Chapter 13
I meditate on the verge of the Forest, the rough ground sticking into my arse while my poor muscles beg to soak in hot water with bubbles. Even Nulok’s calming tea doesn’t help with staying still.
I am literally sitting on my ass, with EYES CLOSED, before the den of monsters.
Mystic Forest is not a holiday destination for a family trip, not if you plan to return intact, without a missing limb or a family member, especially not with the Fae wine factory around. The exploitation inflicted on humans is savage.
Still, we need the wine.
The Forest follows looser laws than the cities, shaped by the wide mix of beings who live there: forest Vikans, faeries, and mutts like Aidon.
Most of its residents are crossbreeds, descended from the first Fae who became intoxicated by the sensation of living in flesh and began experimenting freely with beasts, magic, and one another.
A few bloodlines kept themselves apart from that era of experimentation.
The Navatians, who command sand, and the Ogisons, who wield the elements, maintained strict control over their lineage, and each holds a large territory because of it.
The Fae who chose the Forest are wilder in nature and weaker in magic, yet they prefer the untamed land over cities like Hanovel or Tricity.
Even so, they remain tied to Arken authority and fall under Berigander rule.
Their mixed blood makes them unpredictable in the eyes of the Crown, so every new Queen must renew her vows of loyalty with them.
It’s usually seen as a tradition, but in my case, I need the reassurance of the vows more than an average High Queen.
The Arken web is bustling with folks, power and different agendas.
I straighten my focus on the threads connecting me to them. Most don’t block me, but many minds attempt to flee, making it difficult to establish a connection with all of them.
Click.
I catch them all.
I struggle to find the right words. What to say to folks whom I let down, without showing weakness?
I should have asked Jestin.
How to present yourself to beasts who respect power, when you lack self-control? Do I need to have it? Can’t I become known as a mad, unpredictable, evil Queen and be done with pleasantries?
Bloody Queen, they called me.
I sigh in resignation and momentarily flinch. I shouldn’t have done that - I almost miss Aidon’s constant, rude comments. For all he’s worth, he is challenging my thinking.
That’s all I am worth? I parrot his tone in my head. STOP. Now. I am doing it now. I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath down to my stomach.
I hold their minds in my grip and focus on preventing my intrusive thoughts from leaking into the message.
That would be a travesty.
I prise the lid of the connection loose, and the sheer force of their minds bursts into me.
I stretch my power muscles so much that my head aches, but the mental gate between us explodes and I am flooded with their feelings, potency, worries, hopes and desires.
Also anger, resentment, bone-chilling fear and adoration.
A thrill goes up my spine, and a grin spreads across my lips. I am theirs, and they are mine.
Mine to protect, mine to command.
I am your High Queen. I allow the words to form without shaping them first.
I am aware of my neglect, I assure you, I am going to answer for it before Gorok if that is his wish. I am going to reclaim my throne and restore the balance lost after High Queen Barbara’s death.
The longing and sorrow tighten my chest, but I manage to prevent the pain from leaking into the message.
In two days, I am expecting you in the Heart.
I finish and cut the connection. The loss of my folks cuts me to the core.
I could swear hundreds watch me from between the forest’s bushes.
My stomach chose that moment to growl. I guess control burns energy.
Good to know.
I stand up, my knee cracks as if I wasn’t immortal. The act of turning my back on the Forest carries as much weight as the message itself. I need to show goodwill and trust that no arrow will be sent my way, but without looking naive in the process.
I lace my steps with extra swagger, thinking of a shield to wield. My steps are the only sounds around; not even leaves are rustling.
A chill crawls up my spine.
Eerie silence.
“Aidon,” I scream in my head, and wait—one heartbeat, a second, a third…
Aidon! I scream again, quickening my pace, but restricting myself to a fast march. Anything faster will be judged as fear, and I already don’t look good.
Easy minx, what’s happened?
I almost choke on the relief, but it’s short-lived. I furrow my brow. Why didn’t you reply?
We had a little problem at the camp. His voice is coated with a layer of his usual amusement, lacking urgency or panic. Were you worried?
Not convinced, I don’t slow down and nearly trip on the shifting gravel.
Something’s off, and my chances are better if I keep the element of surprise. As I near the camp, I don’t see any enemies around, yet Bane and Riven, weapons drawn, face Nulok and Jestin, who are surrounded by a swirling tornado of sand. Both look ready to pounce.
“Don’t judge her,” Nulok hisses. “You have no idea how much pain she is in, and you only add to it. Your plan will bring nothing but more suffering. You should have been honest. She deserves that much.”
The only one who doesn’t fight is Aidon, blatantly chilling on the bench.
Riven stands casually, glaring daggers at Jestin. With a twist, he spins his axe through the air. If he throws it at the Sand Lord, I doubt the tornado will be strong enough to stop the axe from smashing into his head.
“She abandoned her realm! How do you think it will go: kiss and make up?” Jestin waves his hand and his sand follows, but doesn’t attack.
