30. Archer
Archer
“Iswear, the mutt has pissed in my boots.” I glare at Grim, who is all wide-eyed innocence, wagging his tail as I retrieve my suspiciously damp footwear the next morning.
“I’m sure he’s not the first to want to do that,” Daemos quips, waiting by the horse he claimed as his own, biting into an apple.
“He’d be the first one to live and tell the tale.”
Daemos laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re developing a soft spot for the beast?”
With no choice but to shove my feet into wet boots, I do so with a grimace before tying my bedroll to my saddle. “I’d sooner walk through broken glass than befriend that mongrel.”
“I wouldn’t be turning my nose up at any friendship opportunities if I were you. You seem to be in short supply these days,” Daemos muses with that infuriating smirk of his.
“I have plenty of friends.” My mind drifts back to Gravereach and the brothers I left behind.
A bitter taste spreads across my tongue at the thought of what Malevron may have put Cahir and Rook through since my escape.
Those Azkari saw me through my worst days in that cesspit, and I have all but abandoned them.
Oblivious to my darker thoughts, my brother carries on. “Imaginary ones don’t count,” he quips. “Neither do Bryneria and Isindrel, not when you haven’t seen them for two hundred years—”
I finish checking my tack and pin my meddling brother with a glare. “Don’t speak to me about Isindrel.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked—”
“Daemos,” I warn, scanning the forest for Saige, heat blooming at my fingertips. It only demonstrates a fraction of the rage simmering beneath the surface that’s begging to be liberated. Thankfully, Saige is nowhere nearby.
He throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright.”
“You think I haven’t made a new friend in two hundred years?” I hear myself say, unable to stop the anger flooding my veins.
“I think you’ve been in a death dungeon,” he says slowly, eyes tracking me as confusion etches across his features.
I’m suddenly furious with my brother and I don’t know why.
Is it because he hasn’t bothered to ask?
Is it because I’ve made it impossible for him to broach the subject?
Perhaps it’s me I’m angry at. All I know is that none of it makes sense and my thoughts are unravelling, spooling into a messy pile before me.
“Forget it,” I mutter. Grinding my teeth, I scan the makeshift campsite, impatient to start the day. The supplies have been packed away, and the horses are saddled, but there’s no sign of the mortal bookbinder or the damn dog.
“Thorns in my side the pair of them,” I mutter, pacing the perimeter of the clearing. Daybreak is upon us, and we have to get moving if we want to reach the temple by tomorrow. We need to stay ahead of Malevron.
“They’re down by the water,” Daemos offers, throwing his apple core over his shoulder, looking bored. But it’s a mask. We all wear them. He’s wearing his like armor now, pretending my snapping hasn’t hit a nerve.
With a huff of frustration, I charge through the undergrowth towards the flow of the river, the morning air crisp on my heated face.
I grow more aggravated as I approach the rushing water, shoving branches from my path, imagining our journey to the Confluence becoming an endless quest with too many stops for snacks.
My boots slip in the damp earth as I freeze in my tracks when I spot Saige through the thicket of saplings.
She’s by the riverbank, her gloriously bare back to me, my gaze catching on the expanse of smooth skin.
I drink in the cinch of her waist and the curve of her hips.
She’s a siren at the water’s edge, her silent song calling out to me, luring me in.
I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t tear my eyes away, not after everything that happened last night.
Her kindness lingers in my chest, as does the heat that flared between us.
The things I wanted to do to her… the things I want to do now—
Grim barks sharply, causing me to startle. He’s appeared out of nowhere, ever the guard dog. It’s as if he can sense my sinful thoughts and is standing there berating me. He barks again and I acquiesce. “Alright, alright.” I turn back to camp. “You damn snitch.”
At long last, when the sun is far higher than I would like, I lead us west, across the House of Reveries, into the very heart of its Eldergrove.
We are greeted by ancient wisteria trees with gnarled, moss-covered trunks that twist into impossible spirals and archways, while cascading purple blooms hang like living curtains, creating natural chambers and hidden alcoves.
There is dappled lavender light filtering through the canopy, casting everything in dreamlike hues, creating shifting patterns of amethyst and silver on the forest floor.
Delicate petals drifting down like purple snow all around us, and I can taste the sweet, floral notes that linger in the air.
