Chapter 2
ARLET
The trip to Shvathemar passed slowly, with me locked under the deck in a prepared room. The cursed voice that tormented me so fully on my journey here has gone quiet. I suppose that is to be expected since I am “obeying” by heading directly to Arion.
I shiver at the thought.
Well done, the voice whispered after Thorne, the emissary who lived in Enduvida for months, fooling us the whole time into believing he was an ally, had cut open my leg and released a magical tracker that could be used to find the most powerful elven artifact in existence.
An artifact that would give him enough power to unite all the elven factions under his dominion and kill anyone who opposed him. Especially his own sister, Mrath.
And then, after storing that magical current, both of them abandoned me to this quiet room while we sailed across the seas.
In the mind-numbing silence, I am forced to do nothing but think. On the one hand, I am grateful not to have the murderous, violent voice whispering to me, awaking when I sleep, and coaxing me to kill anyone in close proximity. But I miss arms around me while I slept. I miss companionship.
I peel back the bandage wrapped tightly around my ankle and wince. To no avail, I have been trying to heal the deep wound sliced through my Curse Mark, mangling the image of the snake. The scab oozes and aches all day long, despite the cream they’ve given me to prevent infection.
I replay the moment when Thorne shoved me into a room and cut the mark open. Lying on that table, terrified and bleeding, was the first time I realized just what a pawn I am in this game, and how foolish I had been to agree to go to Arion.
Effectively, I have betrayed Mrath by carrying the key to her biggest secret—what she wishes to use to overthrow her brother’s reign—and promised to do the one thing I have not been able to do in many years: bear a child.
He sido una imbécil.
My eyes burn.
After applying the cream, I rewrap the site tighter than before, wincing at the pain.
What were you thinking? How could you promise so much?
The faces of those in Enduvida return to me. The children. My neighbors. My friends and family. I agreed to this to help them.
But now…swimming in doubt and hurting. Alone. I wonder if I have endangered them more by not being able to keep my promise. When I was taken to the Enduares, I learned about the magic behind their matehood.
That magic has failed me.
But there is magic enough in this world to move mountains. To explode the earth itself—to bring back the dead and build a city. Surely there is something that can make one otherwise healthy woman bear a child to a king. I grit my teeth, holding to the idea with staunch resolve.
I am a fixer. I can figure things out. Solve problems. When I get to Shvathemar, I will find a healer in secret. I will promise them riches beyond their wildest dreams. They will find a way for me to get pregnant.
Yes.
It will work. I will ensure it.
And then, glimmers of doubt creep in. What if I am not clever or charismatic enough to bribe someone? I’ve never done it before…
Fuck, I just wish I had someone to talk to instead of constantly running through my own mind.
There were moments at the end of our acquaintance where I felt like Cursed One was speaking to me personally. Whatever that being was controlled by Arion, sure, but it also seemed to have a bit of a mind of its own. Hell, it attacked the elven soldiers outside of Dragonsreach.
For weeks, it pushed me to violence. It made me fear myself and my sleep, and now? Nothing. Perhaps, since it has fulfilled its purpose, it no longer finds the need to acknowledge me at all.
Fragments of memory push at the gates of my mind, reminding me just how truly marvelous my life was, with all its imperfections and dangers, just a little while ago.
“Are you there?” I whisper, putting the healing things to the side and lying back on the bed, hands over my midsection.
No response. While it does give me relief, it also makes the anxiety mount once again.
The darkness swirls around my head, pressing against my skull.
For a moment, everything becomes unbearable.
My future, the one I’ve chosen, looms over me, promising hell and pain till the day I die.
Forcing my breath into a slow, deep pattern, I focus on the wood grain above me. It’s like my body is floating away, and I’m desperate for something, anything, to tie me down.
Which, again, is not easy when I am effectively being ignored like the crates of cargo under the ship. Not when I have memories of a certain Enduar actually tying me down with the sweetest gentleness I’d ever experienced.
But those memories need to stay far from my mind. So I think of the elven guards. But they only bring me meals with harsh, hushed, limited contact, always cut off by a bow and a quick exit.
Thorne has come to visit more than once, but he leaves soon after he realizes I have no interest in speaking with traitors.
I exist in a strained state between anxiety and infuriating isolation. The way the boat creaks causes me to jump, as do the normal sounds of men and sailors manning the boat.
I try to find small things to keep me sane. The passing of the light through the porthole. The gentle rocking. The way the air changes as we cross the ocean.
Soon, we will reach the shore. Soon, I will be off this boat.
I won’t be out of danger, but at least I will finally be free to take action.