Riven stands still, as if he doesn’t see the Sand Lord as a threat.
“She murdered her entire family by accident. Who wouldn’t run away?” Bane reasons with Jestin. But fuck this argument.
“Because she had been too busy with her boyfriend to train her power and exploded?” Riven takes a step back and swings his axe.
My heart nearly rips out of my rib cage, but then he pauses and smirks.
In reply, Jestin’s tornado tightens into sharp knives. He twists his hand, focusing as the swirling sand melts and reshapes, turning molten grains into a shimmering glass.
Oh no.
Is he right? Aidon tilts his chin at me, leaning comfortably on the log as he watches them shred me to pieces.
I want to leave and avoid that clusterfuck, but the earlier promise to do better rings in my head, so I suffocate my cowardice with a pillow and join the fun.
The beautiful smile on Aidon’s face only strengthens my resolve. His approval makes me all tingly inside.
I know, pathetic.
“Actually, I was too absorbed with the new collection of Madam Narose. She was creating my perfect debut dress,” I say as I enter the campsite.
Not bad. Aidon’s mouth curves on one side, while the others jerk their heads in my direction. Horror on their faces makes me feel a little better about the whole ordeal.
“Feeling remorseful?” I smirk, navigating between the bedrolls.
Rationally, I knew they had opinions about what happened that day; they only chose not to voice them. I was content to never broach the subject. Apparently, it’s too late now.
“Sels, we were just talking.” Jestin waves, and with one swift movement, the glass falls to the ground, transforming back into its original form. Riven simply bows his head, avoiding eye contact while Nulok and Bane step behind them, their weapons no longer on display.
What a mess.
“My Lady…”
I cut Riven off with a gesture before he could spill an excuse. “If you have any questions, I will consider answering them.”
Jestin opens his mouth, but I raise my hand higher. “If not, I don’t appreciate you talking without me, on my behalf. You wouldn’t like it if I did. I am no different in that department.”
They bow, avoiding eye contact, as I walk and ignore their sour faces, and sit next to Aidon. I snuggle into his side, immediately relaxed by his strong smell, yet the sheer smugness on his face makes me regret it.
Deciding to move past it, I open my mouth to share the earlier experience, but Jestin doesn’t let it go.
He walks straight to us, towering mere inches before my knees. “Don’t lie. You wouldn’t answer anyway; you shut down after that day.”
The cold panic settles within me. I don’t know if it’s from the hovering presence or the rightfully aimed accusation. “I tried talking to you millions of times, but you wouldn’t let me in.”
“You weren’t there; you wouldn’t understand.” The reply is meek, and I am pissed at myself for it.
Jestin’s face is filled with so much raw emotion that I nearly panic, and only the soothing circles Aidon draws on my arms keep me grounded.
“Try me…!” Jestin’s shouts echo across the open space. The crack in his perfect composure is so unusual. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this: hair tousled, storm raging in him, desperation written across his face. What’s wrong with him? He always gives me space and never pushes me.
“What is the point?” I ask at the same time as Aidon says. “He has a point.”
The General hisses, “Take five,” and strides towards us, wings flaring, lunging to seize Jestin with authority.
Jestin ducks, sliding sideways with a speed I didn’t expect from a Sand Lord who mostly parties for a living. Then he flicks his hand, and the sand beneath Riven’s feet vanishes.
Instead of falling on his ass, the General snaps his wings open and stays suspended in the air above the hole.
“NOW.” He stares Jestin down with such authority that I have to fight the urge to stand and obey too.
My submissive little Queen, smirks Aidon in my head.
High Queen. I level a glare at him, which makes him raise a brow.
Oh, I can even imagine it. You will command Rhodria, and I will be under your clothes, as, for example, a mouse. Nipping you, licking you. None will know you have your… me in your undergarments.
Perv.
Me or you?
“Fine,” Jestin spats, bringing my attention to the present. His eyes are so full of venom that I flinch.
The tension dissolves as his shoulders drop and he starts striding in the direction of Santorili, yet he turns, clearly feeling the conversation isn’t finished. I brace myself.
“You know he was part of the argument, too?”
I fix him with a glare, but it’s Aidon who replies. “She isn’t stupid. I smartly stepped aside when I heard that she was coming back.” He points at his head with a lopsided grin and knocks lightly on his forehead. “Special connection.”
I punch him before Jestin decides to come back and do it himself. Aidon takes it without wincing, shielding or commenting.
Good male.
I glance at Jestin. “He always tells me the truth about what he thinks about me.”
Jestin smacks his lips as if he has something to say, but shakes his head, clearly deciding against it, and gives me his back, in an insulting kind of way.
When he doesn’t turn around again, something tightens in my chest, but I ignore it and scurry to my bedroll, fed up with the senseless bickering.
“Too much credit,” Riven mutters under his nose.
The General’s face shows the same storm that I saw in Jestin’s.
What is wrong with them today?