Chapter 11
The only decent teleporter in Santorili, Vort, is drained, and it will take him another full moon to recover, so we are to set off on foot.
I am fine with that. Especially when General Riven introduced me to his second-in-command, Bane, with whom I immediately clicked, so I am happy to stretch the journey to the Mystic Forest as much as possible.
We plan to renew the vows with its inhabitants before meeting the hags—the forest should be a much easier task in comparison.
I am currently hunting for the perfect armour, having already acquired a reduced-size satchel, a sleeping bag and travel clothes.
I finally have a valid reason to spend some coins. I even visited a mind healer, and he convinced me to purchase a necklace that is supposed to electrocute me whenever my mind drifts towards my… trauma.
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Aidon says. He is unusually quiet today, though not quiet enough to stay that way for long.
We weave through the crowded market street together, brushing past vendors shouting prices and children darting between carts.
“Can’t you leave and return next time you are low on magic?” I mutter.
“I can,” he says, stepping around a fruit stall, “but I don’t want to.”
“Can’t you lie, at least?”
“I have no reason to trick you. You are already bound to me.”
“As if I could forget.”
He smiles, leaning closer. “But as a matter of fact, I have some business to attend to.” He places a kiss on my forehead, and my cheeks ignite.
Fuck him, for all I know, he is a spy for Chief Gerald, given his constant disappearance.
Without him around, my mind drifts back to the problem.
It would be stupid to march on the Capital without any cannon fodder and assume the elementals and Royal Army will simply drop to their knees.
My Grams would have commanded them to fight for her, or better yet, throw them into the Fool’s Festival for going against her in the first place, but I have too much at stake to risk disobedience.
I’m on a deadline.
An agonising scream rips me from my thoughts. I search for the source and spot a commotion near the bank. I scurry forward, and the crowd parts before me.
My stomach drops at what I see.
“Leave him alone!” A young female screams, waving a sword. She must be no older than a juvenile. Two officers from the Royal Army and one elemental are trying to reason with her, but she refuses to back down.
“He was conscripted because of his abilities. Stay back, now!” The taller officer bellows, stepping forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his own weapon. Sparks of magic flare from the elemental beside him, ready to intervene if she strikes.
The girl’s eyes flash with defiance, and for a moment, it seems she might actually challenge all three.
“He is sick! I won’t let you take him!” She reaches out with the hand without the sword, a purple orb forming in her palm. Whatever her magic is, it smells powerful.
“Stay back now!” The shorter officer roars, getting ready to defend himself.
Her hands tremble as she tightens her grip on the sword, but remains in control of the orb. “I won’t let you take him!” Tears pour freely down her cheeks as the orb expands.
She moves, as if to throw it, but then collapses, slamming onto the gravel. Her veins are popping and she is clutching her throat desperately, as if she is unable to draw a breath.
Realisation hits me, and I pivot in the direction of the elemental. He is dancing with his fingers, cutting off her air supply.
One heartbeat. Second heartbeat.
She gulps.
I race to her side, but have no way to help. “Stop it right now!”
The royal officers glance at each other, clearly taken aback, before stepping aside, while the caster’s gaze remains fixed on me.
“Sure thing, darling,” he says, his voice cold and clinical. He sways his casting hand and makes a chopping motion.
The gulping stops, and then I hear a heavy thump. The female is lying in an unnatural position.
She is dead.
The urgency ceases.
I am no longer here. I am in that throne room. I take two deliberate steps, halting inches before the caster. I can see the sweat on his forehead, how his pupils dilate, his bravado fleeing.
“And why have you done it?” I don’t recognise my voice.
The officers try to say something, probably apologise, but my attention is fixed on the caster.
“What’s your name?” I ask, as if it is important.
He answers, voice slightly shaken. “Rowan, my Lady.”
“Rowan…” It doesn’t taste sour or bitter. Amazing.
“Scatter around, now,” I warn the crowd, yet I remain, asserting my dominance over Rowan. Judging by the echoes of footsteps, they have listened.
“I want you on your knees with fingers in your eye sockets. I am curious to see if you will manage to touch their tips from inside out,” I feel a sick sense of satisfaction with how he trembles.
“My Lady...” He hesitates.
“Now, Rowan.” I lower my face. “Are you going to do it or do you want my help?”
