Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASHLYN
Fyn was already dressed in a new tunic, staring out the window when I awoke.
We survived the night.
There were only a few more days until I met Soren and my whole life could change.
I sat up in bed, too aware of how every muscle ached. “Does it stop hurting eventually?” Surviving the rest of the journey would take all my energy. At least there would be little room for nerves.
“By the time you get used to it, you’ll be in front of your prince.” It sounded awful when he said it.
I didn’t know Soren, nor did I know if I wanted him to be mine. “Have you been to Estlen before?”
“My business keeps me on this side of the divide,” he said. “I’ve little desire to be in the human realm.”
The war had left scars on us all in ways we couldn’t always name.
I wrapped a stray blanket around myself. It caught on a raised floorboard as I walked closer to him. As I reached down to pry it free, the hem of my nightgown rose too high in the back.
He raised the steaming mug to his lips.
“Is that coffee?” I asked, instinctively reaching for it, before I pulled my hand back. “Where did you get that?” It had been so long since I’d had coffee. The smell alone awakened something within me.
“It is. I caught Vina in the hall earlier while you were still sleeping,” he said. “Do you drink coffee?” He turned the handle on the mug to face me, pushing it closer.
“I drank it often in Bailoc,” I said as I grabbed the mug. The hot liquid scalded my tongue.
“Sometimes it surprises me how little you and Aelira have in common.” He was looking at me like he saw me—like he knew things he couldn’t.
“We are only half-sisters. My mother’s only gift to both of us was her eyes… or so I’ve been told. I have no memory of her. She died soon after I was born.” I felt bad that I could say it without crying. Aelira teared up whenever our mother was mentioned. She had memories of her I didn’t have.
“I didn’t realize that.” His voice grew softer. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” It was painful to know I didn’t have a mother. That I never would, but it seemed impossible to grieve a woman I didn’t know. “We should start our day soon.”
“Can I get you something to eat before we set off?” he asked.
“That would be wonderful, thank you. And maybe you should grab your own cup of coffee too.” I clamped my hand around the mug, craving more ever since I took the first sip.
“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Anything for you, Your Highness.”
“Why are you calling me that?”
“Just practicing for the human world, so I don’t accidentally call you the names I want to call you.” There was something odd in his voice.
“You rarely call me anything at all.” He had said my name only on a handful of occasions.
“True.” He gripped the back of the chair when he stood. “Maybe I should change that while there’s still time to call you whatever I wish. But not now... when you least expect it.”
“This is an awful lot of buildup for something you’ll forget about before we leave the inn.”
“I forget nothing.” He smirked before he left.
I dressed as I listened to the few lingering voices carry down the hall.
Arnlow faded far behind us before the open road became ours. Fyn steadied our slow pace for hours until I had to make him stop.
The aches from last night amplified with every jolt of my mare.
“We’ll stop up there,” he said, slowing Merda before he jumped down. “Eat something and stretch your legs for a bit. We can’t afford to not make it to the next inn. There’s nothing in between.”
“Are you afraid to camp outside with me?” I laughed as I steadied myself when he helped me out of the saddle.
A chill wind nipped my shoulder as the tunic slipped. The ties had loosened around my waist. I quickly tugged them back into place, trying to knot them so they wouldn’t loosen again.
“I thought you’d prefer shelter tonight over sleeping on the ground. Ahead of here, Lythira’s forest gets denser and the sylkren roam,” he said.
The fae kingdom held few animals that were different from ones I had encountered before. My sister told me tales of the wolf-like creature that protected this territory and judged those who were not worthy quickly.
I had no desire to meet one.
Fyn took a swig of the water from his flask before placing it back on his belt. He tugged a sliver of the dark bread from his sack.
I removed mine too. The bread was so dry that it grated at the back of my throat. It needed butter. It needed anything.
The silence hung over us, causing my heart to race. I hated how much silence with Fyn unsettled me.
“How do you get used to this life? You’re gone so often.” It seemed absolutely miserable to me.
“It’s been all I’ve known for the last several years. My travels used to take me to each of Nythrel’s territories. Since the gate opened, my efforts are on the biggest trade deal our kingdom has ever made.” He gave the reminder as if I had forgotten how critical Estlen was to Nythrel.
“How old were you then?” We’d had so many conversations over the past months, but most were about training. It was only then I realized I didn’t know.
“Are you trying to figure out how old I am now? Because you could just ask.” He wiped the crumbs from his lips.
“How old are you, Fyn?”
“Thirty-one,” he said. “Lioran is older than me. You could probably just tell by looking at both of us.”
“You’re so old.” I squinted at him to keep the blinding golden rays of sunlight at bay.
“Maybe you’re just young.” He scoffed.
