CHAPTER SIX
EMMERY
Emmery kneeled at the Tree of Eternal Blood’s base, surrounded by night’s solitary peace and the distant hum of crickets. Icy wind tousled the hood concealing her face, and the dampness from the ground bled through her trousers, but her troubled mind paid the chill little attention.
As she laid her hand on the trunk and let the thrumming magic feed her starved soul, the grief-stricken woman’s face surfaced in her mind.
After Emmery had snuck out her window and hunted her down, the woman had politely smiled and thanked her for the dress, though she likely had no use for it.
Hopefully she could sell the garment or fashion something from the fabric.
Regardless, Emmery’s stomach twisted into knots like the woman’s pain became her own. At one time she’d struggled to provide for her family too, and despite her longing to help, the food and clothing she smuggled from the castle wasn’t enough to make a dent in these people’s needs.
The possessions made her sick and she wished Destonne would stop throwing expensive luxuries at her and acknowledge all the suffering he’d caused, then get off his ass and fix it.
As her cheeks heated with rage towards the King, her fingers pressed into the rough bark to distract herself.
Even with her magic locked away, the tree’s power reached for her, begging her to do something she couldn’t quite name.
She willed it to provide a sense of connection to these people she’d been locked away from; a chance to be a part of something outside herself. To belong.
That would likely never happen. Just yesterday she’d heard voices whispering in the dark corridors of the castle, claiming that her rogue magic would ‘bring the end’.
Clearly they didn’t know about the restraints and her inability to summon her flame.
She couldn’t light a match, let alone set the world ablaze.
Emmery snorted to herself at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Something funny?” someone hissed from the darkness.
Oh, fuck, she knew that voice. That accent.
Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed on the King’s cloaked figure emerging out of the shadows, a pair of orange glowing eyes at his side.
The half moon behind Brennen and Destonne illuminated their silhouettes like some holy duo.
Emmery shoved down the urge to rip her dagger from its sheath and test if her throwing practice had paid off, but it would only get her into more trouble.
Brennen glanced at the tree. “Of all the places you could have gone, you came here, princess?” He barked a canine laugh. “Poor choice if you ask me. And next time, don’t wear the cloak. It’s a dead giveaway.”
Emmery scowled at the wolf and pulled her green cloak tighter.
Then Destonne stepped toward her. Her gaze trailed his boots laced to mid-calf, snug trousers, and his fitted leather jacket beneath his cloak.
It was the same outfit he’d worn in Malheim the day they’d first met.
After watching him snap Guthrie’s neck, she’d thought he was a thief or thug but she’d been wrong about so many things.
Her eyes continued to his hood which strategically hid his crown.
It was likely wise he hid his identity, because aside from the meeting with Vesper and the Council, he refused to acknowledge the consequences of his actions and take audiences with his people.
If they saw him on the street, gods only knew what they would do to him.
He didn’t need to push back his hood for Emmery to catch the fury in his obsidian eyes. She muttered a curse under her breath.
Destonne cleared his throat then said, “Why am I not surprised to find you gallivanting alone through the city streets at night?”
“I’m not gallivanting.” She sat back on her heels and said between clenched teeth, "It’s also none of your business.”
“I could have escorted you. All you had to do was ask,” Brennen offered, his tone softer than it had any right to be.
“Oh, really?” she spat back. Raging heat crawled up her neck. “The only answer I’ve heard from the two of you is ‘no’.”
“Get up,” Destonne ordered. “It’s not safe. We’re going back.”
When he reached for her arm, Emmery scooted back. “No. I’m tired of you locking me away,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “There’s no danger. Nothing to protect me from.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The King’s eyes mirrored the starless night sky. “And we don’t have time for this.”
“If it’s so unsafe, then what are you two doing out here?” She threw the question at them like a dagger.
Destonne didn’t respond, didn’t even react to her scrutiny, his expression hidden beneath a stone-cold edifice.
With his colossal snout, Brennen nudged her to her feet. “Let’s go, princess. It’s bedtime.”
“This is ridiculous,” she hissed. “I refuse to be your prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” A laugh rumbled in Destonne’s throat, though it was anything but joyous. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Knowing it wouldn’t get her anywhere, Emmery bit back her response.
