CHAPTER 18 - Not Guilty
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I watched as guards and servants worked tirelessly through the night and even during the next day. Fires were extinguished, bodies were counted, and what little could be salvaged was gathered with grim efficiency.
As promised, the emperor held a feast in honor of the hunt, raising his goblet to toast the fallen. By the third day, we parted ways with the Flynmoore envoy and set off.
Despite my captivity, the return journey to Dornhold proved far more comfortable than I expected.
My wagon was enclosed, its roof shielding me from the elements.
And thick iron bars lined its sides, granting a panoramic view of the sprawling forests we passed.
I wasn't permitted to leave unless to relieve myself, but meals arrived promptly, and I was given a bucket and rag to maintain some semblance of dignity.
"What's 'Can you move over?' in Elvish?" I asked, turning Raincatcher toward myself.
My reflection was a sight — dark circles under my eyes, hair tousled like a storm had claimed it.
Beside me, Ryn sat hunched with his arms around his knees — clearly uncomfortable.
It was understandable.
Just across from us, the vylnir lay sprawled, its massive form hogging most of the space, black fur shifting faintly as its chest rose and fell.
Ryn sighed, his voice flat.
"Cα? ?συ ?σ?? σ????" he answered me.
I repeated the words, stumbling over the syllables.
"Cα? ?συ... mooh-ve oo'vah?" I frowned and tried again, slower this time. "Mo-?? σ-var... ?σ?? σ???."
Finally satisfied, I turned to the vylnir, a grin tugging at my lips.
"Cα? ?συ ?σ?? σ????"
Its reflective eyes opened halfway, unimpressed. With deliberate disinterest, it lowered its head and went back to sleep.
My grin faltered.
The creature had gained an attitude since our shared imprisonment.
"This isn't comfortable for me either!" I snapped, jabbing a finger at its hulking shoulder.
The vylnir huffed but didn't budge, leaving me to stew in my frustration.
"Well," I muttered, crossing my arms, "at least I'm improving my Elvish."
The elf glanced at me, his grayish face blank.
"The pronunciation will get easier. With practice, you'll pick it up faster."
I nodded, though my gaze lingered on the vylnir.
"I have to keep learning. Now that Sylvos has recaptured the creature, I need to communicate with it. If I can convince it to be peaceful, it'll be useless in Sylvos' conquest."
Ryn shook his head, his long ears drooping slightly.
"In all my four thousand years, I've never heard of anyone taming a vylnir. Let alone a mortal."
I raised a brow, taken aback.
"You're four thousand years old? Shouldn't you be senile by now?"
His sharp eyes narrowed.
"I wasn't even six hundred when I perished," he countered, resting his head on his hand. "I was in my prime. The rest of those years were spent trapped in this dagger."
I opened my mouth to retort but hesitated, glancing at the shadows pooling under his eyes. The idea of being trapped, aware but helpless, for thousands of years...
I would rather die.
And I think Ryn would too.
I coughed, aiming to clear the heavy silence with a lighter tone.
"So, how do elven years compare to human ones?" I asked. "If you were human, how old would you be?"
Ryn's dark brows furrowed, his sharp features deepening in thought.
"I suppose... every year for a mortal would equate to about twenty for an elf. Our eldest lived close to two thousand years."
I chewed on the numbers, attempting the math in my head. That would put Ryn somewhere in his late twenties if he were human.
The iron bars of the wagon dug uncomfortably into my back, so I shifted toward the vylnir. I was too weary to care if it devoured me for using its shadowy flank as a makeshift cushion.
Fortunately, it seemed to either be too asleep or too unbothered to rip me apart.
"So," I asked, my tone almost playful, "did a lover kill you as well? One of your elven women?"
His eyes shifted to a deep, empty blue.
"A lover, yes. But not an elf."
I blinked, startled.
"A human?"
He nodded once, and I stared at him, mouth agape.
"You fell in love with a human? How?"
