Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
A rich aroma of chocolate, molasses, and vanilla wakes me. I inhale the delicious scent of coffee and crisp morning air before opening my eyes.
The planes of Mikael’s sleek, strong back move in a circular rhythm while he stirs a pot on the stove. The cracked window next to him lets in the cool breeze that’s circulating through the cabin.
He could have at least gotten dressed.
“I made some oats with sugar and dried fruit, and the coffee is just there.” Mikael turns to me as he puts a finger in his mouth, tasting the food, and nods in the direction of the red clay pot on the counter. He’s making us breakfast, even though we should have left by now.
I acknowledge his offering and rise from the bed.
Remember what you want to do. Make him fall for you and win this game so you can crush his heart.
I shed my sleep tunic on the way to the washroom. “Thanks. Pour me a cup, please? I’ll be out in a moment.”
His gaze never leaves mine as I pass by, removing my bandeau just before I move beyond his line of sight. He sucks in a sharp breath, and a corresponding smile spreads across my lips.
I finish undressing, step under the pipe and pull a chain, releasing spring water that the waterwheel collects, letting it run over my hair and down my body. I quickly wash, then get out and dry off.
I put my riding leathers back on, return to the main room, and hop up on the counter. Taking the cup of coffee Mikael poured, I ask, “Why didn’t you wake me sooner? We could have left already.”
He scoops a serving from the pot and hands me a wooden bowl and spoon. “We might need the energy. We don’t know what we’re up against, or how long we’ll be without food. Eating now is the best option.”
“They’re pixies. What could they possibly do to us? I could stomp one under my boot.” I take a sip of the steaming black liquid.
“You’re joking, right?” Mikael’s brows pinch together.
I shrug and take a bite of the oats. “I don’t often spend time with pixies.”
“Well, they are devious. Don’t trust what they say—or what you see.” He leans against the counter and takes a bite, then slowly and suggestively removes the spoon from his mouth. I guess that is his version of me walking to the washroom.
I stifle a chuckle and roll my eyes. But damn, I loved what that mouth could do.
Nope.
Right. Moving on.
“What did you do to your hand? I can smell your blood.” He traces my movements as I lift the cup to my mouth and take another sip.
“Nothing to concern yourself with. I’ll be fine.” I continue drinking as he watches me.
Mikael grips the cup on its descent and removes it from my hand, setting it on the counter. Slowly, he unwraps my bandage. Without touching my skin, he inspects my knuckles. Blood wells from the scrapes. “You should have healed already. I can help you.”
My eyes go wide, and I pull my hand back. “No. You know the fae don’t allow that. But thank you.”
There’s no way I would allow him to do that. It’s far too intimate of an act, using his blood to heal.
“Let’s not waste any more time. My life is now ticking toward its end.” I wasn’t getting injured in Varithen, so this is the first time I’m experiencing other effects of the curse.
I re-wrap my hand, finish the oats, and slide off the counter. I gather my things and head outside to ready the horses, waiting for him to join me.
We continue southeast toward the only location where pixies live.
They love the water that flows down from the Brokenridge Mountains, feeding the vegetation that thrives in the glen they’ve made their home.
I’ve never been there, but my father spoke of it when he traveled across the continent for crown business.
Once we leave the cover of the forest, grassy plains spread out before us—mostly flat and exposed. The ocean sprawls out to the west, and the Brokenridge Mountains rise to the east. Bushes and trees are sparse, offering no cover or protection.
I scan the horizon, searching for other travelers, but it appears we’re alone. For now. We’ll have to adjust if we spot anyone, though I don’t expect we’ll need to. Only those going to Runaria travel this far south.
“Are you familiar with the Varnox?” I ask.
“Yes, but we don’t have many left in our land since the divide,” he answers, looking around. “They make a distinct sound that we’ve trained to pick up on. I don’t hear any close to us.”
“Good, stay sharp and silent so we don’t attract them. We’ll be safe when we reach the outcropping, which is only about half an hour from now.”
He nods, and we fall into a steady rhythm, riding through the plains.
The Varnox stalks its prey, able to disappear at will.
The only way to see them is if you notice the disruption in the scenery, how their bodies cause ripples, like steam distorting your view.
They’ll leave you alone if you offer them a sacrifice, but we do not have a dead goat in tow.
The fae never trained in the sounds the Varnox make.
I’m not sure we even knew they made sounds.
Vampires have slightly better hearing than the fae, but we have better vision.
I want to learn what the Varnox sounds like and then teach our traders, so more can travel through this area and lessen the danger—but now is not the time.
Within the half hour, the landscape changes, fading from grassy plains into hills with wildflowers and rocks scattered throughout. Skinny trees line the path we’re on, still worn into the ground from when visitors used to be welcome at the glens.
I gently pull back on the reins, slowing our progress, and find a spot where we can secure the horses to some of the trees. They’ll be safe here while we do whatever it is we have to in order to get a fragment of my soul back.
“We’ll leave the horses here and hike down to the glen where the pixies live.” I stop and dismount, stretching before loosely looping the reins to a tree. I want them to be able to escape if they need to.