So she stalked toward Blackdawn castle with fury blazing in her veins and her fists clenched.
As she stumbled over the uneven cobblestones, Brennen stayed glued to her side and herded her like unruly livestock.
Any chance she got, she glared over her shoulder at the King and each time he met her stare with a flat, tired look.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. What other manipulations and facets of control he had planned for her.
“You’ll be relieved to hear we’re visiting Reize tomorrow,” Destonne said, his voice a knife through the silence.
Emmery’s pulse sped and a hitch of excitement coloured her voice. “Tomorrow?”
“Or rather today,” he replied in the same exhausted tone. “It’s very late.”
She tried not to dread the journey with these two, and instead focussed on the answers that might lie at the doorstep of Reize’s home. Another step closer to Shade.
After a long, tense walk, they arrived at the castle. While Destonne lingered like an absolute lunatic outside her bathing room door as she changed into her night clothes, he fastened the window with a lock she couldn’t break without her magic, then saw to it she was tucked into bed.
He sauntered to the door and paused. One hand on the doorknob, the other in his pocket, he arrogantly leaned against the frame. “Sweet dreams, angel,” he said, his voice mocking.
She silently cursed him as her cheeks burned. “This place is a cage.”
“And what a pretty cage it is.” He blinked at her, almost playfully. “Do try to keep out of trouble for a few hours. That was two strikes against you today.” A tiny twinkle of amusement danced in his eyes. “And you don’t want a third.”
The air fled Emmery’s lungs in one strangled breath.
So, he’d clearly seen her hiding after their meeting, but between the humour in his voice and the mischief in his gaze as he ducked through the doorway, his threat was less than convincing.
He was impossible to read: dark, brooding and terrifying one second and cracking jokes the next.
She crossed her arms and ground her teeth. The King was so—
Insufferable. It was the only word that came to mind.
Though she quietly fumed in the pitch-black room, the quilt yanked up to her neck, she did seek rest for the long journey ahead.
But each time she closed her eyes and let her mind fade into dreams, screams echoed in her ears, people begged for their lives, golden flames devoured them, and she couldn't stop it. Couldn’t control it.
Then when only ash remained, she clutched it in her trembling fists and wept over this world broken by her hand.
Maybe the people were right and she was the bringer of the end.
Every time the nightmares tormented her, she awoke gasping and fisted the sweaty sheets. Her grip on the fraying rope, the one that kept her from tumbling into the endless abyss, slipped inch by inch and soon she would no longer be able to hold on. Soon darkness would devour her.
And though she would spend the next day in search of Shade, the nightmares persisted, and not once did her green-eyed phantom come to save her from herself.
Dawn came too soon and Emmery’s head pounded from her ravaging hangover. At least the bottle of wine she’d downed stifled her nightmares so she could find a few hours of rest before Brennen knocked on her door. Hopefully today they would get some answers about their path to the Hollow.
They stood in front of Blackdawn Castle, hoods drawn and horse readied, but when Emmery attempted to summon Juno, and only silence answered her call, her stomach sank.
She blamed those magic-blocking restraints.
Where were these marks all those years she tried to suppress her magic in the mortal lands?
They would have saved her a lifetime of agony and fear.
Even the tiny spark of power she held across the gate could summon the spectral steed, but now her magic slept like she clutched a limb with no blood flow. Undoubtedly hers, yet numb.
“Why don’t you remove these damned restraints?” she asked. Her question lashed out like a whip as an angry flush crept up her neck. “You’ll have to remove them eventually. Why not now?”
“Because,” Destonne drawled, “you already look as if you want to kill me. I fear the fire in your eyes when they’re removed. I want to be far, far away.”
Emmery scoffed then crossed her arms over her chest. At least she’d worn appropriate riding gear, though her dark grey cloak sparked none of the joy her green one did. “Surely there’s another horse for me to take.”
“Does riding with me offend you?” The corner of the King’s mouth twitched. “Would you rather walk? I’m sure Brennen wouldn’t mind the company on foot.”
Emmery scowled as Brennen snickered a rumbling wolfy sound. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Something you want to say, dog?”
“Not at all, princess.” He flashed his teeth.