Chapter 1 #2
Uncle Filip falters, his hands trembling as he reaches out in a shaky gesture for peace. “You know I meant no offence… Please, let us simply have dinner together. Share a meal with me, and afterwards, I will do whatever you require of me.”
He never listens. My nostrils flare. “I am not going back!”
“Seleste, it’s not about you. It’s about your family!”
Low fucking blow.
He swallows rapidly as he realises what he said. “I’m so sorry.”
It’s always about my family.
“You know what? I’ll get the coins another way.” Shoving back from the table, I jerk upright, leaving the half-eaten plate, and with it, any hope of a real connection to the only family I have left, not by blood, but the only one among those who survived… that nightmare.
Grabbing my satchel from the chair, I storm towards the door, eating up the distance with long strides.
“Let me explain!” Filip begs.
“I don’t care.” My hand tightens around the handle and I stumble. Really, I don’t care. I’ll go to the tavern room I rent, get filthy drunk, and stay that way until the next moon cycle.
My satchel, heavy with debts but empty of coins, presses against my hip, a humiliating reminder that I can’t get anything right.
“Stop!” I hear a commotion: glass shattering, a chair scraping. “Child, please!”
“You have no right to stop me, old twat!” I turn, still gripping the handle, only to meet Uncle Filip’s eyes full of pain. And just like that, guilt slices through me, knocking the breath out of my lungs.
Fuck. I didn’t mean that. Another failure.
I yank the wooden handle, ready to disappear for good. But, of course he doesn’t let me leave without a fuss. He waves a hand, and the guards shift. Are they trying to stop me?
A wave of fear drowns all rational thoughts and buries itself in my stomach.
He can’t force me to go back. I can’t go back. I just can’t.
The panic slides down my spine like ice. My power races, answering to my emotions. Pressure builds on the inner walls of my mind, itching to be released.
“No!” I snarl. I am trying to hold it back, to aim it anywhere but at the Fae in attendance.
The guards freeze as I extend a hand for them to halt. With my other hand, I gesture towards the corridor, wielding the magic along a safe path.
Portal.
Portal.
Portal—home.
The power obeys. Thank Gorok. And relief floods my body.
“Seleste, please wait!” The plea in Filip’s voice shatters the last piece of my heart and I almost turn back.
Ignoring it still, I jump into the blue rectangular portal, bracing for the creak of chairs. The whispers of busybodies in the tavern and the too-loud bardic music almost fill my senses.
But no.
It’s way too bright. Too hot.
I squint, trying to adjust.
What I see stops my heart for the thousandth time today.
Blazing sun and endless desert.
Santorili.
Before I can process how absolutely inconvenient this is, a sharp prick pierces my ankle. Glancing down prompts my stomach to drop. Despite the heat, goosebumps riddle my skin. Around me is a twisted nest of the most poisonous vines in Rhodria.
◆◆◆
Why does it seem I always say the wrong things? I always do the wrong things. Has a century of drilled etiquette drained straight into a chamber pot?
How can I even be upset that I stupidly let myself get poisoned by one of the deadliest vines on the continent? And like this?
Can’t I just be shot in the knee with an arrow instead? Or stabbed in the back? Something less painful?
At least those bastards died.
Nature’s a vicious bitch, equipping these vines with the power to kill anything they prick, but when they choose violence, they wither.
I draw a breath, but the air offers no reprieve. Blisters already bubble on my skin, and the sun has probably ruined my sight for good.
Dinner with Uncle Filip was at noon and the sun’s already dipping low.
And all because of that one fucking word. Home.
It feels like when I ran from Jestin six months ago—after he offered me himself… my power decided that meant he was offering me a home too. My damn power must’ve glitched and twisted the destination. Or maybe I’m just that bad at portalling.
Where are his scouts, anyway? Shouldn’t they have spotted me by now?
I don’t even have a messenger orb. I didn’t think I’d need one when I was packing for Filip’s. He was just supposed to certify the account in my name at the Tricity Bank.
I have a vault the size of a small village, but I can’t exactly stroll in and grab a lifetime’s worth of gold. Bureaucracy doesn’t work like that.
Not when my vault is in Hanovel, and I’m a persona non grata there. Doesn’t matter how much Uncle Filip wants it otherwise.
I cry out as another wave of pain sears through me. A thick slice of fear coats my skin like a second layer. If the ghouls or Chief Gerald ever decide to torture me, I’ll spill every secret I have. That’s how much I loathe pain.
Grams used to punish me for disobedience by shrinking my jewellery, suffocating my throat and limbs. Or she would conjure nails inside my shoes. I used to be much more squeamish about it, but I learned to breathe through the pain. Practice makes perfect, right? Or at least better.
Her punishments were nothing compared to this—the mix of poison and dry heat crawling through my veins, clawing at my insides, twisting every nerve until I feel like I’m burning from within.
Ashamed but desperate to escape the slow, searing agony, I delve into my Arken power. It waits, swirling and bubbling inside me. More ready to annihilate the world than to heal it.
I clench my fists, wrestling with the stubborn power, trying to form the raw energy into a shape.
But creating a portal is not on the fucking menu.
Wielding Arken power is never simple. The mental struggle takes a toll, especially without training, something I have only myself to blame for.
“Stop justifying your failures, you stupid heifer!” I burst out, instantly regretting it as nausea hits, doubling my vision. Sweet Gorok… is now the time to die?
Bile rises in my dry throat; panic, dehydration, or that stupid attempt at screaming. My lips rub dryly against each other, not a drop of saliva.
I glance at my satchel for some balm or water, but the dizziness hits again. I collapse onto the prickling sand.
Is this how being skinned alive feels?
Everything’s black.
My eyes shoot open. Is that shade?
Cramps lock my muscles, and I lie twisted in a ridiculous position. I must look possessed or crippled, but I can’t move. Surprisingly, it’s not how I appear that matters right now, but that the cramps just won’t cease.
Terror paralyses my mind.
“Well, well,” a voice whispers. Or maybe I am hallucinating.
“I’m so screwed,” I mumble, barely coherent.
Would you like a deal? The honeyed voice reverberates in my head, overpowering the pain.
Could it be that Gorok has granted me his mercy?
Moments from blacking out, the only word bouncing in my cursed mind is…
Yes.