23. Southern Sycarious
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Southern Sycarious
Abrax trotted upon the carved path running parallel to the main road. I flexed my feet, stretching my toes up to the sky before relaxing them. So much riding had allowed me to settle with my thoughts.
Cassiel studied the map he held up in one hand.
I studied it along with him. It was rather simple and did not encapsulate the true stretch of the realm.
He’d sketched an image of straw bales beside the spot he wrote ‘Southern Sycarious’, leaving no space for doubt it had been a method of direction.
I recognized the bubbling brook we had passed a few dawnlights ago.
He rolled the parchment back up and slid it into the saddlebag attached to Abrax.
Our argument from when our journey began still festered in my thoughts. The distance we traveled had allowed me to sit with it. Boundaries were a subject I hardly knew how to raise. In all truth, I had no wish to broach it during the grueling travel.
On both sides of the path, the oak trees soon turned into a familiar sight.
“It has been so long,” I whispered. Cassiel squeezed my waist where he balanced me during the ride.
Tall stalks rose from the ground, thick enough to hide threats.
Southern Sycarious’ most prized trading item.
This sort of stalk could only grow from this part of the realm’s soil.
The dry heat, the low humidity, the rains that came less than a handful of times an annum—all of it created the perfect conditions.
Southern Sycarious villages were known to cultivate bales. Not only was it feed for livestock, it could also feed hearths and forges.
I shifted again in my seat to readjust my weight.
“You need to rest.” His hand on my waist tucked around my chest and he pressed me back. His strength did not allow me anything other than to sink against him.
I huffed, shoving his arm.
“There are only so many positions I can sleep against you. I am forming a knot in my neck.” It had to be almost a fortnight of relentless riding, and there had seldom been a stop.
Which was possible because there was no need for me to relieve myself.
Awakening had wholly changed my body. The only reason we had stopped was for Cassiel to steal fruits and bread for me.
Another change was how hunger pangs affected me.
It was a dull sensation that began with a seed of exhaustion.
When I did not eat, the result was weakness.
In my limbs, in my thoughts, every inch of me became sluggish.
“We will be arriving soon,” he intoned.
“Where?” I blurted. “We should be searching for the Resistance. We need help—”
“No,” he said succinctly, brooking no argument.
“But—”
“Amara,” he gritted out. “We will discuss the Resistance,” he spat it out, “at a later time. For now, we will go somewhere safe for us to gather strength and bathe.”
I stewed in silence. Arguing over it would lead us nowhere, and with his immovable composure, he would not be convinced . . . Despite that, a bath sounded lovely. Warm, lapping water to sink into.
‘You trembled. Are you cold?’ his voice invaded my mind.
The intimate sound of him in my head startled me, poking at the scabbed over anger I’d managed to stifle. Since the argument beside the Hollow corpse, there had been no mention of it again. I churned over the thought that he had just decided I would remain with him.
I will live with it. As long as I have you by my side.
That was what he’d said with such arrogance. As if it were a given. And I could not even argue the contrary. Not when he’d become my wraithling. He’d cleaved himself unto me with the assurance of my existence.
For if I turned him away, I would be drawn to his side before the moon rotation completed.
A truth must be acknowledged: I was forever tied to him.
I had festered over the reality for various dawnlight rotations.
That sat in my belly like a heap of lead, stamping out the bloom in my stomach. Of course he had such assurance in his position in my life. I straightened my spine to move away from him.
‘Why have you stiffened?’
Always such concern from him! I bristled.
“Please cease speaking in my mind when there is no necessity.” My tone came out sharp.
There was only silence and stillness from Cassiel. His hand flexed around the reins. The edges of the leather strap touched my leg.
“You are angry?”
I bit back my scoff and remained silent. This was his question?
Cassiel tugged the reins to the right, taking an almost invisible pathway through overgrown straw. He didn’t utter another word about my comment, continuing through the stalks.
I slapped the overgrown crop from my face, sputtering as I repeatedly blinked to clear my eyes.
Cassiel’s arm moved before me, shielding me from the dried wheat.
I took his aid and dropped my forehead against his arm to protect my face from being slapped about.
