Chapter 3
THREE
Eirabella
After a few hours of drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, I finally manage to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time. We’re deep in the woods now, the branches overhead forming a canopy so thick that only the faintest slivers of dusk peek through. It’s not quite night, but the shadows are long and deep, casting everything in shades of grey.
I shift slightly, pushing back on the saddle, wincing as the movement sends a dull ache through my limbs. Sir Scary huffs at my movement, seemingly still grumpy, and still behind me. His presence is a constant weight pressing down on me even though we’re barely directly touching. I don’t need to look back to know he’s watching everything, every twitch of my muscles, every flicker of my gaze, waiting for my next attempt to escape. I feel his eyes on me like a fine mist over my skin.
“So,” I begin, testing my voice. It’s still rough but a little steadier than before. “Are you planning to tell me where we’re headed, or am I to remain in the dark until we arrive?”
“Somewhere safe,” he replies, his tone flat as ever.
Of course. How could I forget? He’s whisking me off to the magical land of Safe, where everyone and everything is fine and nothing ever goes awry.
“Safe,” I repeat, doing my best to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, something telling me he probably doesn’t find me as amusing as I do myself. “But might you be more specific? Are we speaking of a secluded cottage where I’ll be befriended by baby deer and bunny rabbits? Or ‘safe’ as in a fortress where you plan to lock me away forever, so isolated that not even insects could find me?”
No response. Not even a grunt. It’s like talking to a mute, stoic tree stump. One I’d dearly like to kick in the shins right now. Do tree stumps have shins? They’re kind of like one big shin as it is.
Focus, Eirabella. Maybe consider the human anatomical equivalent of trees when you’re not being held captive by the realm’s most monosyllabic guard.
I sigh, glancing around at the forest, searching for any signs of civilization. But all I see are more trees, more shadows, and the endless stretch of underbrush. There’s no path, no landmarks, nothing that gives me a clue as to where we might be. It’s like we’re riding through the middle of nowhere, with no destination in sight. If you don’t count Safeville, that is. Which… I’m not, just yet.
“Perhaps another question, then,” I say, shifting in the saddle to find a more comfortable position, as my eyes continue to dart around as surreptitiously as I can allow. “What shall I call you? Surely, you have a name?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, his voice devoid of any emotion .
“Does to me. I want to know who I’m cursin— I mean, praying for tonight. But if you’re not feeling generous, I shall dub thee Lord Grumpypants,” I declare with a flourish, turning in the saddle to look at his face.
Only the tiniest twitch in his jaw alters his masked expression as he flicks his eyes to me. “Fine.”
“Excellent. Now that we have that settled, my name is Eirabella.”
“I know.”
I frown as I face the front again. Well, I certainly don’t like that. I mean, I’m not altogether surprised; you would hope if you were going to kidnap someone you’d know their name, but I still don’t like it. “How do you know?”
“Just do.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s actually physically incapable of speaking more than two-word sentences. “Did you anger a witch and have a two-word-maximum spell cast on you?”
Predictably, he doesn’t respond to that one.
“If you don’t want to tell me where you’re taking me, how about you tell me why you’re taking me?” I press, hoping to get something more out of him. “Is it because of something I did? Something I said? My winning personality?”
Nothing.
“Not even a clue? Because I really thought that last one might actually be a valid reason to take me. Must be my unrivalled beauty, then.” I pat my hair, ignoring that it feels like a rats’ nest. “Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. “Be that way. But just so you know, this whole ‘strong, silent type’ thing? It’s not really working for me. And I’d like to leave some feedback for your employer when all this is done about your behaviour. ‘Dear Lord Grumpypants’s employer, I’d like to report that your employee has the personality of a rock and conversational skills as sharp as a dull spoon. Sincerely, Kidnapped and Concerned.’ Please pass it on.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, so long that I start to think he’s not going to respond at all. But then, just when I’m about to give up entirely, I hear the faintest noise—a low, almost imperceptible rumble in the chest behind me.
“I’m sorry, did you just chuckle?”
He stiffens. “No.”
I grin to myself. No, it wasn’t a laugh, but at least I’ve managed to get some kind of reaction. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.
We lapse back into silence, but this time it feels a little less oppressive. I know I’m not going to get any answers from him, not yet anyway. As we continue to ride, I focus on staying awake, on keeping my mind sharp and my senses alert. I know I need to be ready when the time comes. Whenever that is. Because one thing’s for sure—I’m not going down without a fight.
And the one word wonder behind me? He’s going to learn that the hard way.
Hours later, when I feel like my muscles are sloughing off my bones from exhaustion, the horse comes to a stop and the body behind me jumps from the saddle.
