CHAPTER SIX #2
On Emmery’s shoulder, Aera snarled back at Brennen. While she liked Destonne far too much, she remained wary of the wolf. Maybe it was canine instinct or she found Brennen insufferable too, but any chance Aera got, she bared her fangs at him. For whatever reason, Brennen found it adorable.
“Keep your hood up. Your hair is too identifiable," Destonne said.
Emmery swallowed down her smart retort and shielded her hair with her hood. It was just like her life back across the gate among the humans again. Always hiding.
Destonne gave his horse an affectionate pat. “This is Vetle. She’s been with me for many years now.” He stepped back and ushered Emmery forward. “After you, angel. Unless you need assistance.”
“No.” Her quick response brought an amused tilt to his lips.
Emmery frowned as she eyed Vetle’s saddle big enough for two. Clearly Destonne knew he’d win the argument.
With a grumble, she scrambled onto the horse, Aera clutched in her arms. The steed wasn’t Juno, but her rich black coat, soulful brown eyes, and the white spots splattered across her nose were stunning, and she was a far sturdier breed than Juno, with a thick middle.
Once settled, her sigh of relief fell short as Destonne swung onto the horse, with far too much grace, and reached past her to take the reins. The leather lay across her thighs as he rested his hands on his own legs.
She became unnervingly aware of his body heat at her back, his uneven breath on her shoulder, and how she slid back into him at Vetle’s first step without any way to keep her distance.
Emmery squirmed in the saddle and regretted all her life choices.
Between the broad stretch in her thighs, the King’s unnerving proximity, and her tired eyes, this was sure to be a long trek.
Destonne dug his heels into Vetle’s side and they picked up speed.
“Why don’t we take a carriage?” she asked, her voice thick with fatigue. At least then she could keep her distance, because right now, with the uneven terrain and Vetle’s heavy gait, holding her rigid posture was a strain.
Destonne exhaled an amused sound that warmed the nape of her neck, even through her hood. She shivered and begged for this to be over though it had only just begun.
“Brennen hates carriages and, frankly, so do I,” he answered. “They’re much too cramped. Closed in.”
She chalked it up to more need for control, and possibly to torture her.
Because as they rode, Emmery blinked her blurry eyes, and willed herself to stay awake, though the horse’s tread quickly soothed her.
Or maybe her exhaustion had finally won.
She blew out a long breath as she gave Aera a scratch atop her head.
The fox snuggled into her and pressed her nose into the hollow of Emmery’s collarbone against the chilled wind.
The further they travelled, the heavier Emmery’s eyelids grew.
And before long, she reluctantly dozed off.
Emmery lurched into consciousness as Vetle’s tread came to an abrupt halt.
It took her a second to sink back into her body, but when she realized that was Destonne’s solid chest against her cheek and his arm around her waist, mortification sparked an inferno in her chest. The sudden need to burn herself alive to avoid facing him claimed every cell in her body.
She bolted upright, dying to reclaim space, and scooted as far away from him as possible, though on horseback it was barely an inch.
Destonne breathed a relieved sigh. And though his hold had only been the lightest pressure, simply to keep her from toppling off Vetle, his warmth remained imprinted into her skin.
She wiped her hand across her mouth and found a string of drool.
So much for summoning a scrap of dignity.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Gods, if she could die right here, dive into her own grave just to escape this situation, she would.
Knowing she would find humour or victory in them, she didn’t dare meet his dark gaze. This was inevitably a point for him in their unending game. “I don’t mind,” he said, voice low. “You say such interesting things in your sleep.”
“I do not.” The blood drained from her face as she recalled Vesper saying the same thing and commenting on her snoring. “What did I say?"
He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret.”
Emmery opened her mouth to snap back a retort but the cottage looming before them snagged her attention. Evidently, she’d slept the entire ride and no nightmares had haunted her. How odd.
As she studied the lopsided foundation of the cottage, the vast foliage, and the moss and vines climbing the sides, it seemed nature attempted to reclaim it and haul it down into the soft earth.
She couldn’t quite place it, but the home was something out of a fairytale with a mystic quality about it.
Destonne dismounted and took Vetle’s reins. Desperate for solid ground beneath her feet, Emmery slid from the horse only for her legs to betray her like dead weight. The moment her boots touched the grass, they gave out beneath her, but before she face planted, Destonne caught her around the waist.
