4. 2
2
Draven
M y head is pounding like a battalion of trolls went to town on it. I pry my eyes open and squint against the flickering firelight. Wooden rafters swim into view overhead. Where the hell am I? Where are my men? Where is Lord Anthony? We’ve been friends since childhood. He wouldn’t just leave me.
I try sitting up to get my bearings, but my limbs feel like jelly. Seriously, it’s like some sorcerer sapped all the strength from my muscles.
Lying here on a fur rug, I take stock of my surroundings.
Small, rustically furnished room. Herbs hanging to dry along the walls. The comforting crackle of logs burning in the hearth. A quaint little cottage, by the looks of it. Pretty swanky digs compared to the frozen forest floor I last remember. Still no clue how I ended up here, though.
Let’s retrace my steps. I was journeying westward through the mountains on an urgent quest, making for Everdusk. Got ambushed by a freak winter storm along the desolate high pass. Snow came down so thick I couldn’t see two feet in front of me.
I must have been separated from my men in the storm. As much as I hope they are safe, I’m not sure I would be of much help to them at the moment feeling as weak as I do.
The wind cut right through my cloak like shards of ice. I pushed on for gods know how long, each step heavier than the last as the drifts froze my legs. Thought I was tougher than some harmless frozen rain. Pride goeth, and all that.
Finally, my stubbornness gave out along with my weary limbs. Collapsed face first into the snow. Considered just lying there and letting the cold embrace take me. Would’ve been a disappointing end for a noble son of Trettera.
The last thing I recall is the world fading as icy tendrils crept through my veins instead of blood so how in blazes did I end up cozied by a fire in these snug quarters?
I catch movement from the corner of my vision. There’s a woman across the room with her back to me. Slim build, black long braided hair. She’s grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle, oblivious to my awakening.
Well, whaddya know? This woman must’ve rescued my sorry, half-frozen ass and hauled me back here to thaw me out. Seems I’m in her debt. Doesn’t sit right, owing some peasant a boon. If the boys back home heard about this, I’d never live it down.
As I shift to sit up, the wooden floor creaks under my weight. The woman’s head whips around, eyes wide. Whoa…those eyes. Bright emerald, keen as a hawk’s, with a gaze that bores right through your soul.
Those are not the dull, bovine eyes of a simple commoner. Intelligence glimmers in their depths, hinting at knowledge and talents far beyond what her plain garb suggests. The mysteries beheld in those eyes could swallow a man whole.
My body relaxes a smidge as I realize she can’t be the woman I’m looking for. Well, the one I was looking for when I got lost in the snow. A rumor claimed that a powerful vampire who was thought to be dead was hiding in this forest and was, in fact, alive. This can’t be her, though. While I never saw the woman who nearly tore down all of vampire noble society myself—I was too young to be involved at the time—her descriptions don’t match the woman before me.
“I see you’ve awoken at last,” she says, voice sweet as birdsong. “You’ve been asleep for almost three days. I wasn’t certain you would surv—“
Her words catch as my own eyes flash silver. It’s a trick vampires can do when our emotions run strong. Right now, hunger rages within me, so my gaze betrays the predator inside. My fangs itch to extend, to sample the lifeblood that flows so near…
Whoa there, down boy. Reel it in. Mustn’t lose control and repay my rescuer’s kindness by turning her into dinner, but gods above, her aroma is maddening. Like a fine vintage wine calling to me, whispering promises of succulent nourishment if I just embrace my true nature.
Get ahold of yourself, man. You’re Draven Valisar, esteemed prince of Trettera. Not some rabid fledgling who bites anything with a pulse. Have some class .
With immense effort, I suppress my baser urges. My eyes resume their normal icy gray, and my ivory fangs relax.
The woman’s guarded expression softens. She’s reassured I don’t mean imminent harm. Little does she know how narrowly she just avoided becoming a late-night snack.
“Pardon my distressing reaction,” I rasp out. My throat burns, parched as the desert realms far south from here. “It has been some time since sustenance of any kind has passed my lips.”
She nods in understanding and wordlessly brings me a steaming cup. I don’t ask what’s in it, just guzzle the contents down, too desperate to soothe this wretched thirst. Rich, velvety warmth slides down my throat, chasing the rawness away. Strangely, I feel my depleted reserves replenish just a bit, despite the drink not being blood.
As my more civilized bearing returns, I take a moment just to look at this woman who plucked me from death’s maw. Fair of form and delicate in her features, yet she possesses an undeniable strength. She’s clad in a simple woolen dress of forest green, adorned with embroidered vines and blossoms along the bodice and sleeves. A homespun apron protects her front, stained with hints of dried herbs and earth. Her feet are laced into leather boots lined with fur, little tufts peeking out the top, sensible for trudging through drifts. A knitted shawl of undyed wool, which she might have spun herself, wraps around her shoulders, its fringed edges swaying as she moves about.
At first glance, one might see a rural herbalist or cottage tender humble in appearance, but something stirs in me. She exudes confidence, and my instincts scream there is something more beyond her pastoral facade.
“What cruel twist of fate dropped me at your cottage door?” I ask, intrigued. “The gods surely steered me along an unusual path to have our lives intersect.”
