Chapter 6
ARLET
The carriage ride is surprisingly smooth compared to the carts I rode in during my time as a slave.
Especially after how unreliable my legs felt stepping off the boat earlier, I am grateful not to feel every bump as my stomach twists over the memory of the death and blood in the port.
Will any of this get easier? It is bad enough looking out the window now, feeling the endless, low-level churning in my gut and burning in my ankle.
Not enough to make me call out to stop the carriage, but definitely enough to not ever relax. Especially not with the anticipation of what is to come next.
After his initial attempts at conversation, Thorne drifts off, as if the walk from the boat and the travel have exhausted him. But I notice a strange stillness, as if he isn’t really asleep.
I study his movements, feeling all at once exhilarated and uneasy at being close to a traitor. Conjuring memories from the past, I see him around Enduvida. I remember him in the council meeting when the Elf King announced his intention to marry me in order to stave his hand and prevent a war.
I see him eating and laughing with Estela, the queen he seemed to respect. I remember him near the children. At my Ascension ceremony. I see him everywhere in the cave—barred from nothing and no one, despite the misgivings of those who mistrusted him because of the Sisterhood he represents.
Or, represented, I suppose.
Was Mrath also a part of the betrayal that he has spun? Or is she just another casualty in his long line of deceit?
I can imagine her cutting off his head and wearing his ears on a necklace she’d proudly display to any and all who would look upon her.
That would do him well.
Another memory surges, of him and Ulla, the healer from back home.
She’s a ferocious kind of gentle. The kind who is gentle because she decides to be, despite being perfectly capable of fighting and defending.
There were whispers about her and Thorne.
Estela, my best friend, suspected something between them would blossom.
I imagine that Ulla had felt conflicted because she was tired of lovers, and she had decided to wait until a matehood appeared in her future.
She was not as eager to chase matehood as I was, but something about Thorne brightened her countenance.
I felt sympathy for her—elves and Enduares are not able to mate because of ancient animosity between their gods.
Despite all that…he seemed taken with her. Softer around her. I wonder if I could forgive his betrayal if I could see her reaction to his true character? Or was every emotion I perceived on that end also a lie, like his friendship?
Liars and betrayers would do the world better if they were eliminated. I was not sure if their penchant for lying or deceiving would change over time.
And then I remember what he said to me. Traitors and friends.
I had lied to Arion by allowing him to believe I was still a virgin—that I could easily bear children. I had betrayed Mrath by giving the elves a tracker that could find the artifact.
Thorne and I are two sides of one stone.
And I absolutely hate that.
As the elk continue to race across the forest, and the light begins to seep from the brilliant late morning to the dimming afternoon, I stay awake and alert. Guilt and worry eat at me, worming holes through my conscience like some aged cheese.
“I can feel your eyes, my dear,” his voice sounds, startling me from my thoughts.
I glare at him, considering a reply. But nothing comes forward in my mind that would satisfy my hope to give him only cold, calculated words to match his cold, calculated actions.
His eyes blink open, meeting my gaze. “Ready to talk?”
A response finally tumbles out of my mouth. “Why kill the man? Surely it would’ve been enough to just leave it at cutting off his hand and then moving on? They didn’t need your declarations. They didn’t need to know who I was.”
He purses his lips in distaste. “Rumor and legend can be more powerful than law and fact.”
I think of the blood staining the wooden planks under him, how the others shrank away from us. How they watched with begrudging respect and fear.
“So, Arion—”
“King Arion, woman.”
“—wishes all to know that he will cut down anyone in his path to keep me? I am here because of my own free will to uphold the promise he made with King Teo and Queen Estela. He need not cut anyone down in my name,” I say, ignoring his interjection.
Thorne rolls his eyes. “You are not so special, my dear. I think your time under the caves has addled your brain with well wishes and dreams of grandeur. Here, in the Elven Dominion, women are vessels. You will carry the blood of those who decide to use you—it takes no talent, nor does it make you special in the eyes of your male counterparts or weak gods.”
I blink. “You worked alongside women for all your life. You were Mrath’s right hand.” I bite my tongue, then let the insult slide out. “Her pet. How can you hold such a poor opinion of my gender?”