The scrapes and smacks ceased, and Cassiel dropped his arm.
We broke through the side view of an estate.
Decently sized and stretching into two floors.
The stone structure hosted various windows lined with slim pieces of iron.
Moss overgrew along the bricks, stretching upward where they thinned.
Cassiel guided Abrax to the front, within view of the shut door leading inside.
“Here we are.” He dismounted, pebbles crunching beneath his heel.
Cassiel reached up, hands settling on my waist. I went rigid, but he did not let that stop him from hoisting me from the saddle. As soon as my slippered feet touched the ground, I backed up a few steps, ignoring his frown.
I busied myself with unbinding the satchel from Abrax’s saddle that held the grimoire and effigy.
Crushing the straps of the bag, I turned.
Cassiel strode across the stone path. I looped the straps over my head, and the book rested as a comforting weight against my hip.
As I trudged toward the entrance, my slippers were not helpful in the least. I could feel every bit of stone through the slim fabric of the shoe.
Cassiel held the door open, and I hesitantly entered the foyer. Compared to the Citadel and the House of Lords, this was drastically smaller. Cassiel ducked his head as he entered to avoid the door sill.
A small entry table sat beside the door with a fine layer of dust over it.
Faint dawnlight speared through the slim crack caused by the curtains.
Sheets covered the furniture in the sitting area to the right of the foyer.
Across the settee was a staircase leading to the second level. Above the fireplace was a rusted sword.
“Who does this estate belong to?”
“The current Baron Mortar who is vacationing in his Eastern estate. His father is a councilman you met. He had sat beside Lord Dillon’s wife the eve they beat you.
” A cloud passed over his features, but his features sharpened with focus as his gaze returned to me.
He spoke of the council member he killed with his chain.
I entered the sitting chamber and trailed my fingertips over the cream sheet protecting a rocking chair.
“Before that, it belonged to your father, the former Baron.”
He struck me still. I whipped my head up to meet his.
My familial estate . . . I squeezed the sheet and ripped it off the couch, letting it fall to the side.
A floral pattern decorated the cushions.
I went to the center table, yanked the sheet to drop it atop the other.
With every furnishing, I did the same. Until the same floral pattern, a dark mix of rosahs and velvris vines, sat along a black backdrop.
I clawed for any small familiarity, but as much as I stared, nothing roused to life.
No memory, no feeling—nothing. I pressed my hand to my pounding chest, searching for any recollection.
Nothing came, and it left me feeling empty.
The council had not just killed my family.
They took the memory of them, leaving me orphaned even from my past.
“Why would you not warn me what this place was?” I rasped. Why would he bring me here?
His eyebrows furrowed, expression morphing into a glare. It was clear how confused my statement made him, no, my reaction. He did not understand my upset. It was clear he never had. And I doubted he ever could.
I thinned my lips, composing myself with a breath before I spoke in anger.
“I will take my leave to rest,” I finally managed. I only managed a turn midway when he gripped my shoulder, forcibly turning me toward him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” I gave a brittle smile, and numbly turned to the stairs. The climb up wasn’t without effort. My hip pinched a bit more than usual at the stretch higher to climb. I reached the landing on the second floor. It spread into a small sitting area to one side and a hall of doors to the other.
‘What has upset—’
“Stop speaking in my mind!” I shouted, drowning out his voice in my head. I whirled to level him with a glare.
“What has angered you so?” His eyebrow rose.
His confusion flared me to a boiling point. I stomped so hard my feet rattled the wooden floor. I wrenched open the first door. All I needed was the sight of the bed.
Whirling, I stopped at the threshold, forcing him to remain out in the hall. He stared down at me still with that utter confusion, but humor had begun to take root.
“This bond—these urges do not compel my judgment, nor my forgiveness.” I lifted my chin.
“This again?” His head canted to the side. “I will live with your distrust. Your youthful emotions are not equipped to navigate harsher truths.”
“You believe because you are centuries older that you have a better understanding of feelings?”
“Trivial aspects—”
“Now my emotions are trivial.”
