Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Sardonyx
From the corner of my eye, I see Graylen stagger to his feet—though much slower than I did.
My head snaps down to where Adrian still sits on the ground, frozen.
“You told me this would take us directly to Runnswick—to just outside of the castle.” Venom drips from my words.
Adrian pales, and he at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “That’s what my uncle told me,” he stammers out, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s not like I’ve done this before.”
I spin away from him—trying to remember that punching him in the face won’t help the situation.
“Are we even in Crea?” I hiss through my teeth.
Adrian looks around, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t considered that.
“Lu.” Graylen’s words cut into my mind, drawing my attention immediately to him. “Do you feel that?”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but the look in his eyes silences me. There’s a darkness pressing against my skin that wasn’t there before—similar to how it felt to fly beside the Zenovia Mountains.
It’s revolting. Vile.
A constant state of decay that clings to the air.
It sends a shiver rolling through my body, followed by an itchiness coating my skin.
My gaze locks with Graylen’s, and I dip my chin, letting him know that I feel it, too—the wrongness of Crea compared to the clarity of Penyth.
“I never felt this when I was here before,” I send into his mind.
His eyes harden. “You were already used to the aconite being in your system; now there’s nothing to dampen your fae side from feeling the dark magic woven into this side of the mountains.”
“You felt this the entire time you were here?” I jolt, nausea already stirring in my gut from the stench that rises from the ground.
Graylen nods. “I wish I could say you get used to it, but…”
Well, this is just lovely.
“We’re in Crea,” Graylen says aloud, his voice scratchy but firm.
Adrian looks between us, clearly noticing there’s something we know that he doesn’t, but he doesn’t press.
We trudge through the forest, straining my fae hearing to find any signs of villages or people. Every few minutes, my gaze drifts to Graylen, keeping an eye on him.
A couple of times, he notices me staring and promises he’s fine. But I know that thick-headed Aegis is lying through his teeth. He certainly is not fine, and if we’re nowhere near the castle, then we’re finding the closest inn to stay at.
Thankfully, it isn’t long before Graylen stops, holding a hand up. At almost the exact same moment, I hear what he hears.
Horses nickering, wooden doors open and closing, bubbling laughter mixed with drunken shouts. Not just the sound of a cottage or two, but the sound of a village.
“This way,” I say, my feet carrying me faster through the dense forest until glowing flickers of light begin to appear through the trees in front of us.
The three of us take the town in, Adrian shuffling to a halt.
“King’s Border,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
Graylen and I both spin toward him.
“Please don’t tell me you just said we’re in King’s Border,” I say slowly.
Adrian swallows, the gulp audible. “Then it looks like I won’t be telling you anything.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my nostrils flaring as I hiss, “Is this just a game to you?”
He shakes his head, rapidly blinking like he can’t believe what he said either. Because if he’s right and we’re at King’s Border…
We may be in Crea, but we’re a long way from getting to the castle.
This town is the furthest possible point from the castle. Not only are we looking at weeks of travel to get there, but now we have to make do with what provisions we have.
Which is not nearly enough to get us all the way to the castle.
I stomp away from Adrian and Graylen, finding someone to confirm what Adrian said. He would know far more about Crea than I, seeing as I never ventured far from Runnswick or the king’s camp, but I still want to hear someone else say it.
I jog up to a slender woman carrying a basket of corn.
Breathless, I ask, “Excuse me, can you tell me what town this is?”
She gives me an odd look and adjusts the basket on her hip. “King’s Border,” she answers, a lilt in her accent. “Town center is to the left there. Loads of businesses will be closing up for the night soon if you’re looking for a meal.”
I give her a tight smile. As she walks away, my hope goes with her. When I turn around, I find Graylen and Adrian watching me, both mirroring my expression of disappointment.
“Looks like we’re staying here for the night,” Adrian mumbles. “Better find a place to eat, wash up, and sleep in.”
Unease slides into my stomach as I take in the town around me.
Crea is just as I remember it: muddy, brisk, and dark. There’s a handful of people milling about, all headed toward the town center.
A little girl runs past me, her feet bare and sodden with dirt. It’s far too cold for her to go without shoes, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her too-big dress is frayed and muddy around the hem. She doesn’t look to be older than six or seven, her ringleted hair bouncing as she hurries along alone.
My stomach dips as I watch her run up to a well-dressed young couple, her hands outstretched as she asks for food. Not coin; food.
I’ve always hated Crea—more so when I found Penyth—but this… It reminds me how lost the people are here, how desperate they are for stability and safety.
I glance at Adrian, watching how he observes the little girl. This is his kingdom—his people. I don’t think he’s ever seen them in this way, especially when his father kept the castle stocked with decadent foods, wines, and decor.
