. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.
“Hello again, human.” Sloan greets me with a broad smile on his face, spinning a small blade on the tip of his index finger. He catches it as he stands, the action too swift to be natural. Too swift to belong to a mortal. “Hungry?” He eyes my bag with a raised brow.
“Not anymore.” My hope of escaping is shattered, my momentary swell of pride gone.
Raising my chin, I push past him, closing the door behind me.
I won’t go back inside like an obedient little pet.
I may not be able to escape, but I can use this opportunity to survey the lay of the land.
I can gather herbs and… and… go back to my cage after.
He laughs. “Odhran mentioned that you’re a little… what’s the word?” He puts two fingers to his chin, clearly mocking me. “Prickly.”
“Give me that knife, and I’ll show you prickly.
” I narrow my eyes at him. Declan schooled me in archery since I was eighteen and showed me the importance of moving without overthinking my actions.
He’d taught me all the knowledge his father had handed down to him—all but hand-to-hand combat.
I don’t know how to defend myself with a blade, how to hold it, or where to strike.
He’d left out exactly what I need the most, all because he thought I was breakable. All because I am a woman.
Sloan’s laughter has no bounds as it booms through the trees. Birds fly from their roosts at the sound, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “I am to be your chaperone, of sorts. Where you go, I go. Lead the way, my lady.” He gives me a wink that sets off an instant headache.
“Fine,” I spit out the word, marching straight past him and down the path leading into the forest.
The trees are enormous, as tall as three manors stacked on top of each other.
They creak and groan as they sway in the wind.
The woods grow denser and darker the further I go.
Sloan follows a few strides behind me, his smile amused and toothy when I catch his gaze from over my shoulder.
My skin crawls with the feeling of being watched, but it’s not his eyes I sense on me that sets my nerves on edge.
Birds cease their chirping. Golden rays of sunlight dim in mist, cool against my cheeks.
I increase my pace, sweat beading on my brow. If Sloan plans to follow me around like a lost puppy, I’ll make it unpleasant, even if it hurts me. Aed stirs at the back of my mind, tense and unforgiving. “Turn back,” he hisses.
“Show me the way to my sister. I’m not going back. I won’t be locked away in a cage.” Even my voice in my head speaks with a tremor, and I hate it. All my life, I’ve lived behind locked doors, facing consequences if I was caught returning after my brief moments of freedom.
“You know nothing of cages!” His words are a violent snarl.
“I need to take a piss,” Sloan calls out behind me, ducking behind the wide trunk of a silver-barked tree. “Give me a second, will you?”
“Take all the time you need.” I grip the strap over my shoulder, biting down on my teeth as I stare down the path ahead. The moment I hear him start to empty his bladder, I run.
My footsteps are loud, grating on the gravel path. My heart beats so fast it hurts.
“Fuck!” he curses, his voice more distant than a moment ago.
My chest aches in rebellion. I don’t have my rolled cigarettes filled with dried jimsonweed, nor my honeyed drink.
Nothing I came to rely on is here to help me now.
I wasn’t made to run, but I wasn’t made to be locked away, either.
This time, sheer willpower dulls my pain.
My eyes dart to the surrounding trees, to the shrubs and the moss-covered boulders.
I won’t be able to outrun him. There’s no use in trying.
Stepping off the path, my stomach lurches.
Footsteps sound behind me, distant but growing louder.
My foot slips on the dried leaves covering the damp soil, and I try to regain my balance, but the earth comes too close.
The air leaves my lungs as I fall onto my side.
A sharp pain steals my voice as it shoots through my ribs.
My fingers dig into dirt, but it doesn’t stop me from sliding down a slope, right through a circle of mushrooms. I knock my head on something hard, and the world tilts on its side and goes dark.
I open my eyes to find myself in a ditch, surrounded by sticks, leaves, and dirt.
A hollowed-out stump catches my attention.
Wet and rotten, it’s covered in strings of pale green moss and weeds alike.
Moving to my knees, I crawl towards it. My head aches as though split in two.
Tossing my bag in first, I quickly follow suit.
My lungs wheeze when I settle into the soft, crumbling stump, my elbows tucked against my chest as I face the path ahead.
Carefully, I reach forward, arranging the leaves and foliage to look as undisturbed as possible.
The smell of dampened dirt and timber is strong, but not as strong as the overpowering beat of my heart and the roaring of blood in my ears.
Sloan runs down the road ahead, passing me. My breath quickens, my hands trembling.
He doesn’t pass me again, but I don’t risk climbing out too soon. Back home, I’d be flogged for this type of behaviour until I forgot not to cry. Then my cage would become smaller, limited to my room. But here, I have no idea what these monsters will do. No, I can’t risk climbing out too soon.