Chapter 12
My little fugitive trudged along, day after day.
When she spoke, her words were sharp and acidic, like daggers aimed at a soft underbelly.
The rest of the time, she accepted whatever I offered her with a hollow indifference.
It was as if upon her capture, she’d died inside. Now, she was nothing more than a shell.
It infuriated me far more than I could stomach admitting. Where was that tempest I’d glimpsed upon her fleeing my first Command? I’d expected her to fight, to rage, to do something other than slip into a catatonic state. She couldn’t even look at me, for the love of the Goddess.
The nothingness she offered now was worse than any fury she could have flung my way.
I flipped a dagger over in my palm as I stared at her, curled up and asleep on my bedroll, using my pack for a pillow. Had I insisted she sleep on mine just so her ghostflower scent would cling to it and slip into my nostrils with each step forward?
Absolutely.
Did I try to prod and goad her just so I could hear her low, melodic voice?
Of course.
Was I doing anything to surrender this obsession?
Never.
I couldn’t explain it. Only that every time my skin brushed against hers, something ancient and starving opened its maw.
I wasn’t supposed to want anything. My only purpose was to obey my sister’s commands and to keep her fixed on her crystal-carved throne beside the Koron’s. My father’s final words to me hadn’t been how much he loved me, or how proud he was of me, or even how I deserved to find happiness for myself.
No, his last breaths were barked instructions and an admonishment of all my shortcomings. How I’d never live up to his name, even while carrying the title of Herr and heading House R?viel.
Heat licked my veins at the thought of them. Too many barbed words still stuck to my skin from members of my family. It was hard to rid myself of them at the best of times.
And right now?
I was at my utter worst. Wretched. Wrecked. All by this little fugitive who looked away every time I drew a breath.
She was my greatest sin. I had strayed far, far off the path I was supposed to walk. And I couldn’t seem to stop the unraveling of who I was supposed to be.
Not that I could even bring myself to want it to halt.
I wasn’t obeying my sister. Even if I was following my duty with every step we took toward Sivy, I knew that a reckoning awaited me somewhere along the way.
I’d tried to yank myself back to my duty, to remind myself of my Goddess-given power and its purpose.
To surrender any desire to have something good for myself.
I was a broken, tormented male; I didn’t deserve it.
The hour was late, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to go lie on the hard ground and close my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to stop watching Sylaira.
Even though I knew I should.
Ilae glided to the ground beside me, ruffling his sharp feathers. He nudged my shoulder with his mighty head like he could sense the cyclone of my thoughts. I gave him a stroke. His presence was the anchor I needed to ground myself during the storm of Sylaira.
The Seer’s desperate dash into the mountains had cost us days, if not more than a week. I doubted Maelsar and Calrien had waited for me long. I had no way of conveying my position to them either.
Once we were out of the foothills, I’d send Ilae off to find them. Civilization was within reach again, and I couldn’t fucking wait.
Hot baths, ale, roofs over our heads while we slept. Though we would be sharing a room, without question. The Elessarum were slippery fuckers, and on more than one occasion, our captives had slipped away, aided by members or sympathizers, in the middle of the night.
My crew had caught them quickly again every time. And with it, we flushed out more traitors. Word of their failures never reached the ears of those remaining. We made sure of that.
Plus, the bounty for Seers was nearing five thousand golden wings. I wouldn’t put it past a desperate group to try to take her from me, only to hand her back over with a demand for coin.
But what was I going to do with Sylaira once we reached the capital? Hand her over to my sister, who would add her to her menagerie and never see my little fugitive again?
It was clear she loathed me. And she was proving to be as much trouble as she was worth. To my sister, this Seer was priceless. If I gave my life trying to return her to Sivy, Iaoth would clap her hands with glee, not a thought spared for me.
Bitterness coated my tongue.
Turns out, I might hate my sister.
If I was being really, really fucking honest with myself, I was tired of this position. Tired of hunting down Elessarum and Seers alike. Tired of being treated like a random servant instead of her fucking brother.
Memories of Iaoth and I as younglings flashed into my mind, before our mother died.
When we still laughed and played in the fields surrounding our manor by the massive lake to the north.
She’d been so carefree then, all wide smiles and bubbling laughter.
Not the cold, brittle female warped by a political marriage.
When Demons had surged over the Skala Mountains, seeking crops and territory to claim, our mother had been slain. My father’s loathing of them had increased tenfold. It wasn’t long after that that he’d begun to mold me into the heir to our house, in his hateful image.
Now, even as the head of House R?viel, I wasn’t treated as the titleholder of Herr should be. My svaethei, the landholdings surrounding our estate, had gone unsupervised for years. The last time I visited had to have been before the Demons declared war on us a decade ago.
I wished Maelsar were here. At least then I wouldn’t go mad in my own head. I could at least have him smack some sense into me.
What was so special about this female? Why had I broken away from my mission and let this hunt continue?
The question had haunted me every time I’d stared into the forest, seeking her.
Every night when she appeared in my dreams, her face a blur, since I’d never caught a long enough glimpse to study it in the way a beauty like her deserved.
Every time she spoke as we traversed the rough terrain, sucking me into the eye of her hurricane.
Something inside me just knew. It was as good as any explanation I could conjure. And it wasn’t good enough for Iaoth, of that I was certain. Not like Sylaira had any interest in me anyway.
That same resentment returned. But could I blame her?
I wanted her. For reasons I very much could not articulate.
Emotion was weakness. I couldn’t feel—shouldn’t feel. And yet, here I was, unmoored by her continued silence.
I shoved off the ground, numb and stiff limbs protesting, making a quick scan of our surroundings.
Then, I settled onto the warm earth, facing her.
Peering through the lashes of flame, I drank her in—hair tangled from travel but still as silver as moonlight, lips pink and slightly parted, a heart shaped face that promised more breaking than love.
She was breathtaking.
So much so that when I closed my eyes, I dreamed of her again. Her white feathered wings flapped against a bright blue sky. Until the light faded into a stormy gray, and she turned on me, a thunderous expression on her face.
And then, she drowned me in her tempest, like she’d been waiting to drag me under all along.