His eyes snapped into a glare.
"For once, you're the one talking too much," he said.
I smothered a giggle, rubbing my stiff neck.
"I suppose you're right. But it's still strange. How did an elf fall for a human? Better yet how did a human return the feelings? If the rest of your kind look like you, it should be unthinkable."
Ryn's mouth opened slightly, completely offended.
"Excuse you," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "but I am handsome by the standards of any race. And I was a highly respected king, as you very well know."
I tilted my head, feigning doubt.
"Handsome? Your skin is such a grayish tone I'd think you're a corpse. Your ears are as long as a mule's and those teeth... You really should consider filing them down. Oh, and don't get me started on how your eyes catch the light... It's beyond eerie."
Though what I said was all true, I would be lying if I said he wasn't attractive at all. There was something strangely captivating about his appearance. His sharpness was both unsettling and alluring.
"Sharp teeth," he retorted, baring them slightly, "are a coveted trait among elves. I was ridiculed as a child for how blunt my milk teeth were."
I shook my head and sank deeper into the vylnir's warmth.
"So, how did a handsome elven king end up with a human lover?"
He glowered, turning his attention to his sharp nails as he picked at them.
"Your kind are sly creatures," he muttered.
I grinned.
"So, what was it? Her beauty? Sweet lies? I can assure you, if she called you pretty, she was lying."
His eyes rolled skyward.
"On the contrary," he said, "the blame lies with something you yourself are familiar with."
I straightened, curiosity pricking at me.
"Oh?"
He nodded, his gaze distant.
"Your people's traditional dagger dance," he said. "She danced with this very blade I am now trapped in. I still remember the rain from that night — it fell harder than I'd ever seen in my life."
My chest tightened.
A Drakfjorden woman?
The realization made me feel oddly unsettled. My fingers mindlessly picked at the stitching of my dress.
"I suppose seeing our dance for the first time must've been a shock... Especially if she wielded a storm-forged blade like Raincatcher."
"It was," he murmured, his voice low and reverent. "Elves have our own magic. We don't need weapons like mortals. But I was still entranced."
I sighed, leaning back into the vylnir's flank.
"It's expected. It was this dance that earned me every promotion in my first life. Whenever I danced, Sylvos couldn't look away."
Ryn's gaze flicked to me, a glimmer of something unreadable in his indigo eyes.
"I trust you will use it in this life too?"
"Of course," I said, though my voice wavered slightly. "That is, if I don't get executed upon our return."
"Right..."
I set Raincatcher down and turned on my side, snuggling into the soft fur of the vylnir. It let out a low grumble, but didn't try to shake me off.
"I'll try to sleep..." I whispered, my eyes already shut.
"Goodnight, Rainey."
"Goodnight, my handsome elven king," I teased.
Despite my exhaustion and the weary state of my body, memories still haunted my dreams. Every night it seemed to be something new. I'd lost count of how many deaths I witnessed by now. But as each night brought a new memory, I had the awful sense that it was much more than I thought.
Tonight was no different.
Though even as I died, I couldn't help thinking about Talia. And how she must've felt.
Perhaps in another world, she too, would be given another chance.
This thought was the only thing that kept me from sobbing again.
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"Raine? Raine. Wake up."
The voice emerged through the haze of sleep, but I refused to be pulled from the comforting cocoon of warmth. My arms curled tighter around the softness beneath me, its heat lulling me deeper into oblivion.
"Raine," the familiar voice insisted. "Oh, for the love of salvation, would you stop holding onto that thing like it hadn't mauled dozens of guards to death?"
I blinked groggily, the fog in my vision dissolving into shadows. Slowly, I realized what I'd been clinging to.
The vylnir.
Its slow, steady breathing filled the wagon, each rise and fall of its chest disturbingly rhythmic. Once I was awake enough, I had the sense to quickly move away.
The creature remained sleeping, it's monstrous form undisturbed.
