Chapter 46 Ariana
ARIANA
For the first two days of travel my thoughts wavered between concerns regarding the trip and thoughts of Erik. His hands on my body. His mouth on my neck. His eyes consuming me.
The man touched me with the most delicious form of possession. One that somehow brought freedom with it instead of suffocation. I felt safe. Wanted. Freed.
Erik tried to hide his disappointment when I readied to leave. As if he truly believed there was a chance I would stay because of his touch. But it only made my resolve to go that much stronger.
We were blind against Clause. All we knew of the Sidhe were muddled fortunes from past seers and records from before the division and safety of the treaty. The chance at gaining insight was not something we could pass on. Not when we desperately needed information.
An escort greeted us at the edge of our border into the Sidhe territory early morning of our third day of travel.
We were going to make it just in time for dinner with the Sidhe King, which would be followed by a long night of traveling back to our Bavadrin lands before ever resting.
There was no way we were going to stop moving until within the shelter of our territory again.
The escort waited patiently on horseback while we drew near. He appeared to have been alone. The closer we came, the more evident were the scars on his sandy golden skin. They were everywhere, nearly covering every inch of visible skin, markings deeply etched into flesh.
“Only those with any conjuring abilities are permitted to continue beyond this point,” he stated without ever giving his name. His voice was neither friendly nor menacing.
That was not the deal, though Edda had already warned me of as much. “In the letter, Clause stated I could bring whomever I wished,” I countered anyway.
“And you have. Those who remain here will be offered the same protection, and no harm will come to them. However, only those with any conjuring or otherworldly abilities may continue beyond this point.” His attention drifted over our small Bavadrin party before returning to me.
Edda viewed the escort without a trace of anything other than a dull look. “Well, appears as though it’s just us three from this point forward.” She agreed to the limitation she had always known would be.
I caught Landin’s eye, for he would be joining us.
Though he did not have developed conjuring abilities, he possessed the slightest sway over the wind.
It was what made him one of the best archers in our city, at least before the return of the Sparrows.
With some practice, he could join their ranks someday, if he wanted to.
I addressed the three Bavadrin guards who were going to be left behind. “Wait here. We should be back before sunrise.”
They grunted in response, remaining on horseback while Landin, Edda, and I followed the guide.
The Sidhe moved at a reasonable pace for a terrain that took us higher and higher into the mountains. The wind nipped at the three of us as we followed in silence, our hooded cloaks pulled up to keep what little heat clung to our bodies from escaping.
The cold did not seem to bother our guide, for his hood remained down. His hair was dark and clipped close to his head, allowing visibility of the scars there. A lot of them seemed to result from true wounds and self-inflicted ones, as there was a pattern to them.
I had never seen anything like that before, but I had heard of it.
The Dunes Clan who once lived in the Bavadrin desert were said to have markings carved into the flesh, though the people disappeared years ago.
The belief was that they had rejoined with the Spirit, that their gifts and life had opened a door for them that others could only hope for.
Yet, if our guide was really part of the Dunes Clan, then we had been mistaken.
Erik was always correct, and we were just too blind to see what was in front of us the entire time.
The Dunes Clan was said to have marked their skin because it was a part of their conjuring.
Like any other, their unmarked skin was easy to cut with a blade, and easy to harm.
However, if injured, the skin would heal vastly stronger.
The markings provided permanent skintight armor, for a knife no longer could cut them.
That was not their only ability. They could also communicate through thought with one another—at least the stories had always said so.
The leader could command his clan without speaking a word.
I was not sure how dynamic that ability was for them.
They had disappeared before I ever got to see any of the clan.
Glancing back, I caught sight of Landin, who also seemed focused on the stranger we followed. A look of scrutiny etched on his face, with his eyes narrowed and brows pulled down.
When the trees became sparse and the ground of the steep incline more uniform, I drove Rain forward till she kept pace with the guide and his horse.
“Do you mind sharing your name?” I asked him, noting his hands.
There were scars there too. Three per finger, starting from a point just beneath the tip.
They ran down over the knuckles and over the back of his hand, all the way to his wrists.
The fabric of his cloak started there, obscuring the rest of his skin, though I knew in my gut that the marks continued further.
His brown eyes turned, appraising and unreadable. “My name is Soren,” he simply stated after a moment.
I offered him my name in return, to which he replied, “I know who you are,” without giving me another look. He certainly was not trying to come off as warm and welcoming. Unfortunately for him, that would not prevent me from asking the questions I longed to know the answers to.
“The scars covering your skin—are they self-inflicted?” I asked, my gaze dropping to his hands once more.
His attention remained on the mountain before him as he answered, “Some.”
I glanced behind me. Both Edda and Landin were watching my interaction.
Landin evidently grew more rigid. Edda’s lips had the slightest downward curve, the only sign of displeasure she showed.
She undoubtedly had the same concerns as I, that the Sidhe guide was, in fact, a member of the Dunes Clan. A Bavadrin.
“Where are you from?” I asked, turning back to the guide.
“I live here.” Again, he kept his attention trained ahead. Was he hoping that if he acted indifferent I would go away? He would learn that was not to be the case.
“That is not what I asked,” I pressed.
He turned then, brown eyes studying me as if seeing through me. “You know the answer, Bavadrin Superior.” He said it with the slightest tinge of distaste. It felt as though the air got even colder around us. Why would someone like him feel anything negative towards me or the Bavadrins?
My mouth went dry. “You are of the Dunes Clan?”
“We no longer go by that name,” was his admission.
My heart beat harder in my chest. The Lysians had been right.
Our conjurors were taken. Instantly I felt shame for not realizing such a thing sooner.
Why did all the Bavadrins always believe that the reason some conjurors disappeared was because of some sort of blessing from the Spirit?
We could not have been more foolish or wrong.
I licked my lips, which grew dry from the frosty wind. “Why are you here? With the Sidhe?”
Again, he did not look at me as he answered. “Seems as good a place as any. We are useful here.”
“You left the Dunes on your own free will?” I asked him, not knowing what answer would be easier to swallow. If they were taken against their will, then I would do everything in my power to free them. However, if they left on their own accord, then why?
“All of life is a choice,” he said with a frown, and his horse picked up its pace, slowing only once it was ahead of me. The message was received: the conversation over.
I fell back in line behind the guide, and we continued to follow him in silence.
If the Dunes Clan was under the Sidhes’ control, then were other Bavadrins also with the Sidhe?
The Dunes Clan were never technically Bavadrins, but Bavadrins had a symbiotic relationship with them developed centuries ago.
They lived in a territory where most Bavadrins did not wish to reside, so they were allowed their own freedoms and customs. When the great war occurred, they fought alongside the Bavadrins, both benefiting from the support of the other.
I never knew of anything happening that would have pushed the Dunes Clan to leave their Bavadrin shelter for the Sidhe.
The pines of the forest cleared, and there was an enormous castle in view, etched into the mountain itself.
There were too many peaks to count on the face of the fortress as it reached high into the sky, as if competing with the mountain itself to touch the clouds.
The setting sun glistened off the many windows, none of which appeared to be plain glass.
Instead, the windows shone with shards of color.
It was the most remarkable thing I had ever seen.
Soren came to a stop, dismounting and expressing no interest in the breathtaking view. “I will take your horses so they may eat and rest. They will be returned when you are all ready to leave.” He waited patiently for us to follow his lead.
I hopped off Rain with a frown, patting the side of her neck. Through my mind, I told her to be careful, to not eat or drink anything they gave her. By the shake of her head, it seemed as though she understood. It made me feel a sliver better to pretend that was the case.
“Welcome,” a calm voice intoned, smooth as silk and unyielding.