Chapter 47 Life Debt #2
“I am just shocked how all of this goes unnoticed and untouched by the King.”
Mori laughed under her breath. “He cannot reach us here.”
“And where is here exactly?” Hazel wondered.
Mori smiled down at her in a way that made her feel small. “Beyond the Border, of course.”
Hazel stopped in her tracks, eyes bugging out of her head.
With a grin that encompassed her entire face, Mori asked, “First time?”
But before she could answer, they rounded a corner and almost smacked into another set of guards.
It took Hazel only a moment to realize the four guards walked Slaide between them, a dog on a leash.
He had an iron collar around his neck, and his hands were bound in what Hazel could only assume were anti-magic cuffs.
Seeing him in this state, still bloodied and bruised from battle, sucked the wind out of her.
She reached for him, but his guards crossed their polearms before him, blocking her way.
Mori placed her hand on Hazel’s arm gently, but the message was clear: she could not touch him.
He wouldn’t even meet her gaze. What did they do to you?
Hazel, Mori, and the second guard walked in front of them down a long row of ancient ash trees.
She wasn’t able to look back, but Hazel could hear the forlorn shuffle of Slaide’s boots against the dirt, the rattle of his chains as he walked.
Her heart ached to free him from his restraints.
This was a misunderstanding. Whoever Mother was would certainly see that. She had to.
That thought was ripped from Hazel’s mind as they rounded the next bend.
The ash trees opened wide into a throne room carved from the earth itself.
Upon a dais carved from stone sat a woman unlike any Hazel had ever seen.
Her hair was stark straight and black as night, with a strip of white framing her face.
Her eyes were an ethereal green, the color of malachite.
Uncertainty washed over Hazel, reinforced by the slightest warmth building where her locket rested.
She sat upon a throne of bones stacked with skulls of various sizes and species, long femur bones providing structural support. The gaps were filled with what appeared to be toe and finger bones, and… teeth. It would be incredible if not so morbid.
The woman held a goblet in one bony hand, her pale skin stretched taut.
The other rested on the arm of her throne.
Her thin body was draped in a dress made from layers of sheer fabric as fine as spider’s silk.
A slit ran up each side, exposing the flesh of her thighs, up and up until it met the crease of her hips, where the excess fabric pooled.
Her demeanor was casual, but harsh, her unnaturally green eyes feeling as though they were peeling Hazel apart layer by layer.
Mother was not just the matron here. She was Queen.
She stood, the tawny owl behind her rustling about and finding a new position to perch in. Using an ashwood staff as a cane, the woman limped to the dais and made her way down the crumbling stone stairs to stand before Hazel, who averted her gaze and stared down at her feet.
Icy fingers cupped Hazel’s chin, and then her face was tilted up.
She had been so woefully unprepared to see what awaited her there.
Where a hard, unrelenting Queen had been just moments before, she now found something else entirely.
Something softer, warmer. Those green eyes were brimming with tears as she stood before Hazel and grabbed her by the shoulders, wanting, searching.
And then she choked back a sob and sputtered, “It’s you. It’s really you.”
Before Hazel could so much as utter her confusion, the Queen pulled her into a tight embrace, letting the tears fall down Hazel’s back.
“Welcome home, my Rhiannon. My daughter.”
Hazel pulled out of her grip. She was familiar in all the right ways.
And yet, her face was so sharp. Something about the softness in her eyes felt hollow, as though it was a mask over the cruelty hiding beneath.
A sensation crawled over her, something screaming that there was more to this reunion than she understood.
“I’m not….” She couldn’t form words. “That’s not my name, Your Grace.”
The Queen laughed softly, brushing off Hazel’s discomfort. “I’m Queen Aisling to them. But as so many of them do, you can call me Mother.” She stood there expectantly. “After all, you’re the only one with a claim to me.”
Mother. Mother. Mother.
Gods, she’d waited so long for this moment, hadn’t she?
Was this not the culmination of her hard-fought journey?
She’d looked death in the eyes and kept pushing for this outcome.
And yet, despite enduring so much, Hazel hadn’t imagined she would face her mother so soon. Perhaps she needed time to process.
After all, this woman, a woman whose presence Hazel had craved her entire life…
had been alive all this time. To make matters worse, she hadn’t even been all that far away.