Cassiel drew straighter, his expression twisting more into bewilderment. “I will draw you a ba—”
I slammed the door in his face. I kept hold of the door handle and was able to feel as it was wiggled. “For Saints’ sake, leave me be.”
After a beat, steps retreated.
Silence.
If only I had the key to lock it. Silly notion, since that would do nothing to stop him if he truly wanted to enter.
Exhaling, I released the door and backed up, scrubbing my fingers through my plaited hair.
Tendrils had escaped throughout the ride.
My jerking movements thudded the grimoire against my hip, but I would keep it close.
Hester had died for this, and I would be damned to Perdition if I risked leaving it behind.
My pulse continued to pound in my ears. I used the rush of anger to pull all the sheets covering the furnishings.
I exposed a bed with folded fur blankets tucked at the end. It sat upon a wooden frame holding it up from the ground. The next sheet I yanked off exposed a small vanity stained an oak-brown shade. Carved wood surrounded the mirror in intricate, swooping designs.
I bunched the sheet and tossed it over the other where I collected a pile beside the door. Next, I uncovered a wardrobe beside the door.
The shape beneath the last sheet told me it was a chaise. The angry energy keeping me moving seeped out of me in a rush. I slumped at the end of the bed.
Slowly, I leaned into my side, curling my knees to my chest as I stared at the door. Tears no longer came from my eyes, but the sensation in my chest was a pressure so intense I could drown under it.
And Cassiel did not make anything easier. I had never accounted for a bondmate, and the matter was not simple for us.
He had taken the bond meant for my wraithling. That was the only reason I felt him. If the wraithling bond was not present, what would have been the difference? Even now, his absence gnawed at my mind.
I rubbed the spot devoid of Cassiel.
Madness was what it was. I was bound to the man that had harmed me in many ways, and now I was reliant on him, not only for my life, but urges.
The flush of heat coursing throughout my body had only been soothed when he touched me. I hungered for him with an intensity that frightened me.
If not for the wraithling bond twisting to attach to him, the matter would have been different. I would have been able to escape him.
Even more sickening than that reality was this inexplicable urge to please him.
I wanted to see him smile. To erase the confusion furrowing his brow.
And that came from me. He had been so incredibly cold to his mother’s death.
So incredibly stiff about anything that required emotion.
It was almost as if he could not reach that part of himself. A sliver of pity invaded my chest.
I huffed, kicking my legs out.
Still, the thought churned like an infection.
As dawnlight turned to dusklight, I could no longer remain still. There were but a few moments before nightfall.
Where had Cassiel gone?
Exhaling in a gust, I let my arms flop to my sides. He had not returned, and that was odd in itself.
I was rather harsh.
I rubbed the spot on my chest. Worry crept forth.
The man had lost his mother after all.
Despite my utter distaste for her, there was no doubt in my mind that she loved him in her twisted way.
Not unlike the twisted manner her son showed his care.
Curiosity succeeded in making me roll off the bed. The satchel flopped against me. I strode to the window facing the front of the estate. Cassiel strode through the thick straw. It swayed as he pushed through, consuming his wide form.
Where is he going?
I turned and went to the wardrobe, finding many pairs of slippers.
Even nice, fancy ones with jewels lining them.
But most important was the thicker platform that would be better protection against pebbles.
I put on the most simple ones and left the chamber.
Crossing the rug-covered floor down to the wooden staircase, I descended.
It opened to the sitting area which opened to the front entrance.
Cassiel must have left the door ajar. I exited, following the path that he had taken.
My steps lightly crunched over pebbles until I reached the edge of the towering straw.
Cassiel’s path had cut a swath through it until I reached a flattened area a few more steps deeper.
Loud sounds of hissing echoed, masking the sounds of my steps crunching across the path.
It opened near a garden area. Stone paved the path until it widened to a spot where a bench sat beside a small pond.
A few paces from the water was Cassiel huddled over a mountain lion, pinning it to the ground as he fed.
I went cold.
Cassiel whipped his head up. The animal’s red blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
Shock rose and drowned the rousing pity he’d spawned. Before me—with inhuman eyes and a snarl on his mouth—was a creature feasting on prey.