CHAPTER TWELVE
Numbness washed through me as I approached the mouth of the cave, stumbling past the female witch.
She watched me carefully, too carefully, giving me the uncanny impression that she could still see me, the real me.
The girl beneath Olivay’s face. And so could the Hermit.
Or, Lord Brandon, as I now had to refer to him.
My new confidant who’d be endlessly at my side, reminding me of people’s names and Spartvan customs.
But mostly, I knew he planned to be there for my aunt’s sake, making sure I fulfilled my oath.
The female witch’s eyes roamed slowly over my body, or Olivay’s, I supposed.
A shiver ran down my spine, and for a second, I could remember flying, red scales covering talons and wings.
Fire burning inside me as my body took on a form that I’d only managed once, a form I still feared to this day.
I stumbled back, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me from the memory alone.
I wasn’t changing–not again. Not becoming that thing.
The Azete was at rest, curled up inside of me for the time being, still drunk on Olivay.
And yet I was experiencing the sort of vision that was only brought about by a deep connection with the beast inside.
It didn’t make any sense. There was nothing there.
Nothing to grasp onto. Not from the witch—she was too old, or perhaps not truly mortal.
And yet the strange sensation remained.
She nodded, the gesture offering a kind of finality, but there was a sparkle in her eyes as she bid farewell to the Hermit and vanished into the cave.
The sound of her shell dress pinged quietly as we made our way outside, back into the bright light of the afternoon, and the noise of robins tweeting back and forth as if my life hadn’t just been shattered again.
The Hermit was no Azete. I couldn’t explain the transformation he’d undergone.
But little more than buttoning up his shirt, donning a sword, and fixing his hair had shifted him completely into Lord Brandon.
And it was Lord Brandon who led me through the clearing, away from the woods where my mother had died. Where part of me had, too.
“You need to walk like her,” he snapped.
“What, now? Here in the woods?”
“You need to practice,” he said.
“And how am I to do that? There was no description of her gait in my study guides.”
“I know it.” He threw his head over his shoulder, and again, his entire demeanor shifted.
His snobbish, cocky smile vanished and was replaced by a shy, coy one—Olivay’s.
I mimicked it automatically. He nodded in approval.
Then he pushed his shoulders back and began to walk.
No swagger. No masculinity, just the sweet, inconspicuous stride of a princess.
I began to walk forward.
“No. No. No!” he shouted. “You’ve worked in the tavern too long. Your hips move too much.” He started to walk, swishing his hips side to side, mimicking me. Then he repeated his princess walk again. “See? Olivay’s don’t. They are still and docile.”
I tried again, nearly grunting with the effort to keep my hips from swishing, from engaging in the walk I’d used for as long as I could remember, sometimes earning an offer from my gait alone.
The Hermit licked his lips, his eyes full of concentration, then he nodded. “Good. You keep that walk up.”
I groaned. But he was right. And so I moved, my hips still, through the forest, my calves burning from exertion, and my stomach tensed.
But thankfully, I got the hang of her walk, and we had made our way to our destination.
Waiting beneath the canopy of trees we’d been approaching, stood our moonstag.
I hadn’t been this close to one in years–not since Jaron.
He used to ride his personal stag to the tavern.
And I’d sometimes pet him when I saw Jaron out after a night of lovemaking.
His name was Barron, and he’d always taken a liking to me.
Since then, the only moonstags I’d seen had been in the sky flying over Eskalon.
Up there they looked so small. I’d forgotten that up close they were nearly three times the size of a full-grown deer.
Tawny fur covered its body, and its curled wings jutted out from its back.
They were made up of thousands of feathers in every shade of brown, the tips peppered with white and gray.
Its bright eyes watched us carefully before gracefully turning its head to the side, revealing the early regrowth of antlers.
The stag immediately stuck its head out toward me, wanting me to pet it.
I obliged, stroking the soft fur between its antlers, memories of Barron and mornings after with Jaron rushing toward me.
Feelings of warmth and love turned to disgust.
“Make sure you keep that hood up,” the Hermit said, reaching forward to tighten the folds of the cloak across my chest. Then he nodded, satisfied with his work.
