Chapter 55
Fifty-Five
We don’t sleep.
We repack our remaining supplies and put our clothes on over our muddy, shaking bodies so we can get back on the trail faster. To make matters worse, the stress has brought on my monthly courses, and I’ve lost my necessities somewhere in the underbrush.
For hours, we trek through the darkness in single file until the sun crests over the horizon, peeking through gaps in the trees. The birds chirp louder, and the air grows thicker once more.
“Almost there,” Rett huffs, examining some chipped markings on the trunk of a large willow tree.
“Good,” I pant, leaning with my palms on my knees. “I’m not sure I can take much more of this, and what if there’s something else hiding? Something like those nymphs but worse?” Looking around at my innocuous surroundings of woodland timber, I trust nothing anymore.
My stomach cramps. I need a break, but I don’t actually want to stop. Stopping means talking. Talking means acknowledging regretful promises—and our emotions are already running high.
“You getting hungry?” Rett asks before rummaging in his rucksack. “You’re grabbing your middle all funny-like.” He pulls out a dried meat stick and hands it to me.
I take it and mumble, “Thanks.” I chew it longer than necessary.
We walk for a few more hours, only conversing about the wildlife and flora of his homeland, but even that’s strained.
The closer we travel to the Beast Realm, the more his mood improves, but it’s the opposite for me. The further we move away from Alexandria, the more withdrawn I grow as I grapple with what I’ve agreed to.
At the end of the trail, a wall of solid red sandstone towers over us.
Along its length, the forest stops abruptly, and our path leads to a cliff that juts two hundred feet into the sky.
Chiseled into alcoves, statues of arachnid beast warriors stand guard over arched gates, while a set of stairs fades into their depths.
Rett bounds up the steps while I slowly follow.
“I know you’re tired, but we’re almost there. These steps aren’t as bad as they look,” he encourages.
It’s easier said than done, but eventually, with my legs aching and burning, I reach the top.
A village of rock domiciles etched from the same sandstone sprawls out—eerily quiet and void of life.
Littered possessions and discarded furniture are strewn about the streets, shedding light on the fact that people were here not so long ago.
Unable to carry my pack any longer, I let it fall to the ground. “I need to rest.”
“You’re right. You don’t look well,” Rett agrees, searching the area before grabbing my pack and his own.
“Let’s get out of the street.” He ushers me through the front door of a home off the main road.
It’s still furnished, so I sink into the first upholstered chair I see.
Relief spreads through my muscles and limbs.
Sitting on a stool, he studies me for a second. “We need to talk.”
I choke on my saliva.
No, we don’t.
I want to eat, sleep, bathe—and then remove myself from this mess I’ve woven myself into. I shake my head.
“Tabitha, your power is rapidly growing. You have multiple elements at your disposal, for fuck’s sake! You shouldn’t keep pretending that you can’t control it,” he says, fishing in his supplies for more dried meat and the nearly empty water pouch.
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’ve seen how dangerous the realms can get.”
I bury my face in my palms.
He sinks to his knees and pulls my arms down. He repeats what I’ve grown to hate hearing: “You got lucky that your power cooperated, but if you refuse to train and wield it with discipline, then someday it might fail you or turn on you.”
Tears burst from my eyes. “Stop pushing me!”
“If I don’t push you, then who will?” he says softly, wiping my cheeks. I pull away, tired of this, tired of him. “That bastard in Ashland wanted to suppress everything about you.”
“I don’t want to talk about him!”
He shakes his head. “I watched you create fire and lightning and wind. I’ve seen you boil blood and vaporize pools.
You are more powerful than anyone could have imagined, and I won’t let you underestimate yourself.
Whether you want to hear it or not, that asshole kept you locked away.
He was afraid of your powers, but I’m not. ”
What did Valora used to say?
Men’s greatest weakness is their underestimation of women.
Not with Rett, it seems.
He traces the lines in my palms. “Practice by making a fire in the hearth. We’ll need one tonight. Keep using your power. Be consistent, and you’ll find more strength to control it.”
I stare at the fireplace, his words repeating in my mind.
A cracking sound jolts my attention as he breaks apart an ornate wooden chair and places the pieces in the rounded hearth.
After that, he takes the scattered scrolls tossed about the room and shoves them into the nooks and crannies of the broken furniture.
“Light it,” he instructs, no sympathy in his voice.