“Please, please…”
That girl pleaded too.
Manacles. I put my will into the essence of the word and let the power loose. Two pink, brothel-like manacles materialise on his wrists.
He gawks at them, then grins before breaking them apart. “You almost fooled me,” he hisses, shoving me aside.
I brace myself for an impact, but someone catches me.
“Take him,” Riven’s voice commands.
He sets me down and turns to the man. From the corner of my eye, I see his males dragging the scum away.
“Are you hurt?”
I stare at him; if not for the storm raging in his eyes, he looks calm.
I am a pathetic excuse of a leader.
“I am fine.” Only my ego, my pride and my self-esteem took a beating.
And the female on the ground.
“Please, water,” I say meekly, and his face softens, brow furrowing. Great, I upset the General with how unfit to rule I am.
He nods and turns to summon someone. The moment his head turns, I bolt into the parting crowd.
I manage to hide in a dead-end alley and command my power to portal me the fuck away.
My tavern room in Tricity!
The blue rectangle appears, and I spring through it—only to land in the fucking desert again.
◆◆◆
“What is wrong with me?!” I scream, my knees hitting the sand.
Surrounded by nothing for miles and miles, I make no effort to contain the storm within me.
“How could you leave before you taught me anything?” I yell, my voice echoing several times before it dies. “I am too young, I am not ready, I can’t control it!”
“Gorok, please help me!” I beg the God I descended from.
The God that’s supposed to favour my line, yet the horrifying silence at the end of my scream doesn’t sound like a favour.
More like a punishment. Exile. As if I had offended him greatly by not accepting my responsibility.
Like if another Berigander existed, they would have smitten me a long time ago.
“Please!” My voice breaks, tears streaming uncontrollably.
The only thing that responds is my power. It explodes. I shut my eyes while I let it all out. Scream, pain, guilt, hatred, agonising mourning and the pure power.
My voice gets painfully hoarse before I collapse. The cold stones bring relief from the heat.
Cold stones?
My power has conjured an impenetrable fortress, yet the well remains barely touched.
How the fuck will I explain this monstrosity to Jestin? It is his court. His Sand Court. He doesn’t need another palace. That’s what I am good for: architecting buildings no one needs and destroying lives.
Yet, I have no time to wallow in self-pity because my teeth chatter and goosebumps rise on my skin. The chill is unnatural. Even with the cold marble beneath me.
I instinctively turn left and stagger at what I see. Dark energy hovers by the door, frighteningly resembling Grandpa. Is my mind playing tricks on me? He is supposed to be dining in Gorok’s gardens, not wandering aimlessly.
The energy, Grandpa, lunges at me, curling me up like prey.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
He looks familiar, but ashy, exhausted, and haunted. He opens his purple mouth, but no words come out, trying again and again, clearly growing more worked up with each attempt.
“What do you need?”
He gestures to follow, flying to the left, and I look through the frozen window.
“I don’t understand!”
He circles me, shouting wordlessly, then suddenly lunges. The impact knocks me out cold.
◆◆◆
I left you for half a day, and in that time, you managed to pick a fight with Chief Gerald’s army, teleport to the desert again, and build some kind of snowmale palace. If I’d known, I would’ve brought some carrots and a broomstick to make it proper.
I stir as a beautiful voice pushes through the blackness in my mind. My eyes snap open, and when I see shimmering blue marble all around me, my guts twist — this wasn’t a weird dream.
“I can assure you, it wasn’t.” Aidon squats, his fingers brushing over my chin, and I lean into his warm touch.
“And I saw a ghost,” I mumble.
“And you saw a ghost. Cool. Let me pick you up, we’re setting off tomorrow.” His chuckle is like the ringing of bells.
They instantly become my favourite instruments.
◆◆◆
Someone must have deactivated the heat-regulating charm in my room. The sheets cling to my skin, and unfortunately, I remember exactly what happened. The scent of dry sand drifts through the open balcony doors, and beneath it lingers the faint perfume of the date palms in the courtyard below.
I do not have to open my eyes to know I am not alone. Two familiar presences sit in the quiet, one calm and warm, the other not. Probably the culprit behind the heat problem. She is spiteful like that.