“Dismount,” he orders, already helping me slide from the saddle before I can protest, and he sets me like a ragdoll on the ground. My legs wobble beneath me, nearly buckling after hours on horseback, and his hands linger on my waist, steadying me while I gain my balance.
“Um, th-thank you,” I murmur to the broad expanse of chest in front of me that I watch inflate with a deep breath before he releases me. I raise my restrained hands and try to kick his shin as he steps past me. “Free me, please, oh benevolent Lord Grumpypants.”
He glares at me out of the side of his eye as he easily sidesteps my foot. “Are you going to behave?”
“That depends on what you mean by behave.”
“No running.”
I make a big pretence out of considering it, and then I nod. “Too tired. I won’t run. For now. Good enough?”
He sighs but seems to believe me. He grabs the vines wrapped around my wrists and they practically dissolve away in his hands. Neat trick.
“Sit there,” he says, pointing to a log near the centre of the clearing.
I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at his bossy tone. “And if I choose not to sit?”
He doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Then stand.”
“That’s another point you lose for politeness.” I plop down on the log, wrapping my arms around my knees.
A sound behind me has me whipping around, and I see three other King’s Guards I recognize from the village join us, leading their horses. Shit. Have they been there the whole trip? So much for paying attention to my surroundings.
Grumpypants hands the reins of his horse to one of them, who leads all four horses into the bush, presumably for some water. The two others dump their packs next to the log I’m sitting on, swinging crossbows over their shoulders, and disappear almost soundlessly among the trees .
“Personal guards?” I say once it’s just silence around us again. “Worried I might hurt you?”
Grumpy folds his arms and leans against a tree a few feet from me, hooking one foot over the other. It’s the most relaxed he’s looked since I first saw him at the town square. “Should they be?”
“Judging by my experience with you, I wouldn’t be surprised if this entire forest was filled with women waiting to ambush you with weapons.” I wrap my arms around myself, trying to block out the darkness rather than the chill that night brings.
“Cold?” he asks, ignoring my comment. “We’ll get a fire going in a moment.”
I offer a wry smile. “No, I don’t get cold,” I answer honestly. He doesn’t react, his expression as impassive as ever, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s physically capable of anything other than a scowl. It’s unsettling, the way he watches, like he’s waiting for something.
I can’t resist poking at him a little more, just to see if he’ll crack. “So, do you make a habit of abducting women, or is it simply my lucky day?”
He raises an eyebrow. Finally. The closest thing to an expression I’ve seen on him. “You’re… unique.”
I snort, half surprised at getting a response, half surprised at the response itself. “Compliments will get you nowhere, you know.”
“That’s what rope and horses are for,” he shoots back.
“Well, if you’re trying to win me over with your charm, let me tell you, you’re failing spectacularly.”
He doesn’t continue the conversation. I guess three full sentences tired him out.
Pretending to pick at the bark of the log I’m sitting on, I glance around the clearing for any potential escape routes .
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice so deep it vibrates through me.
I feign innocence. “Think about what?”
“Fleeing,” he replies, still leaning against the tree. “You wouldn’t make it far.”
“Oh, please,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m as swift as the wind. You’d never catch me.”
“Is that a challenge?” He sounds almost amused now. Almost.
“No, sir. Not me,” I say, lifting my chin. “But since you asked so nicely, using whole sentences and all, I’ve decided to stay and keep you company while your little friends are gone. They’re probably discussing how they can leave you behind. They never liked you anyway.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps watching me with those unfathomably dark eyes for a few more seconds before he pushes off the tree and begins gathering firewood from the nearby fallen branches. The silence between us feels like a test, and I can’t decide whether I’m more annoyed or intrigued by it. I decide to challenge myself and stay silent. All my unanswered questions subside as I ponder the only one that matters—am I going to get out of this alive?
An hour later, the air fills with the smell of roasting rabbit and campfire, my mouth watering at the aroma.
Once it’s cooked, the rabbit gets portioned out, and Grumpy wanders over and hands me a serving. Steam wafts off the stick holding the rabbit meat, stark white against the chilled night air. For a moment, I consider refusing the food. It seems like something someone who’s been kidnapped should do, right? Put up some sort of fight? Perhaps if I’m delivered malnourished to wherever I’m going, that will get them in trouble. The thought does fill me with satisfaction. But not as much as that rabbit meat would.
He sighs and thrusts the stick toward me. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”
Before I can reply, my stomach growls loudly, betraying me. I can’t remember the last time I had a full meal—days, at least. Lentil stew in Janus’s kitchen, whenever that was. The thought of him makes my heart squeeze. Has he even noticed I’m gone? Was anyone there when I was taken? Why is my brain still feeling so foggy? The last thing I remember is standing in the market, talking to Bonnie about the guards, and then… nothing. What happened after?
