33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
A s I approach the stables, I slow my pace and keep my body close to the buildings that line the street.
Across the way, the tavern emits a dim glow. The sound of drunken laughter that spills from cracks in the door, on the other hand, is anything but faint.
I roll my eyes.
It’s like I never left.
Renewing my focus, I narrow my eyes ahead. The stables are dark, save for the one lantern that always hangs outside. There’s no light coming from the stable office next door.
Good. That means there’s no one here to stop me .
Crouching, I creep forward and sneak in through the back, the way I used to when I would meet Loren here. Horses stand in their stalls. Most are filled, except for two or three that aren’t occupied.
Scanning the walls, I find a spare saddle that one of the stable boys must have left laying around. Carefully, I pick it up and approach the closest stall. The horse expels air through its muzzle when I do.
I hold out my palm to keep the creature still, and to my surprise, it does.
Nerves thrum through me, my blood buzzing with adrenaline. I silently pray to any god that will listen, begging that no one hears me. Or sees me walk out of here with a horse.
I unlatch the stall door and step inside. Then, I raise the saddle and set it onto the horse’s back. After fumbling with it for some time, I manage to secure it in place. Tugging gently, I lead the horse out of its stall and onto the street.
Poking my head out before the rest of me, I walk back up the street, the way I came, slowly pulling the horse along.
As soon as I’m able, I turn left, bringing us out of sight, should anyone in the stable office wake up. I’d be a fool to think I have much time before someone finds out one of the horses is missing.
So, I have to ride. I have to leave. Now.
But I freeze. I’ve never ridden a horse on my own before.
Panic grips my throat.
There’s no time, I tell myself. It’s now or never.
Taking a deep breath, I think back to when Viridian and I rode into Keuron from High Keep. It feels like it was only yesterday since we were laughing and talking with such ease.
“What is so amusing?” I had asked him. I remember how annoyed I was that he’d been entertained by my frustration.
“You,” he’d replied. Like I was the only person in the world that mattered.
I recall the feel of his chest to my back and let it linger. Holding onto the memory of how close to me he’d been.
How close we can be again.
“All right, Cryssa,” I say, in some effort to motivate myself. “If Viridian can do it, then so can you.”
I think back to that moment and try to picture in my mind how Viridian helped me up. I had my foot in the stirrup, and then he lifted me higher until I was able to swing my leg over.
Now, I put my foot in the stirrup, and move to pull myself up. Like I did then, I find myself stuck there, my skirts bunched between my legs, holding me in place.
I let out a frustrated exhale, my cheeks hot.
Lifting my skirts so they’re out of my way, I lower myself again and launch my body upward.
This time, I’m able to reach the horse’s back. I lean forward, arms trembling as I hold myself there long enough to swing my leg over. With my legs on either side of the horse, I fall into place on the saddle.
“Whew,” I breathe, and wipe away the sweat gathering on my brow with the back of my wrist.
But I’m not out of the woods yet. I may have successfully mounted the horse, but I still don’t know how to ride.
Again, I think back to how Viridian used his legs to apply light pressure when we rode.
Partly to vex me, I know , I think with the hint of a smile playing at my lips. The memory of his thighs around my rear raises a blush to my cheeks.
But maybe, there’s another reason he did that. Maybe, using your legs to apply light pressure is proper horse-riding technique.
I have nothing else to go off. It’s worth a try.
Tightening my calves around the horse’s abdomen, I take the reins and give them a gentle flick. The horse lets out a whinny and shakes its head.
I flick the reins again, harder this time.
Then, the horse moves. I use my legs to urge it forward again, and to my shock and relief, it starts trotting ahead. Commotion echoes in the distance.
I quicken our pace.
As if aware of my growing anxiety, the horse responds, moving from a trot to a gallop. I ride down the streets, jerking the reins to weave left and right to confuse anyone that might be on our trail.
Soon, I emerge from the cluster of buildings and onto empty meadows and farmland. I keep my focus trained ahead, even as I ride farther away from the city .
Farther away from the home I’ve always known.
When I arrived, I was just Cryssa. But when I leave, I’m someone else.
I leave as Cryssa Thurdred Pelleveron Avanos: demi-fae, mate and wife of the Crown Prince. Future High Queen of all Inatia.