Crea may stand for everything I despise in this Divine-forsaken realm, but it’s still hard to witness their struggle. I know their struggle—I partially lived it myself in the king’s camp, saw beggars in the market and the mob that formed at the king’s funeral.
Graylen is talking to a man packing up crates of produce after a day of selling.
The man’s hair is grayed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he flashes an easy smile.
He hikes his thumb over his shoulder. Graylen’s gaze follows the gesture; he tips his head to the man and walks back over to us, but as the man bends down to pick up a crate of goods, I can’t seem to look away.
It reminds me of a produce seller I once knew—of a man around his age that would spend endless blazing summer days and brisk winter evenings in the Runnswick Market.
The seller reminds me of Linnick.
My heart thumps painfully, tapping against my ribcage in a steady rhythm. Linnick would’ve loved this adventure—no matter how many bumps we’ve hit along the way. Traveling to Penyth and then back to Crea… My throat tightens.
“There’s a smaller inn a ways down,” Graylen says, pulling my attention away from the man. His gaze lingers on me, and I can see the question swirling within it. “There’s a more popular place in the center of town, but it’s probably best if we lay low for now.”
I break eye contact, nodding my head because I don’t trust my voice right now. Fingers graze against mine, sending a jolt through my arm, the sensation of his skin waking every nerve in my body.
“Laying low would be for the best,” I agree aloud.
Adrian makes a strangled noise, and my teeth clench together. “Lay low?” he huffs. “If I tell them who I am, we could get back quicker—”
“No,” I cut in, my voice firm. “We’re nowhere near the castle and have no idea who here supports the crown or who’s against it.”
Adrian’s eyes widen, but—to my surprise—he doesn’t argue with me. He gives me a brisk nod and starts in the direction of the inn, his head lowered.
“He has a lot to learn about his own kingdom,” I mutter to Graylen.
Graylen’s gaze slides to mine, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he nods silently. A twinge pulls at my chest when he doesn’t reply with a quick remark.
“Come on.” I tilt my head to Adrian and tug on Graylen’s hand.
King’s Border isn’t anything like I’d imagine it to be. I always had this notion that the other towns in Crea were so much more than Runnswick. The travelers who arrived on ships always came off with exciting stories and complaints about how cramped Runnswick was.
Every time I’d play pretend of traveling throughout the kingdom, I pictured beautiful towns with adventure around every corner. Little did I know I would get that, just not in Crea.
This town is simple, quiet. It’s far different from the bustling hub of Runnswick. The cottages here are fenced in and spread out down small dirt paths that branch off from the main road.
We pass people leading donkeys down the narrow paths, while some ride horses and others stroll on foot, periodically stopping to talk to others. There are a handful of travelers like us, easily set apart. The people who live here seem to all know each other.
Graylen motions for us to stop, tipping his head toward a wooden building to our right.
Just as the seller said, the inn is quaint. From the outside, it has closed shutters to stop people from looking in and a small sign on the door that reads: Rooms available.
My hands smooth down my vest, trying to straighten it before we go inside. But my palm runs over a lump where the inside pocket rests—almost like a small rock. My stomach twists as I frantically open it, shoving my hand into the small slit.
My hand shakes as my fingers wrap around the familiar cloth. I pull it out.
Graylen takes two large strides over to me until his chest nearly brushes against mine. “Little princess,” he warns.
I ignore him and carefully unwrap the parcel. My heart pounds in my chest, all sound falling away when my eyes land on what’s inside.
The shard. The very one I traded so Daimon would let us go.
But it isn’t just the shard. A message is written on the inside of the cloth: Find the dagger or lose your magic.
My blood runs cold, rushing in my ears with a deafening roar. I know there’s truth to it. I’ve felt my magic lessening since the moment I opened myself up to the shard. But why tell me? Is it from Daimon or did someone else find a way to get it to me?
I angle it toward Graylen, showing him what’s inside.
“Lose your magic?” he asks in my mind.
My lips press together as I quickly reply, “All magic has a price.”
“And you used it to get us in and out of the Vale,” he summarizes.
I nod, dread sitting heavily in my stomach.
Graylen swears, and I quickly cover the shard back up.
“Uh, everything okay?” Adrian asks warily.
The sound of my blood rushing fills my ears, quieting the world around me. I clear my throat and stuff the cloth packet back into my vest. Graylen’s eyes are on me, but I spin to Adrian and say, “Everything’s fine. Let’s go.”
I start toward the inn, trying to ignore that the shard of Nightfall somehow ended up back in my possession. How the one thing Daimon was willing to bargain for made it back to me.
I’m left wondering if this was the shard’s doing…or Daimon’s. And if it was Daimon’s, then why? What’s his plan here? It’s almost as if he wants me to find Nightfall—and not only that, but to reunite the missing shard with it.
If the warning is true and it’s the only way to stop my magic from being taken…then we have to find it. Fast.