They were, what, a short day or two ride from Larksridge?
Just beyond the Border? But she’d never seen Aisling’s face before.
At least not that she could remember. And if this woman had ever bothered to check up on her…
well, it wasn’t a face she’d easily forget.
“I take it you have the locket? That you found the book I left you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hazel started, “but the locket was… empty.”
The Queen met her gaze, eyes softening. “Dear child, it was never about what was inside the locket. All you ever needed was in here.” She brought a finger to rest over Hazel’s heart.
Hazel was stunned into silence at the profound statement. But before she could ask her next question, Queen Aisling turned her attention to Slaide. “Though I’m surprised it didn’t warn you away from that one. Curious.”
Slaide, who was finally looking at Hazel. He knew. He knew she was alive, and he knew exactly where he was taking me. But she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or kill him.
“And you, my dear,” she crooned to Slaide, “You have a lot of nerve showing your face within my sanctuary. However, since you’ve delivered to me my long-lost daughter and heir, I at least owe you my thanks.
So, thank you. Guards,” she paused, leveling a murderous gaze at Slaide, “execute him and toss his body back to those dogs across the Border. Let it serve as a warning: the Moonwater Coven does not forgive the transgressions against our kind. The Cailleach will rise again.”
Slaide was prodded in the back with a spear tip, forcing him to bend over further.
Too fast. This was all happening too fast.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared as if out of thin air, their hooded cloak hiding their identity. But Hazel didn’t need to know their name to know why they’d arrived. No, the gleaming executioner’s axe told her plenty.
The cloaked figure stalked toward them, an Aetherial reaper from Hel, axe resting on their shoulder too casually.
Hazel’s eyes darted from the executioner to Slaide to the Queen, chest heaving as panic gripped her. Mori’s grip tightened slightly on her arm, as though sensing Hazel’s unrest.
“You can’t!” Hazel pushed away from the Queen and pulled free from Mori, who attempted to restrain her, baring her teeth. But Hazel dove atop Slaide, putting herself between him and the executioner’s blade.
“Slaide saved me from the darkest pits of Hel by pulling me out of that dungeon. He didn’t kill me, though he could have plenty of times.
Instead, he rescued me from the mad King.
Not to mention he saved you! That’s right, I know all about your little escape from Ravenhold.
You wouldn’t have made it out if not for him.
” A few gasps went up in the gathered crowd.
“I don’t owe that beast anything. He slaughters our kind without end. They bred him to destroy us. Did he tell you that bit? He’s no more than an animal. A hunting dog. So what if he brought me one alive this time? I said thank you. I owe him nothing beyond that,” the Queen snarled.
Hazel did not roll over. This woman held no power over her, mother or no.
“I know exactly who and what he is, and I have moved past it. Slaide Elias is more than the High King’s witch hunter.
He’s a slave just as much as you were. He has earned my trust, and I owe him my life several times over.
So, if you’re going to execute him, you might as well execute me, too.
” Hazel was feral. Her eyes glowed almost gold with rage as she hovered protectively over Slaide.
“Don’t be ridiculous, child. He’s an animal,” the Queen repeated. “If he’s kept you alive this long, it’s more likely that he’s getting something from you in return.” Her gaze raked over Hazel accusingly.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest, but—”
Aisling waved her hand in dismissal. “Save the dramatics for someone else. He is what he is. I don’t care if you warmed his bed or he yours. After all, he is pretty to look at. But that changes nothing.”
The Queen and Hazel locked eyes. Silence passed between them, tension mounting to an uncomfortable level. Two women, each fierce in their own regard, refusing to budge. Below her, Hazel could feel Slaide’s shallow, tentative breathing, his anticipation palpable.
In the end, it was the Queen who broke first. With a huff that said this is far from over, she called her guards. “Change of plans. Take him back. Dump him across the Border and let the rutting Raven King come down from his perch to retrieve his trash.”
The guards nodded wordlessly and took their leave, a dejected Slaide walking between the four of them.
“You can’t mean to send him back there,” Hazel interrupted.
“I can, and I do. You don’t make the rules around here, Princess.” She made a shooing motion at the court and her queensguard, who Hazel had completely overlooked. They blended into shadows.
Shadows.
She could not let Slaide be taken away.