Chapter 21
I miss my palace, now more than ever, with that giant arch of a gate burned into my vision - figuratively, of course. I’ve heard stories about the tall stone construction connecting the two Peaked Mountains, but nothing comes close to the real thing.
I tilt my head, desperately searching for their tops, but find none, as they disappear into the fat purple clouds.
“Toxins,” Riven explains, his eyes flicking over my face, “since they can no longer open the sky, they ensure no one else flies over their territory.”
I step back to show him I don’t welcome his company, and he flinches, but masks it in a heartbeat.
I feel fucking sorry. Since we departed, I’ve made it my life mission to show them how little regard I have for them, but every time it lands, parts of me die with them.
Sighing, I decide to let go of the pity party and just be civil, but I won’t let them get closer; never again.
“Leftovers from the Great War between the Dragons and the first Baba Yaga?” Jestin asks, trekking at my left.
“First traitor, most likely,” Riven grunts in reply, and no one could blame him for his displeasure; hags are the natural enemies of his clan, as Argos are to Beriganders.
The mood is tense, mostly because Samira hasn’t sent a word, and Bane hasn’t returned either.
The silence looms over all of us like an abusive dad over a kid refusing to eat their veggies. My stomach twists thinking I’ll need to face her sooner or later.
“That grudge is ageing like fine wine. Haven’t you tried to make peace?” asks Aidon, who has only recently transformed back into his Fae-form. At least he remains his sarcastic self, except maybe the suspicious glances he throws my way.
Riven’s answering glare makes me giggle, and he punishes me for it by turning his murderous look on me.
“I know, they’re uncivilised,” I mutter, throwing my arms up. He’s only said that a dozen times since we departed.
“We won’t be welcome there. Stay on guard,” Riven warns, drawing his axe.
“Let’s go, girls.” I simper.
“I can morph into the body of a female, if you fancy it,” Aidon says, earning half-baked laughs from the others.
Of course my comment backfires.
“I’m too vile to enjoy other females,” I reply, marching forward, my feet sinking into the slate chippings.
They mutter something to each other, but the howling wind prevents me from eavesdropping.
I should have stayed and listened.
After at least another twenty minutes of climbing, my breath is a joke, but we are finally on top. I inhale and exhale, trying to regulate my pulse, while the steep path sets my glutes on fire.
I grimace as the mountain morning air assaults my nostrils. At this point, I’m convinced too much fresh air is as unhealthy as none at all.
Jestin and Aidon trail behind, pressing the Dragthrall for more details about the war, but he offers little.
I decide to try it myself and wait for him to join me. He does, noting my panting with a raised brow.
“Do you miss the dragons?” I ask bluntly. I planned to ease the truth out of him gently, but he mocks me, so fuck him.
“Yes,” he says without an inch of hesitation. “It was the greatest honour of my life.”
“I suppose your loyalties are crystal clear.” The words are out before I can bite my stupid tongue.
“My Lady…” he starts, trying to apologise, but falters.
“I understand, General,” I say, stopping him before he can speak further.
Thank the Gods, the painfully awkward moment ends with a sudden bang. I snap my head forward as the arched gate splits open with a piercing clank.
We exchange a look before crossing the border, taking in the guards’ turrets set at different elevations along the mountains, and being painfully aware that iron arrows are pointed at our heads.
I don’t let the realisation stagger me, my power lingers close to the surface, and an image of an impenetrable shield is ready in my mind.
“How thoughtful of you,” Aidon blows me a theatrical kiss.
Fuck you.
A welcome committee of three hags waits in the middle of the road, eyeing my shapeshifter. Behind them emerges a wooden village, with houses no taller than an average stall in Santorili.
The one in the middle I recognise as Margorate the Iron Lady, the infamous Baba Yaga. She looks as royal as my Grandma and as crazy as a redcap. Two other hags flank her, probably her second and third: Bogda and Wisla. At least if nothing has changed since I took my diplomacy course.
Diplomacy, my ass.
Jestin pivots in my direction, plastering a bored look on his face, but the words that come out of his mouth are anything but. “Seleste, remember that whatever you’ve done, you are a descendant of Gorok, and she is cut off from the God’s power.”
It brings me so much comfort.
“Be careful,” Riven whispers.
“Stop overreacting, hags are fine,” Aidon chimes in, but I don’t spare him a glare, focusing my full attention on Baba Yaga.
“You’re late,” Margorate states, her voice throaty but feminine. I would appreciate it if she weren’t glaring daggers at the Draghtrall. “And with those scams as a company? Not the most obvious sign of respect.”