“If you don’t eat it, I’ll give it to one of the other men, and it will be gone in seconds, so this is your last chance,” he threatens, then bites back a look of amusement when I snarl and reach out to snatch the rabbit meat stick from him.
“What do I need strength for anyway?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “More scintillating one-sided conversations?”
“Didn’t realise we’d had any,” he replies, and there’s the slightest cocking of one eyebrow.
With a glare, I tear a small piece of meat off the bone, my hands trembling slightly as I bite into it. Holy gods. It’s delicious. Within seconds, I’ve torn the rabbit off the stick and cast the stick aside, holding the meat with two hands, ripping into it with my teeth.
Mouth full, I glance up to see he’s still standing there watching me. I gift him an eye roll and mumble, “Thank you, Lord Grumpypants, for not leaving me to starve to death.”
He lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth and coughs as he turns back to the fire, picking up his own food.
As the food fills my too-long empty stomach, my mind drifts off as I lose myself in the fire. It’s so beautiful. Perfectly yellow-tipped flame peaks against the dark night sky .
Poetic.
Suddenly, something tugs at the edges of my mind.
Fire.
Leaning forward, I lose myself in it, relaxing my thoughts, trying to figure out why the campfire is reminding me of something.
The smell, the flicker of the flames… the sounds of the crackling of the wood…
So, so… familiar.
What is i— Oh my gods.
Flames.
It’s the flames!!
I jump to my feet, stepping so close into the campfire I’m almost engulfed in it as I stare into the kaleidoscope of oranges and reds, twisting and curling, reaching up for the air, and suddenly, like someone has grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked… I feel like I’m transported back to the village.
I think I hear someone call my name, but I ignore it as I take one more step closer to the flames.
Morath’s hell..
The market is burning, screams echoing in my ears.
My stomach churns, and the food in my mouth turns to ash as the memory hits me like a blow.
The fire. The market. The chaos.
The screaming. My gods, the screaming.
Janus. And little Kahlia, her little body limp in Janus’s arms.
Fire. Searing hot. Burning everything. Everywhere.
And then— ice.
Frost and then icicles forming in a thick dome, inches thick, protecting them.
The food drops from my hands as my heart skips gods know how many beats .
That ice. That ice shield, where had it come from?
In my mind’s eye, I stare up at it, and then down at the tingling fingers spread out in front of me.
It had come from me. Me. From my hands.
I had created it out of nothing. How? How could I have done that?
“Eirabella!” my captor yells, his voice sounding like a million miles away. I vaguely feel him grabbing my arm and pulling me back from the campfire, stomping out the embers licking at my feet.
The flames of the campfire seem to grow toward me, mocking me with their dance. My breathing quickens, and I feel a cold sweat break out on my skin. I don’t understand. The panic rises in my throat, choking me as I whip around to face the four men watching me intently.
“What… what happened?” My voice is shaky, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Did I… did I do that? At the village. Was that real? The ice—” I clutch my head, the memories crashing over me like a wave I can’t escape.
He straightens, his hand still tight and hot on my arm, his expression no longer impassive. There’s something fierce in his gaze, an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head so hard, I’m almost afraid the memory will fall right out of my mind again. Or maybe that’s what I’m hoping it will do. “No! I mean, I’m remembering now, but… how? How did I… do… that? It can’t be true.” The reality of what I did hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. “I didn’t know I could do that. I haven’t had any magic for years.”
His eyes narrow, disbelief colouring his tone, but curiosity, sharp and undeniable. “Say that again?”
“I said I’ve been magicless for a decade! I can’t have done that!”
He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “You’re telling me you conjured that ice shield without knowing how?”
“Yes!” I shout, the panic rising with every breath. “I didn’t… I don’t know how! I haven’t had magic since I was a child.”
He takes a step closer, his gaze scrutinising, as if trying to unravel me with his eyes alone. “What’s your Strength?”
“My Strength?” I repeat, incredulous. “Are you listening? I just told you, I don’t have any magic! No magic, that means no specialty magic! I haven’t had any since the fever nearly killed me as a child. The healers said I lost it all.”
His eyes narrow further, studying me with an intensity that borders on interrogation. He’s not just curious—he’s calculating, almost as if he’s weighing each of my words. His hands loosen but don’t let go completely. “So you’ve been without magic for years, and it’s only just returned now? Are you certain?”
“I think I would know if I could conjure giant ice sculptures out of thin air!” I snap, my fear tinged with anger. “Why do you keep asking that?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze locked onto mine with an unnerving focus. The firelight casts shadows across his masked face, making him look even more unreadable. “Because if what you say is true, it’s highly unusual. Magic doesn’t simply vanish and then return without cause.”
“I’m just as confused as you are. I don’t know how or why it happened.” I look down at my arm, at his hand still gripping me.