His nostrils flare. “How do you think I know so much of your gender? You women grasp at power. You will never truly hold it. If a man wants something from you, eventually you will give it. It is written in the laws of your sex.”
Something more feral than I would deem myself capable of rages inside of me. Something dark and hidden, the same thing that spoke to me earlier, surges. I lunge across the coach, tearing at his throat.
Unfortunately, without the help of the cursed presence lingering inside of me, it seems my inhuman strength has disappeared.
So I pour all of my anxiety and rage into fighting against him.
Thorne grabs my wrists, easily overpowering me, and pushes me back into my seat.
I kick at him, aiming for his groin to show him that men are also weak, when he snarls,
“Enough! You’ll tear your dress, and then your betrothed will be doubly displeased. King Arion likes order. You should know this.”
The name of the king makes me go slack, and I let go of my fight, eyes narrowed, still glaring as fiercely as I can.
He straightens his tunic with a huff. “Hate me if you wish, Arlet. Make me a monster if you wish. But—”
A thud hits the side of the coach as we run over a large bump. My hands fly out, trying to stabilize my body, as I look from side to side.
Then shouts come from the guards, and a fresh spray of red coats the window to my left. I yelp, falling back over the bench.
More blood?
It makes me gag. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. I hate this.
Thorne groans and then makes his way to the door. He looks back at me, worry just beginning to taint his face. “Stay here,” he grinds out and then leaves.
The smell of blood leaks in after him. It hits me square in the face. The Elven Kingdom isn’t some pillar of unity and strength; it’s as divided as anywhere, and I’m walking into a game of politics without any rulebook.
Hostia puta. A sinking pit rests in my stomach, the same feeling I had on the boat. I’ve made a mistake.
This is the first time I’ve been truly left alone since coming with Thorne, with the others around me distracted.
Fear wells up inside me. Maybe the reasonable thing to do now is to leave and warn Teo and Estela about Arion’s plan to find the artifact.
This is an opportunity. It’s not too late yet. I’m not married.
Maybe Thorne and the guards are all dead. Getting taken by some other group could be even more dangerous. I’m lucky that I’ve been mostly left in peace, being the king’s intended. That same luck won’t be extended to me by bandits.
If Thorne and his men lose, then I will be helpless. I’ve seen the aftermath of a woman left to the whims of savage men—the slave pens were brutal to women left alone. Rape and torture were among the ugliest ways to die.
I listen as the fighting continues and press myself to the window not stained red by blood.
As I peer out into the afternoon light, my vision fills with tall, evergreen trees mixed with rich, deep brown trunks and diverse underbrush.
The idyllic scene is ruined when an elf is practically torn open, blood gushing out onto the side of the carriage.
Something zings through me, a thought I’m surprised hasn’t surfaced before.
What if…the person who’s come for me is someone I know?
An Enduar with a cleaver and two missing fingers on his left hand.
For weeks, he was as any other person who let me down or betrayed me in the past. No better than Daniel, or Arion, or Thorne.
But if he came back for me…maybe it would be easier to forgive him.
Gods, to have his strong steadying presence near me again would be a balm to my soul. All those days alone. My resolve might break on loneliness itself. Pitiful—but better than being subjected to the elven court.
If it is him, then he will know how to track me. He’s powerful. Smart.
Without another thought, I grab the handle and exit the door.
As soon as I’m out, I press myself to the side of the carriage, and I see two of the remaining guards fighting against a handful of figures dressed in drab, dirty clothing. Elves. Clearly.
I deflate completely. My hopes break apart and fly away in the breeze. A cold sweat covers my body.
Maldita sea. I don’t wait for more signs—I run. I head to the trees as quickly as possible, trying to evade the attackers.
Just as I make it to the tree line, something hits me squarely in the back, and I tumble to the ground with a shout.
My face scrapes against the bunches of underbrush and needles, and I frantically try to turn around, not caring for the state of my dress, which is becoming increasingly tattered by the second.
When I see one of the men in dirty clothing standing over me, chest heaving and holding a bloody short sword that glints as thick liquid drips from the blade, I try to scramble away, only to have the rough bark of the tree meet my back.