I stared down, my cloak once more camouflaging me, making me blend in with the grass and trees.
“They can see Lord Brandon flying into Lafir Castle,” he said, stepping away and patting the moonstag’s face. “But Princess Olivay is supposed to be alone in her room, taking a beauty nap and preparing for tonight’s big announcement.”
“And I am supposed to what?” I threw my hands up. “Just sit there in your camouflage cloak, pretending not to exist?”
“Precisely.”
I stifled a groan but allowed him to help me climb up onto the stag’s back. My body began to blur into the moonstag’s feathers and fur as I settled down, the cloak taking on the moonstag’s tawny shades. Once the Hermit climbed up behind me, he took hold of the reins, ordering the stag to fly.
It stretched out its neck from side to side, its head swiveling gracefully, as it shook out its wings, and began to trot forward, moving us out from beneath the trees.
When we reached another clearing, the stag picked up its pace, nearly leaping with every step, until it leapt into the air, its wings flapping.
The woodlands grew small beneath us as we flew higher, and soon I could see the border of Eskalon and the roof of the castle.
In the far distance, past the fields was the city, Tavonia, Eskalon’s center of commerce.
It led all the way into Batron, the outer district where Geoffrey’s had been.
My old home would have been too far east for me to see, even at my vantage point.
Then again, that was if there was any of the tavern left.
My heart panged. I hoped with everything inside of me that everyone was okay.
Not too hurt, or scared. And hopefully already finding somewhere else to live, and work.
We flew closer to the keep. The buildings below us ended in a wall, much like we had in Azeal.
Beyond it stood Lafir Castle. It was built of gray stone and featured multiple towers that all connected to the central keep through small bridges.
Just outside the northernmost gates sat the jousting field.
At this height, I had a clear view. Flags full of the sigils for the different royal houses had already been erected.
Strings full of smaller flags crisscrossed above the field, tied to poles in each corner.
The strings alternated between flags that were red and blue, the colors of House Lafir, and purple and silver, House Kanos. Olivay’s. Mine now.
Raised pavilions had been erected against the edge of the field where the tournament would take place. Each one decorated with flags and sigils to represent the royal house who’d be seated within them.
For the commoners, I could see raised benches and roped-off sections of grass.
The stag slowed its flight beyond the wall, and turned, flying toward the castle’s looming watch towers.
A soldier of House Lafir wearing the sigil of the blue moonstag with red flames on his tunic began to wave us over.
Silver armor covered his arms, and a black leather belt had been tightened around his waist, holding a single sheathed sword, much in the style of Lord Brandon.
“Lean forward,” the Hermit said suddenly. “All the way against the moonstag before he sees you.”
I repositioned myself, suddenly unsteady against the stag’s jerky movements.
I made the mistake of looking down and seeing just how many turrets and parapets my body could hit as I fell.
I wrapped my arms around the stag’s neck more tightly.
I couldn’t see anything in that position.
Its wings blocked my view. Which probably meant it was blocking the view of anyone who might see me.
Including the soldier on guard in the watch tower.
“Identify yourself,” he called out.
The Hermit pulled back on the reins, and the moonstag’s wings flapped rapidly, holding us in place for inspection. I sucked in a breath.
“Lord Brandon, House Eranos. Spartva’s ambassador,” the Hermit said, his accent still affected.
“Ah, Lord Brandon,” the soldier replied with a chuckle. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stop you.”
“Not at all,” the Hermit said, his body shifting like he was waving the man’s concerns off. “Don’t think of it. Just doing your job. Keeping us all safe. As well as her.”
“Big night for your princess, ain’t it?” the soldier asked.
The Hermit laughed and slapped his knee. “You have no idea.”
I rolled my eyes. His impression of a nobleman was so obnoxious. So snobby. Though admittedly, entirely accurate from my experience.
“Will I see you at the tourney, friend?” the Hermit asked.
“Aye, if my partner arrives in time,” the soldier said. He sounded wistful. “Haven’t seen a joust in a minute. Bit of an honor to see the crown prince out and playing so publicly, ain’t it? Usually hides away.”
“Ah, well, our prince is rather private, but well protected.”
I could practically see the overly obnoxious wink Lord Brandon offered as he spoke.