CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VESPER
As Vesper readied Balthasar for the long trek to the mountain passage, Quill recounted the last few days in Asaella.
Emmery had been injured, and though he only received snips of dialogue Quill played back, Destonne’s voice made him grit his teeth.
He couldn't quite decipher what happened, but it was surely Destonne’s fault and he would wring the King’s neck for it.
As he combed his fingers through Balthasar’s mane, Vesper fell back into the memory of his goodbye to Nef the previous day.
Her hazel eyes had clouded with disappointment, but also a hint of fear, and though he promised he would come back, he’d left enough slate to cover at least six months’ wage. It was the least he could do.
Guilt still ate away at him while he cinched the girth tight to Balthasar.
The shadow steed’s disgruntled whinny only fed the bloated monster of that guilt.
The horse’s back rippled while his feet stamped up a cloud of dirt like a child throwing a tantrum.
Typical. He’d always been a baby, but with the long ride ahead, Vesper would need to humour the beast.
Vesper stroked Balthasar’s nose and hummed that blasted piano ballad always stuck in his head to calm his horse. “I know you don’t like the saddle. Don’t worry, as soon as we get to Morana I’ll toss it in the trash.”
His steed shot him a suspicious look and blinked his rusty eyes, followed by an aggressive nudge to Vesper’s elbow.
“Alright, maybe not in the trash,” Vesper admitted. He patted Balthasar’s muzzle with as much affection as he could sink into the touch. “But it’ll be lighter. I promise.”
This time the steed’s whinny was more agreeable. Vesper could work with that.
He stifled a yawn as he stared into the cloudy skies.
Fresh dew saturated the morning wind, the cluster of heavy charcoal clouds blown closer each moment.
But if he left now, he would make it to Forlorn Hamlet to sleep before venturing through the mountain passage.
Gods only knew what he would encounter on those winding, snow-sodden cliffs.
There were six days worth of rations in the bags, several spare changes of clothes, and a small assortment of healing supplies. If Emmery were with him, he wouldn’t need the balms and bandages, but that would never happen. Not with how they left things.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, recalling the last thing she said to him: I don’t trust you anymore.
She may as well have rammed a sword into his gut and twisted for how much it pained him.
But he would earn her trust back. He would go north, bring Izzy back, her magic would sway the Council for them to keep Ellynne, and then he would fix things with Emmery and deal with this prophecy.
Besides, he should get answers from this Kyrith once he found her.
He fidgeted with his cloak clasp, his armour, his father’s sword strapped to his back, and anything to keep his hands busy as he sorted through all the things he’d likely forgotten.
There was too much. It left his head spinning, though he did a quick recount as he led Balthasar to the portcullis, but not before giving a brief bow to the wolf statues outside the front doors.
He remembered Izzy’s words: We are wolves.
And wolves do not cower, nor do they hide. They draw blood.
If what his father said was true, and they did hold magic to protect this castle, he wished it now more than ever. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened while he was gone. But if a horse’s soul could be laced into a cuff, what else was possible?
Vesper stroked his steed's neck and remembered back to the day he bought the enchanted cuffs that housed Balthasar and Juno’s souls.
It had been an engagement gift to Emmery, a rare service from an elderly woman named Fessima with the blessing of charm.
She was a willowy old thing with coarse straw-like grey hair, and deep wrinkles that housed both wisdom and secrets.
The pale blue glow of Fessima’s vestige had dwindled down to nothing as she drained her magic to fill the request. She’d surveyed him with those milky white eyes, but somehow Fessima had seen right through him.
When the cuffs had been charmed and the inscriptions carved, she pressed them into his hands and said, her voice ragged, “Treat her well. A good woman is the greatest gift one can keep. Ensure you do.”
Emmery was more than thrilled with the gift, so enchanted by it she’d leapt into his arms and strangled him with her appreciation. She adored Juno the moment she met her. It was too bad Emmery hadn’t loved him the same.
The steeds were linked, different from a blood bond but allegedly an ancient practice from before the time of the gods.
In the tie between them, Fessima had inserted a condition that the two steeds not be separated, so she created a link within the cuff so they would find one another in any life.