“We have to hike to the glen?” Mikael groans, following my lead of tying his horse to the same tree.
“What else are those muscles good for if you can’t hike?” I turn away from him to follow the dirt path, which is edged by rocks and framed by trees and flowers.
“Oh, you noticed?” he asks from behind me.
“Of course I noticed. You were shirtless in my bed.” I pause and turn, giving him a disgusted look.
“I can hike shirtless too, if you want to continue to notice.” He undoes the top button of his leather jacket.
I hold up a hand and let out an exasperated breath, rolling my eyes. “Not necessary.”
He slowly continues, undoing a button with every few words. “I know that look is a front. You liked it. The way your pulse quickens doesn’t lie.”
“We can’t lie,” I offer back.
“Oh Bryn, let’s not pretend I don’t know how your kind speaks in half-truths.” Mikael takes off his jacket and undershirt, slinging them over his shoulder with a hooked finger. “Let’s go. The sun is at its zenith, and it’s getting warm.” He walks past me, taking the lead.
Oh, he’s good. I glare, but follow, staring at the way the muscles of his back shift with his movements. I should have stabbed him and brought Peylin with me instead.
But no, of course he has the other part of the riddle tattooed on his body. He has to be part of this—even worse, he caused it.
When we crest the hill, the view expands beyond the rocky path.
I soak in the beauty of the way it sits, as if cradled in someone’s hands.
Multiple cascading waterfalls feed the river that flows out of the area and continues to the southeast. The glen sits at the bottom of land that was long ago carved out by raging waters.
The ridged edges of the glen rise all around it, protecting it on all sides.
The only way to get down there is through this narrow basalt crevasse.
I refuse his help when we take the narrow steps, instead using the rocks as support as the path descends. As we get closer, tiny bodies become visible, flying around the waterfalls and lush grassy area of the glen.
Flowers of every color fill the space. The hum of their rapidly beating wings grows louder. Whispers float around, echoing and repeating in different pitches and tones. “They’re here.”
The excited chitter gets louder when we reach the bottom of the path. The pixies repeat the same phrase, “The soul bearer and breaker have finally arrived.”
“Come. Come.” A female pixie grabs my hand and urges me to follow her.
I’ve never seen one up close. She’s beautiful; her full curls frame her round cheekbones, and her brown skin is dusted with freckles. Her ears are longer than mine, and she’s wearing a crown of leaves and twigs intertwined with tiny chains.
Wings of iridescent gold and green shimmer in the sunlight. The dress hugs her tiny frame until it flares out into a short, pleated skirt made entirely of leaves woven together. Their magic keeps the leaves alive and supple.
A male pixie is guiding Mikael along beside us. The pixie has pale skin like Mikael’s, and short red hair that has flowers and leaves sprouting from it.
He’s wearing a top that matches his cropped pants, all made from various leaves and flower stems. They guide us through the flowers toward an elder female sitting on a throne carved into the branches of a tree.
Hundreds of pixies fly around us, their skin tones ranging from the lightest beige to the deepest brown, with some in hues of lavender and sage green like the flowers and plants that fill the glen.
They’re all the same height—no taller than six inches—though their builds vary from willowy to stocky.
They blend seamlessly into their surroundings, disappearing and appearing as they fly around us.
The way their wings catch in the light makes the glen look as if it’s covered in a fine mist of glitter. I can’t help but stare.
They all talk excitedly to one another. A few brave ones fly up to us, pulling at our hair and clothing. One even lifts Mikael’s lip, inspecting his fang. The old one snaps her fingers, and they all hurriedly land among the flowers.
“We don’t often accept visitors, but it appears the Fates have guided you to our realm.”
“Tell us how to obtain the piece of Bryn’s soul you hold. We don’t have time to waste.” Mikael’s tone is deadly, intimidating.
The pixies surrounding us hiss and bare their teeth in response, but do nothing else, remaining where they landed.
The elderly pixie ignores Mikael and leans forward, blowing golden dust in our direction. “Lost dreams. Lost desires. Dreams of the future or of the past. Hidden dreams. Hidden desires.”
Coughing and confused, I ask, “What do dreams have to do with my soul and the curse?”
“How does one know if they are in a dream or reality?” Her voice is melodic, with an undercurrent of severity.
I stutter as words fail me, unsure how to answer. I’ve never thought about it before, but that doesn’t answer my question. She speaks again before I can ask another one.
“Remember the words inked onto your skin.” She leans back and waves a hand.
I blink. There is a sudden, unfamiliar weight to my body, and then I’m no longer in control and only able to observe as I slowly fall backwards. Pixies gently guide me and Mikael to the ground between the flowers.
I struggle to move my head, but I’m able to turn it just enough to look over at Mikael—his eyes are already closed.
Blackness pushes into my field of view, and I know I’m going to lose consciousness soon. The old pixie’s words echo through my mind, and I hold on to them, knowing they are important. Likely, they answer to whatever it is we are about to face.
Remember…
words…
inked…
Only a part of the riddle stuck in my mind. It confused me at first, but as everything goes dark I realize how critical it is.
Fade with the ending light of day.