17. Seventeen
seventeen
"Excuse me?"
"Pack," Erqis repeated, still not looking her in the eyes. His solemn demeanour disturbed her more than anything else. "Anything you might want. We are leaving at dawn."
She followed him when he walked away, grabbing his arm. "What do you mean, we ? I am not going anywhere with you. You said I would be staying here. We agreed ."
Erqis whirled on her with such sudden ferocity that it was only pride that made her not take an instinctive step back. "Change of plans. You are coming to Duskport with me. What, you want to stay here? There is no one left , Neira. You're alone."
The words fell like blows against a numb limb. No one left. The regiars, her people – gone. Just like that? It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real . "I don't understand."
"There is no need for you to understand. Please, just go pack. We can speak about this on the way." Again, he turned away from her. "I have things to attend to."
And then he strode off, as if he hadn't just flipped her world on its head.
A large, warm hand gently closed around her elbow as she gaped after him.
"Allow me to escort you, Princess," Qavor murmured.
She let him lead her away, the sound of her rushing blood loud in her head. They passed the heap with the feather duster a second time, and the rushing became a roar that would have sent her to her knees had the Farn not kept hold of her.
Climbing the stairs was a slow endeavour. The huntsman winced every other step, and Neira wasn't too sure of her own footing, but eventually they made it back to her rooms.
"I'm sorry about this," Qavor said quietly, opening the door for her. "I know it isn’t what you wanted. But I would prefer you didn't stay here alone, either."
"Neither of your opinions matter to me," she snapped, stalking into her rooms – where she stopped in the middle of the first one, looking around. She didn't even know where to start. "I did not ask you to come here and kill my father. I have done nothing but be accommodating, despite every crime you have committed in my realm, and as a reward I get to be a hostage in a foreign city instead of in my own home."
Neira knew it wasn't fair to make this the Farn's problem, to make him take her wrath when it was his king she was furious with. But he was here, and Erqis was not, and he was taking her abuse with a calm, gentle understanding that only made her angrier.
He said nothing, merely bowed his head, and then stepped into her room. There was a pack peeking out from beneath Neira’s bed, because she had flirted over the past few days with the idea of running away. It was empty – for now. Qavor opened it, still calm, still silent, and held it for her.
And so, Neira began to pack. What else was she supposed to do?
"I will bring some family heirlooms," Neira stated, leading him through the hidden door in her bedroom. The first pack, filled with her clothing, was already sitting on her table, ready to go – but she couldn't leave without at least something to remind her of home. Something she could sell, should the need arise. "You're welcome to the rest."
She could hear how toneless her voice sounded, how flat. There would be time for tears later, she told herself.
"And any provisions still in the larders, I suppose. Take what you want."
"Thank you, your Highness." Qavor was struggling to get through the narrow stairway, equally due to his height and breadth as well as the shallow stairs being hard on his sore leg. "That will ease the journey home."
Your home , Neira thought. Not mine .
Once the first wave of fury had ebbed and clarity had returned, aided by the huntsman's steadfast calm, the way forward had become much easier. She couldn't stay here. Erqis wasn't wrong, and no amount of griping about it would change that truth. And she couldn't go off on her own either – if she had learned anything over the past few days, it was how woefully unprepared she actually was for this world. Neira had let things happen to her instead of making them happen, content to float through life without questioning anything about it, hanging herself upon the small inconveniences that had felt like world-ending crises and yet now seemed nothing more than orchestrated for her distraction.
No more.
The door to her small, easily controlled world had been thrown wide open and all she had to do was step through it, even if every step she took felt like wading through deep water.
The smartest thing to do right now was play along, to allow the Grey King to think her weak and helpless and utterly alone, until she could escape her captors. She hadn't been able to send off the letter to the Glacier Throne, but if her path led her to Duskport already, who was to stop her from boarding a ship and following Safir north?
Behind her, Qavor swore when he spotted the lake. The water churned as something swam by, close enough to the surface to send ripples across the lake "What is that?"
"You don't want to know."