I cast a cutting glare. “No one in the human realm would say I was young. If I had stayed in Bailoc, I would have already been married off. In fact, it could have easily happened years ago.”
My throat constricted when I thought of my brother’s commander who wanted my hand before the war. The stench of the road clung to him, even when he didn’t travel. And the way he looked at me could have been mistaken for a starving man looking at his dinner.
I hoped Prince Soren wasn’t as vile as he was. He very well could be.
“Twenty-something is still considered young amongst the fae, but our lifespan does make it different. I suppose thirty-one is considered young too.” His eyes glowed just as every fae’s did. Fyn’s were a pale green that came alive whenever he was extremely sure of himself.
He didn’t even care to ask me how old I was.
“I’m twenty-three.” I shoved a slender piece of dried meat onto my tongue. It was salty and strangely sweet and sticky, like it had been coated in honey.
Maybe once I was married, no one would ask me how old I was again. Maybe they’d ask me nothing about myself at all.
“Your sister told me,” he said.
“I guess you know everything then.”
His lips parted as if he was going to say something, but he just slumped back into the tree as if there wasn’t anything else to know.
In days there may not be. Soon I may be a wife.
I’d be spoken for.
My fingers slid across my sword, still in its sheath. “Spar with me.” I needed to move—to feel the strength inside of me while I still could.
Glittering fragments of light caught on the blade as I pulled it free.
I couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed when he retrieved his. “You seem pretty exhausted. Are you sure you can keep up?”
I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, but he knew that. “I understand if you can’t handle it right now. Your ancient muscles probably need a break.”
He pulled his sword out of the sheath, his smile spreading faster. The blade sang as he swung it in front of me. “Are you going to tell the prince this is what you do in your spare time?”
“Some might find it intriguing.” I lifted the blade to catch his first blow.
He caught my next swing. “Or terrifying.” His mocking tone irked me.
The flat side of his sword nearly hit my waist when I looked up at him, but I quickly lunged away.
Shooting pain seized the muscles in my leg.
He pulled the blade back the moment I winced.
“Are you afraid to strike me, Fyn?” I raised my blade at him again. When he didn’t move, I stepped closer. “Do it anyway.”
“I won’t hit someone who is in pain—unless they deserve it,” he said.
“Raise your sword,” I hissed.
“Careful, moonflower.” His lips twitched at the corners.
“Is that the best you can come up with? A flower?” I gripped the hilt tighter when my muscles tensed.
The gleam in his eyes blazed as our weapons met over and over again.
My boots slipped on the gravel as his sword crashed into mine, landing me on my back.
Fyn lunged, locking our blades above my chest. “Are you happy now?”
“Incandescently,” I said.
His breath was suffocating as he leaned over me. “We’re done.” Something shifted in his gaze.
I pushed myself up as heat climbed my back.
He truly didn’t think I could do it—any of it—the sword, the pact with the prince, the journey. It was all a joke to him.
“Now that you’ve gotten over whatever that was, can we get back on the road?” he asked, sliding his sword back into the sheath.
“Whatever that was?” Anger crawled through me until I couldn’t stifle it. “You’ll never take me seriously.”
He looked at the blade that I still held in front of me. “Ashlyn—”
“I was taken from my world with no choice of going back.” My grip tightened on my sword. “You took me because my sister commanded it.” There was no time to think it over—to challenge any of it. “I live in a dark room that was meant for papers. These are Aelira’s clothes.”
Maybe I could have stayed in the human realm and remained unscathed. We would never know.
Once I was in Nythrel, they let me think it was my choice to stay. I said I wanted it because I feared the future my brother had decided for me.
But it was never my choice at all.
“Ashlyn—”
“I know Lioran had no intention of letting me return. That he and my sister let me believe it was my choice. I’ve known it all along.” Cora told me everything that had been decided for me when they held council.
“Does Aelira know that you know?” he asked.
It changed nothing. “Why would I tell her?” My brother had just used me as a pawn to steal my sister from the fae. “My sister was trying to protect me.” I wouldn’t condemn her for it.
He stared at me like he couldn’t speak as I slid my sword back into its sheath. Fyn was never speechless.
“I just wanted something that was mine. But I should have known… what you think of me. What you’ve always thought of me.”
It mattered to me too much—what others thought of me—what he thought of me.
I didn’t want it to.
He stepped closer to me. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” My eyes stung. “Get you to admit what you’ve always thought of me?”
“Somewhere beyond all your stubbornness, you know what I’ve always thought of you. You just absolutely refuse to believe it.”
My anger fueled me with energy I shouldn’t have had. “It doesn’t matter.” I darted toward Ivy, pulling myself up in the saddle.
“Ashlyn, please.” Hearing him say my name made me recoil further inside myself.
“Stop saying my name,” I scolded him as I took off.