He blinks and follows the line of my sight, then his hand splays open, as if he hadn’t realised he was still touching me. Then, as though he is the only reason I’m still standing, my knees buckle, and before I can catch myself, I’m sinking back down onto the log .
The images of my fellow villagers fill my vision again, their faces stark with fear.
Huddled under that ice shield. My ice shield.
And suddenly, for the first time in my whole life, a deep, resounding cold travels through my body. “What happened to my friends?”
He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I… don’t know. I, er, I stopped you from falling when you passed out. Burned out, I assume, from using too much magic. And that’s when I…”
“Kidnapped me?” I say, without an ounce of irony. “But why?”
“It wasn’t… safe for you there.”
It makes no sense. Why save me and not everyone else? What isn’t he telling me? “You have to take me back,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I need… I need to know they’re okay. They’re my friends. You have to take me back.” I look past the fire to meet the eyes of the other guards. But nobody says anything. “Please,” I softly beg for the first time since I woke up on a strange horse with a strange man.
The words barely register when he says no. “I can’t,” he says quietly, the finality of it tearing through me. “No.”
My whole body tenses as sudden anger boils to the surface. He won’t take me back. Not can’t . My village, my friends—left behind in a cloud of smoke, fire… ice, and he won’t even let me see if they’re still alive?
Janus… Kahlia… BonBon, my mind races back to the market, to their faces. Do they think I abandoned them? My stomach twists, bile rising. What if they’re… dead? The thought slashes at me like a knife, and something inside me snaps.
“Take me back right now!” I scream, my voice shrill and cracking under the weight of it all. I leap from the log and launch myself at him. “They’re waiting for me!” I shove him, fists pounding his chest. “You have to take me back!” The desperation rises with each word, my voice trembling with anger and pain. He stands there, unmoving, and something in his silence breaks me further. “What kind of monster are you?” I shout, my throat raw. “They need me!” My hands are shaking, balled into fists, and I swing at him, the frustration exploding into every hit. “You fucking heartless bastard!”
He doesn’t react, not even when my fists, my palms, my fingernails land on him, hard. On his chest. His face. His sides. Not when his lip splits, blood trickling down his chin. Not when I reach for a burning branch from the fire and wave it toward him. Through my blurry vision, I see the guards move, their hands out to pull me away, but his voice is a low growl. “Any one of you take another fucking step towards her, and I’ll cut your heart right out of you.”
They back off, confused but wary.
He just continues to watch me, his eyes dark and steady, as if he knows this is the only way I can let it out. I swing the burning branch at him, but he easily blocks it, careful to only touch the branch and not me, knocking it out of my hands and kicking it back to the fire.
I just return to striking him with my body, needing to cause him the pain he’s caused me.
But the more I hit, the worse it gets. Each strike only deepens the ache in my chest. I want to stop, but I can’t. The anger has taken over, coursing through me like wildfire. “I said take me back!” I shout until there’s no air left in my lungs, until the sheer act of shouting hurts more than the ache inside. And yet, I still keep yelling.
“I hate you!” I scream, hitting him again. My hands are bruising, but I don’t care. “I hate you for taking me! For not caring!” The words pour out of me uncontrollably, until my strength finally fades. My punches grow weaker, my legs wobbling. My arms feel like lead, and my sobs tear out of me, ragged and choking. “Please…” My voice cracks as I crumble against him, my body collapsing under the weight of the grief. “Please… They need me. You don’t understand… and I need them.”
Finally, when I’m inches from collapsing, his arms close around me, holding me up as I sink, my legs losing form. The anger drains from me, leaving nothing but exhaustion. My head falls against his chest, and I let out a broken sob. The world feels too heavy. I can’t breathe under the weight of it. My whole body trembles, but he holds me steady, like an anchor.
I don’t know how long I cry. But eventually, the sobs fade into silence. My fists drop, heavy and useless, and I’m left leaning against him, spent.
Without a word, keeping one hand around my waist, he lays out a bedroll, smoothing it with careful precision. “Lie down,” he instructs, his voice softer now, though still edged with command. “You need to rest. We have a long journey ahead.” His expression is still guarded, but there’s something almost… gentle in his movements as he gestures for me to stretch out.
“I hate you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and tired as I curl up in a ball.
He just nods and says, “I know you do.” Turning to go, he then stops and adds, “If you’re going to curse me, you at least deserve my name.” He kneels in front of me, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath. “It’s Rylan. You can call me Rylan.” I watch his hand flex at his side, but then he stands up, taking a step away from me.
I look up at him, my breath shaky and uneven, but the fight is gone. There’s nothing left in me. And then he turns away, leaving me in the heavy silence of my own grief until sleep finally, mercifully, takes me.