Neira’s steps were light and sure. Qavor’s would have been, too, but he was so focused on the distant threat that, for once, he didn’t watch where he was going. The edge of the walkway crumbled beneath his boot and he stumbled – it was only for a moment, and his boot slipped into the water barely deeper than the thick sole, but it was enough. The whole lake began to roil.
Neira dragged in a sharp breath. “Run.”
A pair of gaping jaws broke the surface where Qavor’s foot had been, rows upon rows of dagger-sharp teeth glinting. Neira grabbed the Farn’s hand and broke into a sprint, pulling the much larger man along. Behind them the murk-dweller roared, throwing itself out of the water in a desperate attempt to get up onto the bridge, and ahead of them, more began to drag themselves up onto the stone path with their long, spindly arms.
Qavor scooped Neira up and sprinted the rest of the way, his longer legs the only thing that saved them both from becoming an early dinner. He didn’t know where he was going, but there was only one way: forward. Blackness loomed beyond the doorway on the far end of the bridge, hardly a welcoming sight, but it certainly looked safer than what was currently slithering in their wake.
They bounded to safety and Qavor set the princess down again, keeping his body between her and the entryway. There was clear horror on his face as he panted, peering out, watching the terrors of scales and fangs and slick, reaching arms try to get close enough, to broach the massive pillar that acted as the entrance to the vault, but one by one, they eventually sank back into the lake.
Silence fell over them, broken only by Qavor’s heavy breathing and the sound of the water gently lapping at the stones as it settled.
"You were right," Qavor said eventually, his voice rough. "I would have preferred not to know."
Neira chuckled as if that hadn’t been the most terrifying experience of her life – or, at least, of recent days – and turned down the path led to the vault doors. They were shrouded by total darkness before the twin torches flickered to life with pale flames. Qavor's steps slowed behind her.
"What is this?"
"Something else you would perhaps prefer to not know," she replied, holding her hands into the flames to trace the runes.
Neira could feel the huntsman's gaze on her back as she fed the fire into the locking runes, but he was here to plunder the vault as much as she was, and she was the only one who could open it. Slowly, with a loud grinding noise, the vault door began moving.
The same pale, eerie light of the flames flickered to life along the walls of the chamber, casting dancing shadows across the treasures within. It was easy work for Neira to pick out what she wanted – pieces she remembered her mother to have worn on occasion. Crowns, chokers, rings, earrings – she placed some of each into her pack. Dark gems, black crystals. Pieces that would make her feel strong and secure. And the pale, spiked crown she had worn the last time she had stepped foot into the antechamber.
Qavor waited until she had closed her pack, her collection complete, and then began filling a second one with the rest, working with quiet efficiency to strip the vault of its riches. All of these, Neira supposed, would be locked in a new vault, with a new owner.
It was an odd feeling to pack up ones life, knowing one would likely never return to it.
Majesty .
The voice carried into her mind like a cool breeze, winding around her.
"One more thing," she told the Farn. The unassuming door at the far end opened when she approached it, like unseen hands had eagerly pushed it open for her.
The small chamber beyond lay in shambles.
"What-" Neira gaped, stopping in the doorway. Large chunks of the rough, reflective stone had fallen off the walls, leaving deep crevices. "What happened here?"
Against the back wall the mirror hung askew, the glass glowing weakly. Majesty . It didn't speak out loud, as it usually had. The light pulsed with the syllables. I am growing weak .
Behind her Qavor cursed, his reaction not unlike Safir's. He did not ask what it was, perhaps having learned his lesson about curiosity, but he kept a careful distance back. Perhaps the Farns' magic was so different from that of the mirror that they both felt the same way about it – Safir with abject terror, Qavor with that wary, tense attention – but Neira didn't have the luxury of heeding their concerns. This was the only ally she had – the only sentient thing she could bring that was familiar.
The only thing that was on her side.
She braved the littered floor as quickly as possible and plucked the mirror off the wall. It wasn't damaged, although it did hiss its displeasure in her mind when she turned it over and over to make sure there were no dents or cracks. "I've got you," she murmured, tucking it to her chest like she'd hold an infant. "I'm not leaving you behind."
Its gratitude felt almost warm against her skin, even as her fingertips grew cold, the warmth leached from them. And I have got you .