Chapter 18 Oh, to be Light Natured
Oh, to be Light Natured
“She did not escape. The girl who won the midwinter game was hunted and put down. Their kind are but thieves and killers. I will not waste the Crown’s hand in chasing corpses.”
— Witchlord Dronis Lyfire, as overheard by a Draker bound for Lyonscliff
Covered with nothing other than a forest green blanket, I spewed the contents of my stomach into a bucket.
I sat on a wooden stool in the village sickhouse, sweat running down my back and legs shaking.
The woodland villagers were maternal in their attempts to soothe me with cool rags and herbal teas that reminded me of Trista.
I hurled again.
An older woman stood with her weathered hands on her wide hips, grasping a rag and frowning. “I’ve never seen a Blackheart get so sick.”
Gripping the bucket, I raised my head, dry heaving and sweating. “Always glad to impress.”
The woman clicked her tongue and strode off, her salt and pepper bun bouncing behind her.
Riven was somewhere with Kostini. The healers had shooed him off before we’d had a chance to speak. In truth, I was thankful for the space. So many questions had surfaced in my mind over the last few hours, I wasn’t sure where I would even begin.
In my short time with the healers, I’d learned the village was hundreds of years old. Everyone was Natureless or Lyonhearted. No Blackhearts and no Dark Natured, though that was no surprise.
Sitara assured me no one in the village would report me to Drakers. The nearest town was hours away anyhow.
The older woman barged back into the room with an armful of towels. “A bath will do you some good,” she said as she crouched at my feet. “It’s a communal space, so we’ve got to get your Nature cleaned up first. I’ll need to wipe it off.”
I raised a brow.
“Oh, don’t be shy now, girl.”
With the bucket in my lap and occasional breaks for my sickness, the healer wiped away the black streaks. Evidence that I had truly killed a man. She changed towels frequently and was extra careful not to get any on her skin.
The woman worked consistently until she got to my arm.
“Is this what I think it is?” she rasped, gripping my wrist. After what happened to Zain, I prayed I could trust her not to harm me if I told the truth.
“Yes.”
She ran her finger over the golden mark, as if she couldn’t believe her own eyes. “You are a Lyonaire. This is the King's Mark.”
By blood? Yes. By name? I wasn’t sure anymore. Was I Elora Amona, or Elorengail Lyonaire? Or the royal bastard name of Steele? Or all three?
“I have something extremely important to deliver on behalf of the king. It’s the only reason he gave me his mark.”
She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t push further. Quietly, she finished cleaning my Nature, and afterwards handed me a new towel to cover myself.
With a labored huff, she stepped back and pursed her lips. “Don’t spring a leak.”
That was the least of my concerns. “I have no interest in ever using my Nature again after this.”
Killing Zain was a special occasion.
She chuckled. “As if a Blackheart could resist for long. Get to the river, girl. You’ve earned your bath.”
I grinned and thanked her. My stomach was settled enough that I had faith my bath wouldn’t be ruined by further hurling.
Barefoot and wrapped in a brown towel, I left the quaint sickhouse to find Sitara and a few others waiting, excitement in their eyes, and all wrapped in similar towels. They urged me to follow. I nodded and trailed the group as we practically ran through the woodland village.
Downhill at the far end was a secluded bathing spot, surrounded by high-reaching, snow-capped trees.
The air was painfully cold, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out how the water would feel.
By the frosty bank, the women dropped their towels with no interest in waiting for the rest of us.
Sitara and a few others had signature sun markings on their backs.
Lyonheart indicators. They were proud to wear such a symbol, as they should be.
Sitara beamed as she entered the water. A faint glow shone throughout the river, coming from her and the other Lyonheart’s palms—Light Nature.
They heated the water, just as Lord Dronis had heated his sword and Clarke heated the terrace. Oh, to be Light Natured.
“You will be warmer in the water, Elora!” Sitara chimed.
I dropped my towel and hurried in. She wasn’t lying; it wasn’t chilled in the slightest. I lowered myself into the river until I could hardly reach the bottom. The water was just like the cloud Lord Ansel had wrapped me in, warm and embracing.
The other women washed themselves and played like young girls, giggling, gossiping, and making plans. I held on to the moment, letting it linger and basking in their joy as if it were my own.
But it wasn’t. As they danced and laughed amongst each other, I ventured further out to a more isolated spot.
The water was still warm. Snow flurries gradually fell, melting on my cheeks like butter. I inhaled slowly, soaking in the peace. This felt like freedom. Everyone in the Waywards deserved this.
Where the bank rose, a fallen tree lay above the river, creating a bridge. I swam under it. Sounds of splashing came from the near distance, in the opposite direction of the women.
I stopped, gripping the wall of the tree trunk and peering carefully around it. The bridge must have marked where the bathing section was, because past it, Riven sat on the water's edge, shirtless and washing his clothes.