“I know you don’t sleep, Sels,” comes Nulok’s low, teasing voice. I open my eyes. He’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed, red hair glowing like embers in the magical lamplight.
I groan and rub my face. “I messed up.”
“Like always,” Samira mutters from the chair near the balcony. The breeze toys with the ends of her light braid as she folds her arms. “Honestly, at this point, I’ve come to expect that.”
“Sam, stop.” Nulok’s tone is quiet, but the warning in it is unmistakable. He glances at her with that long, patient look that speaks of too many arguments, then turns back to me. “You two need to bury that hatchet.”
“You honestly can’t expect me to just forget she wasn’t there.” Samira’s words hit harder than her fist ever could, and she had a mean left hook.
“How many years have you known each other?” Nulok asks softly, but she doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words tumbling before pride can stop them. “I’m really, really sorry. You two are precious to me. I should’ve been there.”
Nulok shifts closer, resting a calloused hand on mine. “You’ll always be my friend, no matter how many times you screw up.”
Pathetic tears sting my eyes before I can stop them. Gods, it means so much.
“Oh, come on!” Samira’s chair scrapes sharply against the floor. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything! You left me hanging. The entire court laughed when the queen abandoned me at my mating ceremony.”
“Stop!” Nulok’s voice cracks like a whip, quiet but commanding. “You were never in the same situation as Sels, and I’m grateful every day for that, my love. But you can’t keep clinging to this resentment.”
“Ah, fuck you!” she snaps, her voice breaking. She storms towards the door, silk skirts whispering furiously, but before she leaves, she decides to punch me one last time. “Chief Gerald will retaliate, and it’s your fault.”
The door slams so hard that I wince. She’s right. But what else was I supposed to do? Leave that poor girl?
“Where are Jestin and the others?” My voice sounds small. I really don’t want to face them.
“They’re dealing with the fallout with Chief.” Nulok sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Riven dealt with Rowan personally...”
“I wanted to help,” I whisper.
He squeezes my hand again, gentler this time. “I know. And honestly? I think what you did was courageous. You took a stand, and I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t deserve my title.” My words are bitter.
“You do,” he says firmly. “Gorok recognised you long before your life got complicated.”
His conviction hits something deep inside me. For a moment, I almost envy Samira the bond they share, and that she has someone like him in her life.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I murmur.
He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Compliments from my queen? I’m flattered.”
“Alright,” he says, standing and brushing off his tunic. “I need to find my mate and calm her temper. You should pack for tomorrow. I’ll bring you something to read for the journey.”
He infected me with his love for books years ago, and ever since then, we’ve shared the most compelling reads.
Sometimes, the travellers who visit Earth bring small souvenirs from their world.
Nulok and I made it our mission to hunt down human books.
We’ve spent a fortune on them. They have such strange perspectives, but that is exactly what makes them so fascinating.
I look at the cupboard where I keep my growing collection.
“Have you finished the one I brought you last time?” I ask, remembering the particularly good romance. “The one about war, college, and dragons?”
His eyes flicker. “Yes. Dragons bonding with mortals... ridiculous. But the spicy scenes were... what can I say, my mate was satisfied.”
I burst out laughing and throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, grinning.
“I have one about the Fae,” he says, leaning forward. “Written by a human, and it is hilarious. They have lords and courts like we do, but they are so different. It will entertain you on the journey.”
“Is it spicy? Because if it is, I might need a helper.” I wink at him and he shakes his head.
“Only mildly, but the quality,” he replies with a grin.
We share a look, one of those familiar, wordless exchanges that belong only to us. For a moment it feels light, easy, like always. Then the air shifts, the warmth fades, and our thoughts turn towards darker things.
“Are you coming with us?” I ask, hopeful. It would be so much easier with him. “Please don’t tell me Samira will.”
He shakes his head, laughing, as if I were being silly.
“I don’t know what Jestin will decide,” he admits. Then, with a tenderness that almost undoes me, he leans down and presses a kiss to my hair. “I’m proud of you for trying. I know it’s hard.”
When he leaves, the room feels too still, too big. Not that it isn’t fucking huge.
I sit there for a long time, staring at the scattered clothes and the half-packed travel bags. Tomorrow I’ll have to face the music. But for now, I just pack, piece by piece, and let my heart ache.