Once I’m far enough away, I glance back over my shoulder.
I watch the city of Slyfell become smaller and smaller.
Then I turn around and face what lies ahead. Gripping the reins, my destination sits at the forefront of my mind.
And I picture Viridian’s face.
I ride through the night and into the afternoon.
At some point, I start struggling less and gain more control of the horse. Leaning my head back, I look at the sky, relieved that the horse I unknowingly chose was easy to handle. For all I knew, I could have ended up with one as stubborn as I am. If that had been the case, I surely would have gotten caught and been hauled off to the city jail to rot.
But I didn’t. And now I’m one step closer to Viridian.
That’s what matters.
Tugging at the reins, the horse—who, in my tired ramblings, I’ve decided to call Storm because of his gray coat—slows. We approach a small farming town, called Hylmfirth, that marks the half-way point between Slyfell and Keuron. In the distance, I see a linear, wooden structure, with a wide mouth that delves into the earth.
A mine.
Uneasy, I dismount and guide Storm into the town. Every fiber in my body urges me to get back on and ride as far away from this place as I can. Still, I press on. Both of us need food and water if we’re to make it to Keuron.
Though, there’s an apprehension that I can’t shake.
Something isn’t right here.
I want to dismiss my anxiety, to think that I’m just tired. That I need to sleep, and when I wake, I’ll be able to think straight.
But I only take one step into the town when a chill trickles down my spine, only confirming my discomfort. The air is heavy with a foul stench, and I wince when it reaches my nose. Even Storm shakes his head, as if in some feeble attempt to dispel the odor.
Resisting the all too familiar sensation, my lungs constrict, tight in my chest.
I’ve encountered this kind of reek before.
In the East Tower.
That means…
The dark magic affecting High Keep is here, too.
If it’s spread this far, I realize, wondering how I wasn’t able to put the pieces together before, then it’s not just any dark magic .
It’s a curse.
My eyes widen, and I clench my jaw, my upper body suddenly rigid. The East Tower’s decay, the mining sickness, the mines draining of metals, all of it…
It’s all because of a curse that’s swallowing the kingdom. Piece by piece.
My stomach clenches with waves of nausea.
I have to tell Viridian.
He has to know how far the curse reaches. How much worse it is than we thought.
And if we don’t find a way to break it soon…
How much more damage it will cause.
Highly aware of my surroundings, I move deeper into Hylmfirth. My skin crawls, and I’m itching to leave as soon as I can. As I draw nearer to the center of town, I see there are people sitting with their backs pressed to the buildings, lining the street.
Men, women, children…
I don’t have to know these people to know who they are.
They’re the families of miners, left with nothing when the mines emptied. They’re people who have lost their livelihoods and their loved ones.
They’ve lost everything.
All of them wear ragged clothing, their faces gaunt and scraggly from what I can only assume is starvation. Their rounded ears poke through limp hair, while some don’t have hair long enough to cover them .
Humans.
Starving, dying, desperate humans.
Some mutter prayers to gods who have seemingly abandoned them, while others stare ahead, unmoving. My heart sinks when I pass a woman rocking an infant to sleep. The child wails, its cries of distress piercing my ears.
The woman reaches out and grasps my skirt.
I pause, tightly gripping Storm’s reins.
“Please, Miss,” the woman begs, sobs racking her chest. The child in her arms howls even louder. “Please, help us. Help us.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back against her hold on me. “I don’t have any coins.” I wish I did. Acantha was only able to give me enough money to pay for a day’s worth of supplies.
But the woman doesn’t seem to hear me. Her cries only grow in strength, more forceful now. “Please, please, please!” she shrieks, her body shaking violently. Though, it doesn’t seem like she’s talking to me anymore.
I stumble backward and wrench my skirt from her grip. The woman doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her mania to process. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I urge Storm to move us forward.
To my horror, others seem to share the woman’s hysteria. Others cry out as she does, begging the gods to do something.
To save them.
When I finally reach the town square, my breath catches in my throat. The market is nearly empty, with only a handful of stalls still open for business. So many of them sit abandoned, with the cloth awnings torn or littered with large holes.
What happened here?
Is the curse to blame for all this?