With narrowed eyes, I seethe inwardly. I’m tired and don’t want him to order me around like he’s my Keeper. Despite his supportive words, he’s officially insufferable.
Sleep.
A fire would help with that, though… I open my hands and focus on my palms, but nothing happens.
“Right now,” he explains, “you’ve trained your magic only to obey you when you’re in a dangerous situation. Someday, you might be in danger, but it’s not immediate. You’ll need your power. Don’t let it make the rules. Remember, you are in control—you’re always in control.”
My mind wanders at his repetition, and I stop listening. The whispers fill the void. I welcome them, accepting their reprieve.
Little balls of flame ignite from my palms. I’m half tempted to toss the fireballs toward Rett to quiet him. But instead, I lean over the fireplace and let them tumble onto the kindling.
The room quickly fills with warmth. Too much warmth, if I’m being honest, as it mixes with the humidity in the air.
I unpack my bedroll and collapse onto it—not from power exertion but from my bruised body and my monthly courses that are intensifying painfully.
Rett keeps yapping, but I roll over and close my eyes, trying not to suffocate.
* * *
A rough shake on my shoulder awakens me.
The fire still burns, but the furniture it devours looks different, and the scorched lacquer smells horrible. The sky outside the window is dark again. I slept the whole day, and now my bladder is screaming.
But there’s no time to think about any of that.
“Get up,” Rett urgently whispers. “Someone is coming. We need to leave.” He slams his boots onto his feet. “Shit. I think they saw the smoke from the chimney.”
Immediately panicked, I mimic him, rushing for my shoes.
But the men are already here. Outside the front entrance of our borrowed townhouse, their horses create a ruckus of heavy breathing and clomping hooves—and were those carriage wheels?
Armor rattles, and footsteps stomp as they throw open the door before we can flee. But they’re no raiders. They’re castle guards wearing red armor that shimmers silver—similar to Rett’s.
The Delamere coat of arms, a three-headed lion, glistens on a burly soldier’s chest. His cheeks are round and ruddy, and he has thin, gold-hued hair swept across his forehead.
As he crosses the entryway threshold, I notice he’s not just a man.
He’s a centaur, dressed in only a partial uniform on his upper torso.
The other half of his body is a gleaming palomino horse.
He unrolls a coiled missive and reads: “By order of Empress Erah Delamere: Prince Everett, you are under arrest for insubordination and direct refusal to follow instructions. You are hereby under the supervision of the Royal Guard until a proper punishment can be doled out at the discretion of the empress.” He rolls the scroll up and inserts it into a ceramic tube before placing it in his leather satchel.
“Don’t make me tie you up again, Your Highness. ”
My gaze flickers over to Rett, who appears hollow behind his resigned eyes, his lips turning downward. “Captain Gregori, let’s not embarrass me in front of our royal guest, shall we?” He shifts to stand in front of the captain, and my cheeks warm.
Covered in dried mud from our battle with the nymphs and the journey through the forest, I don’t need a mirror to know the state of my clothes and hair.
“Royal guest?” he asks, his eyes squinting together as he peers over Rett’s shoulder and takes stock of my disheveled state. His eyebrows rise to his hairline.
“Queen Tabitha Rilea Metalla of Alexandria,” Rett announces with a flourish of his green hand. “You wouldn’t want to insult her, would you?”
Captain Gregori clears his throat but replies sheepishly, “You know I have direct orders. There’s nothing I can do to change them.” He stands tall as his resolve firms. “You’ll have to come with me either way.”
“Well—convenient timing,” Rett quips. “We need a ride to the castle. So let’s forget all this nonsense about an arrest.” He flashes the captain a generous smile before slapping him on the shoulder.
He leans close to whisper, not knowing I can still hear him.
“Next time, maybe skip mentioning that you like to tie me up. You might give her ideas.”
“I didn’t mean to make this awkward for your lady friend—er—I mean queen?” He peeks over Rett’s shoulder again, but I busy myself, packing the last of our supplies.
“Leave it.” Rett places a hand on my arm. “We won’t need it anymore. All the necessary provisions are already loaded in the carriage.”
“But what if someone returns and their house looks like this?” I survey the mess and damage we caused to their once-beautiful parlor.
He gives me a sympathetic grimace. “No one is coming back. Not for a long time. But a passing traveler might appreciate what we leave behind,” Rett explains in a quiet voice.