Kostini drank while the Draker rang out a black shirt, setting it on top of his bag and moving onto the next article of clothing.
I’d seen Riven shirtless the day of the Sapphire attack in the apartment.
Tattoos covered his arms and chest, but I hadn’t noticed the one well below his navel.
It said something indistinguishable. I squinted—
Kostini neighed abruptly, raising his head at me.
Shit.
I hid behind the curved tree, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Who’s there?” Riven called out.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. If I stayed put, he would assume it was a natural sound from the river and nothing more. I could leave him to wash his clothes, and when he was gone, I would finish bathing.
There was a shuffling of clothes accompanied by small splashes. My heart thundered as I tried to make out where Riven was without looking for myself.
Another splash, but closer. If I moved, Riven would see me.
With my back pressed against the tree, the river rippled against my side.
Then Riven jumped around the corner, nailing the back of my head to the trunk with a blade at my throat.
Both of our eyes widened as we stood chest-high in the water, his forearm braced against my collarbone.
He lowered the knife. “You’re supposed to be with the healer.”
I sank my body further into the water. “I’m bathing!” I hissed.
He scoffed and looked down at himself. “No, we are bathing, evidently.”
“I did not ask you to get in!”
“You were silent when I asked who was there. That was practically an invitation, was it not?”
My face heated, brain scrambling to properly formulate an answer. “Just go back to washing your clothes.”
He tilted his head, jaw flexing. “Ah. You were watching me.”
“I saw you. Not watched. There’s a difference.” Light snow melted onto his broad shoulders, and it took everything in me not to glance down and read his tattoo.
The sun caught the chestnut sparks in his dark hair as he moved away, flicking his knife between his fingers. “The next time you want a show, let me know I’ll be performing.”
As if I’d seek him out in that way after he’d been with Luna. I held my arms over my chest, preserving the last bit of modesty I could. “A show won’t be necessary, but I do need some answers. Why did you go to the Warlock’s mansion? And when did you know I was King Clarke's sister?”
He stopped flicking the knife. “Well,” he began as he reached for the tree hanging over us. He pulled himself up with ease, muscles rippling down his abdomen before sitting on a sturdy branch. I thanked Fate he was wearing shorts and not naked, as I unfortunately was.
“I’d heard the Warlock had a portal. I was hoping we could take a shortcut to Castivian. As for being the king’s sister, I’ve known for three years.”
“The entire time you’ve known me? And you said nothing?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“How the hell would I know to ask?” I steadied my breathing. I’d promised the healer I wouldn’t spring a leak.
He flicked the knife again, like it was a game. “It wasn’t my job to tell you. I had an oath to keep an eye on you until told otherwise, and I’ve kept it.”
Oathkeeper.
“What about Luna?” Was I an idiot to have thought he was in love with her? I’d even felt sorry for him when her eyes wandered.
“What about her?”
He said it as if she were insignificant. As if he’d already forgotten her.
“She was your lover!”
He forced a laugh, head tilted down and dimple peeping. “If she was my lover, then Zain was yours.”
He couldn’t be serious.
“You can try to make sense of things that are of little importance,” he said, sighing. “Or you can accept that you have a greater purpose.”
I took a calming breath, trying not to kill a second man in less than twelve hours. My anger only rose.
“Don’t you feel guilty?” I asked. “For being a Draker? For locking innocent people away and beating us if we misbehaved? Killing us? Does knowing you’re delivering me help you sleep?”
His eyes narrowed, jaw ticking.
“I fucked Luna because she liked to fuck. I became a Draker because I wanted to serve my kingdom. I worked in the Waywards because I swore an oath to my king to keep his sister safe, even if she’s an irritating, difficult, craven woman who thinks she will best me in the game of fucks to give.
If you’re so bothered that I would accept a courtesan's advances, I suggest you stop asking questions, as I don’t think you’ll like the answers.
My last oath to the king is delivering you and that deed to Castivian, and I intend on keeping it. ”
I didn’t know what to say. I had never heard him speak so much.
He hopped down, splashing back into the water. “Our interests align. Don’t make an enemy of me, Elora.”
My frown tugged to the side. “That’s an interesting invitation for friendship, considering you do not care for my company.”
He glanced back at me. “Haven’t you made enough assumptions for one day?”
With his knife clean and hair wet, he left me speechless, wading back to his clothes and Kostini.
Traveling to Castivian with Riven might be the death of me long before any Sapphires or Drakers.
I swam back to the growing group of bathing women and gave myself a proper cleaning.
I had worried I might regret killing a man, especially mid-fuck, but the smiles on the women’s faces made it impossible.
Sitara twirled in the water, light beaming from her fingertips and trickling from her sun marking.
The girls around her cheered, giggling as her Nature warmed the water despite the increasing snowfall.
Killing Zain was worth it.
Hopefully, leaving Drakington behind would be worth it, too.