“Easy,” he said. His eyes glittered with mischief.
The mint on his breath and his rough voice consumed her, but her attention swayed to the dried blood smeared across his temples.
Some still trailed his neck and pooled in his collarbone.
He seemed to notice her wandering stare and hastily stepped away while Brennen trotted up and plunked himself down beside them.
“Er, thanks,” she said. Emmery shook her legs and willed life back into them, but they quivered like a newborn fawn’s.
“My pleasure,” he murmured, though it sounded a little defeated. He turned to the cottage.
“So who’s this Reize you keep referring to?” Emmery glanced between the King and wolf.
Destonne rubbed a hand across his neck and smudged the blood. “An old friend.”
Before they could make their way to the door, it swung open and a slim woman with frizzy brown hair emerged. She exclaimed, “Dezzy!” then promptly launched herself at Destonne and wrapped her arms like a vise around his neck.
Emmery watched in horror, waiting for the King to shove her away or perhaps stab her with one of the knives he always seemed to keep hidden on his person. After the countless executions in Asaella the last few weeks, Emmery wouldn’t be surprised if he’d killed for much less.
But the King just awkwardly patted her back and said, “Pleasure to see you too, Reize.”
After sufficiently strangling him, Reize crouched to hug Brennen. “Hello, my dear Bren.”
The wolf rested his horned head on her shoulder and his eyes fell closed, as if committing the embrace to memory.
Reize released Brennen and extended a hand to Emmery. “Reize Neston. Instrument of the Gods. Or former in-training, I should say.”
As she took Reize’s hand, the mesmerizing lemony hue of her eyes made Emmery stare helplessly.
Not a shred of white remained, as if the yellow bled from her cornea, and as her eyes meandered, Emmery wondered if her vision was impaired.
Yet there was an unsettling quality about that look, as if she held the world’s answers in that peculiar stare.
“Emmery Hawthorne. No important title,” she managed to reply.
“Oh, I know who you are. There are stories foretold and written in your name.”
Great. Emmery’s stomach sank as Aera nervously dug her claws into her shoulder.
“Stop that. Be nice,” Emmery hissed at her fox.
Aera responded with a huff and twitch of her tail.
Reize didn’t seem to notice the fox’s unease and offered a secret smile. “Come inside and I’ll tell you all you need to know.”
So, they followed and perched themselves on her strange wooden stools or, rather, lopped off tree trunks.
The scent of damp moss and mould assaulted Emmery as insects skittered at their feet and leaves blew in through the open windows.
Brennen sat in the corner unbothered, while Emmery pulled her knees to her chest for fear of things crawling up her legs.
Judging by Aera’s soft yips, she too was uneasy.
“How do you know each other?” Emmery murmured to Destonne and leaned closer to add, “Dezzy.”
He narrowed his eyes at the nickname, then his breath coasted the shell of her ear as he whispered, “We attended the same school in the north. Reize recently came back through when someone opened the mountain passage.” Destonne gave her a cheeky side eye.
“You’re very welcome.” Emmery shot him a smirk but kept her voice low as she said, “I assume from that enthusiastic hug you two were lovers.”
He snorted softly. “I think she may have fancied me. It was terribly awkward. She’s a bit too … eccentric for my taste. But she’s perfectly nice.”
She didn’t know how to respond as they waited for Reize to return. Eccentric was one way of putting it. Only a particular kind of person could live in these circumstances. Emmery wasn’t that person and judging by the rod-like stiffness to Destonne’s spine, neither was he.
Reize surveyed them with those strange eyes as she swept into the room.
“I apologize for not making our arranged meeting. I had an unexpected visitor.” Her lips quirked up as she skipped to her kitchen, or rather the carved out dark room with an old stove and mismatched cupboards, some missing their doors.
A rush of water followed the clang of pots and pans.
“It’s no trouble,” Destonne responded. His brows scrunched as he peered into the kitchen.
“Tea?” she called.
Destonne’s deep voice carried to the other room as he said, “That’s very kind, but no. Thank you. We won’t be staying long.” Then he whispered to Emmery, his warm breath at her ear, “I don’t advise drinking the tea unless you enjoy the taste of unwashed socks.”
Emmery scrunched her nose. “And how do you know that taste?”
His eyes slid lazily to her. “Drink the tea and find out.”