Hopping off Storm’s back, I approach a market stall, sparsely stocked with produce that looks as if it’s seen much better days. I eye it warily.
“I’ll sell it to you for half the value,” the farmer says wearily, rubbing his forehead. “Whatever you want.”
Guilt tugs at my chest. “No,” I assure him. He needs the coin more than I do. “I’ll give you what it’s worth.”
“Thank you.” He shoots me a grateful look.
I gesture to the apples. They look decent enough, and both Storm and I can eat those. “A half-dozen, please.”
The farmer names his price, and I hand over the coins. The amount is less than I expect him to charge for how many apples I’m buying, but I don’t fight him on it. Luckily for me, Storm’s saddle is equipped with a leather bag for storage. I take the apples and put them in there.
“What happened here?” I ask.
“The mining sickness came first,” the farmer tells me, eyes darkening. “And that was all it was, for a while. Then, more and more, the few miners that remained started coming back empty-handed.” He hesitates, pressing a hand to his mouth. “We didn’t think it could get much worse.”
Dread grips my stomach.
“It spread to our land,” the farmer continues. “Our crops… They’d near harvest, and then they’d turn black. Ruined.” He pauses, as if the words weigh heavily on his shoulders. I imagine they do. “We couldn’t eat them. We couldn’t sell them.”
“The crops are dying?” Fear rises into my throat.
The farmer nods. “It’s a miracle that I have these to sell. They’re all I have this season.”
Gods above.
If the land itself is sick, then…
It’s so much worse than I could have ever imagined.
I clear my throat. “Is there fresh water?”
“Yes, thank the gods,” the farmer tells me. “There’s a small creek just up the road, at the edge of town.”
Thanking him, I nod and tug at Storm’s reins. I’d wanted to stop here and rest, but after seeing the town’s desolation, I don’t want to stay a moment longer than I need to.
I can’t. There’s no time to spare.
Leading Storm out of the town, we pass through farmland. Running water echoes in the distance, telling me we’re close.
But even out here, that awful stench still permeates the air.
My steps slow as I approach. Reaching the edge of a large field, I crouch, touching my fingers to the soil to steady myself.
On the ground before me, are blackened clumps of what used to be some kind of vegetable. It’s so dark and rotted, that I can’t tell what it once was. Fuzzy, green mold has claimed it, covering whatever it is with a layer of sickly fur. Looking up from the decayed vegetable, I see the plant itself hasn’t been spared from the rot. Its once green leaves are now a sickly shade of gray, with vile spots of blackened disease.
Slowly, I rise to my feet.
The rot has consumed the entire field. No crop has been left untouched, devoured by its ravenous hunger.
Panic laces my movements, quickening my speed. I tug Storm away from the field, and cross what area remains between me and the creek.
When I reach the stream, I kneel at its bank.
Anxiety sets me on edge, and I dip my hands into the water. Is it truly safe? Or has the water been infected, like the land?
Cupping some in my hand, I lift the water to my nose. It doesn’t smell off, and it’s crystal clear, seemingly untainted. I take a small sip, letting it linger on my tongue before swallowing.
Once I’ve deemed the water to be safe to drink, I swallow several greedy gulps. With some coaxing, Storm laps water into his mouth. I pull out some apples, one for me, and three—actually, make that four—for Storm. After we’ve both eaten and rested, I wash my hands in the stream and wipe my mouth. Catching a whiff of myself, I grimace. I smell nearly as bad as the rot.
I eye the water, considering whether or not to wade in and clean myself. Though, without any soap, I doubt how much good it will do.
I can bathe when I return to High Keep.
After securing the last two apples in the saddle bag, I mount Storm and urge him forward, into a fast trot.
Anger knits my brows.
Whether Maelyrra Pelleveron wants to admit it or not, the curse has the Gold Court firm in its grasp. It won’t be long now before angry, desperate humans reach her doorstep. Maybe then, she’ll be forced to listen.
But Maelyrra has never cared for the humans living within her borders. Few noble fae ever do.
Resolve blazes in my chest, roaring like the strongest of fires.
When I am High Queen, things will be different.
With a flick of the reins, Storm breaks into a gallop. Come dawn, the day after tomorrow, I will arrive at High Keep.
And I will do whatever it takes to save my people.
Even if it costs me my life.