“Here, I thought you would appreciate a family reunion.” I form a one-sided smirk, letting her insult slide.
This time.
“You’re as funny as your predecessor.” She inhales mockingly, then grimaces, sharing a look with her companions. The tallest one nods, shaking her head.
“As you can imagine, we need a bath, so hurry that welcome along,” I hiss.
My heart stops when the hags make a beeline for us. Margorate stops a few inches. Her teal depths lock into mine.
I have trouble maintaining eye contact with her, given how forcefully they drill into mine.
If I lose the first dominance battle, I can go back to the tavern in Tricity and buy a lifetime room.
She is so close I can count the freckles on her face.
Plenty, but despite it, she looks pretty with a maze of red curls.
The stare down takes so long, I am relieved when she furrows her bushy brows.
“Something ugly hides within you, yet I can’t quite identify it.” As soon as I flinch, the corner of her lips curves.
Damn me.
Strange thing to say, isn’t it? Aidon muses in my head. From the corner of my eye, I see him shifting from foot to foot.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking about my crimes.
“Now I see where the ‘mad lizard’ nickname came from,” I say with a crooked smile. “You’re hardly the embodiment of grace and allure yourself.”
“Fair. Your mother slept with a blue Djenie, so the Berigander genes stay dormant?” She studies my hair. The colour set Trisha and me apart, but it’s not something worth mocking. On the other hand, our ears were a different issue altogether.
Freaking cow.
Self-conscious, I let my hair fall loose, covering them, praying it looks like I’m showing off my hair, not hiding my ears.
“You probably don’t look exactly like your ancestors either. Hard to keep the bloodline pure and clear,” Jestin says boldly, catching my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, and I want to throw my arms around his neck for that.
“She does, actually,” Riven mutters, glaring daggers at Baba Yaga as he openly toys with his axes.
He looks deliciously savage.
“Where’s your mommy, dragon slave?” asks the hag to Margorate’s left, the tall one, with short blond hair and a mean little smile.
“Low blow,” Aidon mutters.
I tense, bracing for the carnage. If someone mocked my Grams like that, I’d lose it.
“Where are your wings?” Riven shoots back, surprising me by keeping his cool.
Aidon blinks, then lets out a sharp, shocked laugh.
“Took guts, nice!” Aidon gives Riven a half-hearted high five.
Riven eyes it like it’s poisoned. Aidon looks at him the way he looks at me when reading my mind.
With a sigh, Riven painfully mimics the gesture.
The hags aren’t impressed. I need to end this before it turns into a full-blown fight.
“Can’t you see by the golden crowns on my irises that I am indeed who I claim to be?
” I raise my voice, ending the shenanigans.
Only the Berigander’s connection to the Arken power manifests eyes like mine.
Gorok’s eyes. I have always been proud to claim that Trisha’s were slightly duller.
While my mother’s are as brown as the shit she is.
“I have no doubt you are. But are you mighty enough? Your predecessor didn’t take much time to finish the trials.”
“I don’t plan on staying here long, either,” I say.
“Right.” She turns to the tallest hag. “Bogda, show them their cottage. Let’s meet at dinner to discuss the trials.”
“They’re going to serve us dinner. They can’t be as bad as you were told,” Aidon says out loud.
FUCKING MORON.
Bogda and the other one sneer loudly as Margorate steps even closer, but Riven blocks her with his axe, moving forward to stand in her way. Jestin exhales slowly, casually gathering sand in front of me, while the cronies bare their teeth and draw their swords.
“Excuse Aidon, he has been without the pack for too long, his manners are lacking,” says Jestin, but Margorate doesn’t spare him a glare.
For fuck’s sake… I focus on my power, getting ready to create a shield if anything goes to shit.
“I am touched that my life means so much to you.” He turns to me, offering me a sweet smile, and blatantly ignoring Baba Yaga.
She is almost in his face, and a growl builds up inside me at their proximity.
“Maybe you want to be dinner?” She stares him down, letting her gaze travel from his scarlet eyes to the very pronounced bulge in his pants, calculating and playful. “Or perhaps I should serve a special dinner… just for you?”
Rage simmers in me, my head full of creative ideas on how to end her, but then Aidon grabs my hand, pulls me close, and, stunned, I let him.
“I am already sated by another lady. I need to decline,” Aidon says, diffusing the situation, and something purrs inside me with delight.
She tilts her chin and fucking blinks. “If you ever want a change of scenery…”