What's wrong with me? I wondered.
A few days with the vylnir and I treated it as a pillow.
I rubbed my neck as I turned to the iron bars of the wagon.
Virella stood there, unimpressed.
She was a shadow of her usual self. Her dark golden curls, once perfectly coiffed, were wild and untamed.
And her usual array of glittering jewelry was absent.
Even her gown, though finely made, was a deep, somber green.
Despite her being Daisy rank now, the change would only be implemented after our return to the fortress.
She extended a hand through the bars, offering a small parcel.
"Here," she said quietly.
I took the dried plums with a tired smile.
"Thank you, Virella."
She sighed, leaning against the bars and eating some plums of her own.
"This will be the last camp before we reach Dornhold," she said.
I nodded, finishing the snack. Virella had become a cornerstone for me on this return journey. Each night, she brought food and complaints. I liked hearing her talk. Especially whenever she described the methods she'd use to make the Nightshades beg for mercy.
My friend flicked a hesitant look at me.
"I have a message from the emperor," she said.
I froze, my gaze hardening.
"I don't wish to hear anything from him," I said.
Virella's lips thinned, but she pressed on.
"Your trial will begin as soon as we arrive. He asked me to relay some advice."
My fingers combed through the tangles in my hair as I glared at the wagon floor.
"What?"
"He said, 'Instead of innocence, prove your capability. And if I loosen your leash, will you have a trick to show?'"
I scoffed, the bitter sound echoing in the cramped space.
"What am I? A hound for his amusement?"
Virella exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over her face.
"Whatever happens, don't let those vile women escape justice." Her green eyes narrowed, dark and gleaming like polished jade. "If my position is not enough to make them kneel, I will gladly play their game."
"I couldn't agree more," I murmured.
Sylvos wasn't free of his debts either.
He still owed me his life.
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At least thirty guards flanked the vylnir and me as we marched toward Dornhold's main castle, its shadowed spires clawing at the overcast sky. Servants and soldiers, many seeing the creature for the first time, froze in their tracks, trembling.
The creature had thrashed and roared when first released from the caged wagon. But the thorned vine binding its paw sapped its strength.
As we approached the throne room's towering doors, I forced myself to stand tall. Yet despite my efforts, my reflection in the polished iron told another story. My dark hair was a tangled mess, and my gown, already dulled from travel, was speckled with the vylnir's black fur.
I caught a glimpse of the scar peeking out from my chest, and a bit of my confidence faded. Even as the doors groaned open and I was ushered by the guards, my thoughts remained tethered to that scar.
It was a cruel reminder of what happened to me in this room.
"Entering is Raine Stjorme, Clover Concubine and Princess of Drakfjord," the herald's voice echoed, cold and unfeeling.
My chest tightened as my eyes swept the throne room. Familiar faces filled the space. Concubines, servants, noble advisors, and guards. Thorned vines coiled around the towering pillars like barbed serpents.
The throne itself stood at the room's end, a monument of jagged steel and ancient thorned vines reaching skyward like the gnarled fingers of a dying tree.
And there, sprawled upon its seat, was Sylvos Thorne.
His sharp crown caught the pale light, casting glowing shards over his silver hair. Even from this distance, I could see the smirk curling his lips.
His smile reminded me so much of the end of my first life...
Would history repeat itself yet again?
A low growl snapped me from my trance.
The vylnir nudged me from behind, its uncanny eyes watching me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. There was something... resolute in its gaze. Something that felt almost reassuring. A shared understanding.
Like me, the vylnir was a prisoner. Though it could tear through flesh and shatter bone with ease, its power was currently chained.
"F?ι???," I whispered.
That's right...
This was not my first life. I had friends this time.
I was not alone.
As the guards halted before the throne, I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and gave a brief curtsy. Sylvos arched a dark brow at my lackluster greeting.
"Princess," he smirked. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Oh, immensely," I replied. "The vylnir proved far better company than my previous companion."