“It’s beautiful…” Saige murmurs sharing the saddle with me.
“Yes,” I reply softly, but it’s not the Eldergrove I’m looking at.
Her face is turned so I can study her profile, and Saige Grayson is a vision amidst the wisteria, kissed by shimmering magic, violet shades dancing in her blonde hair.
Her gray eyes are wide with appreciation and wonderment and seeing her experience this place for the first time makes it all new to me too.
Is it too late to go back? To what it was like before Saige got under my skin?
As I ask myself the question, I already know the answer.
Of course it’s too late. It’s like my life began anew when she was dropped into the cell beside mine.
And it did. It was the moment my magic started returning, the moment an ember of hope flared in my chest for the first time. A blessing and a curse.
We travel in silence for the next few hours, ducking beneath veils of wisteria, looking to the blush of robins that flit amongst the long clusters of fragrant flowers, causing a ripple of lilac-blue, pink and violet.
Both Saige and Daemos are surprisingly quiet, both seeming lost in their own thoughts, or perhaps simply mesmerized by the beauty of the court.
But after all we’ve shared, I’m hyper aware of Saige as she tenses in the saddle, pressing a hand to her left side with a grimace.
Gods, when I found her in the midst of that pain episode, looking for fresh pain to escape the old, I nearly lost it.
And her response to me, you believe me? nearly broke me.
Throughout peace times and war, within the dungeons of Gravereach and beyond, I’ve seen torment in many forms, and never hated it more than when Saige’s face was stricken with it.
But she doesn’t complain, and even with the added discomfort of the saddle, she doesn’t ask to stop, and I wonder how long she’s been suffering alone. I understand it. I understand it so deeply that it’s all I can do not to take her in my arms and murmur comforting words into her hair.
With a shake of my head, I refocus on my surroundings, the image having caused a whirlwind of mixed emotions inside me. A tangle of longing, terror and grief. It’s not a thought or sensation I want to entertain.
When Saige becomes restless and massages her left leg more frequently, I call for a stop.
I don’t know enough about what ails her, but I have no doubt that endless hours in a shared saddle won’t be helping.
Daemos shoots me a questioning look as we break sooner than expected, but I say nothing. It’s not my story to tell.
When we’ve dismounted, I busy myself with checking our rations and water supply, pressing one of the canteens into Saige’s grateful hands.
She stretches her leg out with a poorly masked wince before she turns her attention to my stallion.
The sharp lines of her face soften as she murmurs fondly to the beast, a subtle smile curving her lips.
The Azkari realm suits her, or perhaps everything does—the sunlight bringing out the honey and gold tones in her braid, the breeze toying with loose strands framing her face.
There’s a peacefulness to her I didn’t expect, and for a moment, I find it utterly surreal that a mortal woman of thirty-five years of age might know who she is better than a Azkari male who has lived five centuries.
I admire her, I realize. Her grit, her ferocity, her determination not only to survive, but to live.
Before I can look away, there’s a low rumbling sound from below and I find Grim’s soulful eyes following my every move, suspicion radiating from his massive form.
My stallions shifts nervously and I sigh, breaking off a piece of jerky from my pocket.
“I’m not going to hurt her.” I toss the food to the dog. “Though you’d hardly believe me.”
Grim sniffs at the dried beef, before he once again turns his nose up at it and trots away to Saige.
“Cretin,” I mutter after him.
A few moments later, Daemos calls out. “You might want to see this, Arch…”
I glance back at Saige. “Stay here,” I tell her, going after my brother.
Slowly, I inch deeper into the Eldergrove, looking for markings indicative of traps.
We’re in the heart of the territory now, close to where the Confluence is housed in the temple.
It makes sense that the Prince would guard it appropriately.
But I can hear no tell-tale notes of music, nor see any glimmers that often accompany Azkari veil.
I scan the sea of wisteria blooms before us, wondering what isn’t visible to the naked eye.
“Here,” Saige calls out, pointing to something on the ground.
“I thought I told you not to move,” I grunt as I stride towards her.
She shrugs and flashes me a smile. “Turns out I’m not so good at following orders.”
“No shit,” I scoff, following her pointed finger to the forest floor. “Of course.”