She tenses at my probing, avoiding my gaze as she busies herself stacking firewood. “Merely chance. I only did as conscience demanded in sheltering a fellow soul battered by winter’s fury.”
Her careful words spark my curiosity further, ringing both true and false, and I can’t figure out why. She’s being evasive about herself and her reasons for aiding me. Something about her intrigues me to no end .
“Well then, you have my deepest gratitude for heeding conscience’s call, mysterious hermit lady,” I say with an exaggerated bow from my seat near the hearth. That gets a flicker of a smile from her somber lips. “May I know the name of the fair soul who plucked me from icy oblivion?”
She pauses, wary again. I half expect another deflecting response, but finally, she answers, “Thorn. Just Thorn will suffice.”
“Well met, Lady Thorn.” I dip my head respectfully, hoping to earn more of her trust.
“Do not call me lady. Don’t go giving me titles that I want no part of.”
Interesting.
We regard each other in contemplative silence, two strangers brought together by improbable circumstances. She saved my life when she could’ve left me to perish. This doesn’t make sense. While I’m appreciative to not be a frozen husk left in the snow, this part of Treterra isn’t supposed to be inhabited. The forest is known to be wild and dangerous. Unless… surely our crossing paths is not mere happenstance.
The wind continues its relentless howling outside, rattling the shutters of the humble cottage. After hearing it deal me such merciless punishment on my journey, I find its haunted cries almost mocking as I rest safely by the fire.
“One more day of rest and nourishment will restore you well enough for the journey home. Besides, until the storm lets up, you wouldn’t make it more than a few feet before becoming lost and returning to the same state I found you in,” Thorn says as she brings me another cup of the revitalizing tea. Her tone brokers no argument.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Your concern for my constitution is duly noted, my lady.”
She arches one brow skeptically. “I told you not to call me lady, and is that pride or stupidity speaking?”
I gasp in mock affront. “You wound me! I thought my constitution the very picture of health? You don’t even know my name, and yet you feel comfortable enough to insult me so.”
“The picture of stubbornness refusing to acknowledge his limits, more like.” Her eyes glint.
I put a hand to my heart. “I know when I am beaten. Very well, divine healer. I shall submit to one more day of your restorative care or whenever the gods will ease their stormy anger outside. ”
She gives a solemn nod. “A wise choice.” The corner of her mouth quirks in a hint of a smile. “So, what should I call you?”
A laugh escapes me. You’re curious, aren’t you? “Draven. The name’s Draven.”
We share a look of amusement at our huffy formalities disguising mutual understanding. Thorn’s company provides a comfort and challenge I have not known before. Our banter comes easy as breathing, our true thoughts spoken in the spaces between sarcasm.
I must learn her secrets, and I’m not leaving this cottage until I do.
She putters around the cottage, sneaking glances at me when she thinks I don’t notice. Yes, I see you, Green Eyes. Who are you trying to kid with that timid deer act?
Don’t get me wrong, the skittish thing is kind of cute, but I know there’s more to Thorn than her humble peasant garb suggests. Beneath those wide emerald eyes glimmers sharp intelligence. How do I get past her prickly exterior to uncover whatever secrets she’s hiding? I’m not necessarily curious. I just don’t like not knowing things, which is totally different, right?
I give her my most disarming grin. “So… I don’t think I caught where exactly we are?”
She tenses over the herbs she’s grinding, like she wants to make a run for it. “Remote areas. Doubt you would know this region.”
I chuckle. “Oh, I’m a man of many talents, sweetheart. Try me.”
Her eyes narrow at the casual endearment. That’s right. Take the bait. Let’s see some of that fiery spirit I caught a glimpse of earlier.
“The Sylvain Forest,” she replies after a pause. “South of the mountains.”
Well, what do you know? The little witch is right. This neck of the woods is remote, mostly uncharted except by creatures and not of the human variety. What’s a woman like her doing in the big bad forest all by her lonesome?
I study Thorn as she goes back to grinding herbs. Wisps of black hair escape her braid, framing delicate features set in concentration. She’s kinda cute when she’s focused. You know, in an unaware, woodland creature type of way. Doesn’t hold a candle to the court ladies I’m used to back home, though something about her still draws me in.
I give my head a shake. I need to focus. Time to turn on that old Valisar charm and get what I want.
“Well then, my mysterious forest nymph, might I know the name of the lovely woman who rescued this lowly traveler?” I flash a smile guaranteed to slay.
She bristles, shoulders tensing. Ooh, struck a nerve there.
That prim mouth of hers presses into a firm line. “I told you Thorn will do.”
I clutch my heart dramatically. “You wound me! After all we’ve shared? Come now, humor a man whose life you saved.”
Her eyes flash green fire. There it is, that latent spark just under the surface. My grin widens. Looks like I’m getting somewhere with you after all, sweet cheeks. What else ya got?
“Just. Thorn.” Each word clips out sharply. “And I don’t appreciate your endless questions or foolish flattery, so leave off.”
She turns away, effectively shutting me down. For now, anyway. I don’t deter that easily. Everything about this woman rubs me the wrong way somehow… which makes me even more determined to unravel her.
Game on, Thorny. I’m just getting started with you.