His black eyes crinkled with interest.
"Oh? Is that so? You seem remarkably at ease with the beast. Which brings us to why we are gathered here."
A nobleman with a thin, graying beard stepped forward. I recognized him as Magistrate Marlowe. His long nose wrinkled with disdain as he addressed the court.
"Before His Majesty's departure, the vylnir escaped its confinement beneath Clover Castle," he declared, his voice ringing with self-importance.
"As the princess resided at the castle during that time, we have ample reason to suspect her involvement.
She speaks to the creature, as many witnessed during the Royal Hunt.
And even now, it remains unnaturally docile in her presence. "
Murmurs instantly swept through the room.
With a deep, guttural growl, the vylnir silenced them all.
"With this evidence," Magistrate Marlowe continued, eyeing the creature nervously, "Princess Raine stands accused of treason — for freeing the beast and threatening the Royal Hunt."
Sylvos nodded lazily, the smile never leaving his lips.
"Thank you, Magistrate," he said, then turned his gaze on me. "Princess, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty," I said plainly. "It is mere coincidence that the creature understands High Elvish. I learned the language out of curiosity. And out of fear, hoped it would be able to reach the vylnir. If I had truly wished harm, why would I stop its rampage?"
"Ambition," sneered a familiar voice. Lady Isolde stepped forward, her sharp features twisted with malice. "You freed the beast and then played savior, seeking glory and favor."
"And how has that worked out for me?" I shot back flatly.
Her grin widened.
"The emperor is not as foolish as you had hoped."
"Perhaps he is more so," I muttered under my breath.
"My Love," Isolde said, turning to Sylvos with an air of practiced sweetness. "This woman caused countless deaths and threatened the safety of more. End her life before she can cause further harm."
Magistrate Marlowe seized the moment, stepping forward to add weight to her words.
"Your Majesty, the guards the creature slaughtered are proof enough of her danger.
I have never heard of someone speaking High Elvish either.
It is too suspicious. She could be here for your life.
Drakfjord has no involvement with the Fayndor continent, but its island is close to Pyree's shores.
Perhaps a deal was struck between these kingdoms for your life. "
Despite the mounting accusations, I remained composed.
Sylvos mulled over the claims, his expression bored.
"So, you would have me condemn the princess on a perhaps and a could be?" he asked, his tone almost amused. "Drakfjord's king is a known pacifist. I doubt he could conspire such an intricate plot for my life."
"Or so he wishes you to believe," Marlowe insisted. His voice grew darker. "Seize their island, Your Majesty. Let this betrayal justify war. The land would be a strategic foothold for conquering Pyree after we crush Driftwoode."
Sylvos laughed at that.
"Their island would be a strategic foothold to sink half my ships with their storm-lashed waters," he chuckled. "What do you think is more valuable, Magistrate?" he asked, his gaze glinting like polished steel. "An impoverished island with a few pretty gems? Or the vylnir?"
Marlowe hesitated, his composure faltering.
"An... an island, Your Majesty," he stammered. "The vylnir is a savage, untamable beast. It is not like your wyrm. We cannot control it. Not even through Briarvex."
Sylvos' smirk deepened as his attention shifted to me.
"Yes. We cannot," he murmured, almost to himself.
His hand rested on Briarvex, the cursed blade leaning against his throne. I watched his thumb trace over the hilt. The gesture was so brief, yet it sent a shiver down my spine.
And then, I felt it.
The vine around my neck slackened, its invisible grip evaporating.
My breath hitched at the realization.
I turned swiftly.
The thorned vine around the vylnir's paw loosened, falling away like withered ivy. The creature tensed, its shadowy form rippling like a stormy sea. Its low growl deepened, vibrating through the air with a furious resonance.
My heart froze.
But I knew exactly what was needed of me.
"Mα?? ???? ??α? υ?, ??ι???," I commanded.
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