Vesper had snorted at the ridiculousness of it as a young man but now—
He craved that. A good man or woman at his side. Someone who wouldn’t leave when things got tough, balk at that bloody reputation he’d made for himself or thirst for his title.
A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered what Emmery had gifted in return: an elaborate set of charcoals, inks, quills, and the fanciest paper he’d ever seen.
The paper, edged in gold, caught the light like her vestige often did.
So you can think of me while you draw, she'd joked, though Vesper knew he inevitably would. He’d sketched her many times, just never let her see any. Many of them still sat in his bedroom.
He could never bring himself to use the paper.
It was too stunning for his messy sketches, and he hadn’t drawn since—well, since Emmery was taken.
Since Izzy died. Sure he’d stared at the set, picked up a quill and written a few letters, but he hadn’t drawn.
Hadn’t dared try to pour his soul onto paper.
He likely couldn’t look at what came out without fearing for his sanity.
Sometimes he missed the chalky grit of charcoal, the tackiness of paint, and the familiar earthy smell. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Maybe what hurt the most was Emmery waking up in his bed after she’d suffered that venomous bite and her seeing his drawings for the first time again, since everything between them had been erased like vanishing ink.
Things could have been so different had she never been hurt and sent away. They had both lost so much.
Two sets of footsteps approaching from behind drew him from his thoughts and Vesper spun to see both Marlys and Cal.
Marlys’ expression was grim, her hair pulled back too tight to smile, and Cal looked as if he were storming a castle with only a butter knife and a stare sharp enough to cleave an enemy in two.
Gods, what an absurd group of friends he kept.
Vesper dragged his thumb over his knives as they stalked toward him. He was missing one. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he debated searching his room for the blade. But, really, he didn’t trust himself to go back into the safety of his home. He’d likely find an excuse not to leave.
That’s when Briar exited through the front doors. Vesper’s jaw dropped, a mixed wind of cool relief and icy fear swept over him, because she was there, and for that he was grateful, but the firm press of her lips and narrowed eyes meant only one thing.
She was angry beyond belief. And Briar was never one to hold back.
When Cal and Marlys reached him, Cal clasped his hands behind his back and Marlys set hers on her hips. They all looked at one another, silent words passing in those gazes. But as Briar’s heavy footsteps clomped closer, she stopped right in front of Vesper. That vein pulsed in her forehead again.
Vesper couldn’t hold back his grin. Yes, angry Briar wasn’t good, but it was a little funny.
However, she looked tired, her eyes sunken and rimmed with dark circles.
Had she ridden through the night to get here?
He hoped not. There were still sightings of Hollowhounds around the borders of Ellynne and Asaella.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her facing them alone. Or at all.
Then she sobbed a small broken sound and threw her arms around Vesper’s neck to yank him to her and bury her face in his armour. The scent of fresh morning air and lavender shampoo clung to her navy hair. Her clothes were cold like her icy hands.
“You didn’t say goodbye,” she said, her voice muffled and hoarse with emotion. “I can’t believe you were going to leave and not even—”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Vesper replied. “It’s only a month, Little Shadow.”
Briar’s grip tightened, maybe from the use of the childhood nickname. She’d earned it from how she followed Vesper and Cal around. Well, mostly Cal, but the name rang true, either way.
When Briar pulled back and shoved Vesper with enough force to stagger him, his foot slid on a gravel patch and he barely caught his balance.
“What was that for?” he grumbled and patted Balthasar’s snout as the steed sputtered a disgruntled sound.
“Because! Merciful Deimos, do I need to list the reasons?” His silence spurred a huff of breath from her. “The mountains are dangerous, Ves. There are hounds, blizzards, and steep cliffs and … have you thought this through?”
Vesper’s grin returned. “Are you worried about me, Bri?” He bent down to her height, which he knew she hated, though he really didn’t have to go far, and earned a glare from her. “Yes, I’ve thought this through.” He patted his pocket until the rustle of paper answered him. “See?”
Briar didn’t seem all too impressed by Vesper’s use of his father’s old map as his only guidance into the mountains, through the passage, and then to the west coast to find the cliffside town of Morana.
“Really, Vesper? You marked your destination with a big red circle and a drawing of you riding Balthasar?”