Chapter 45
I raced until I couldn’t hear Dion anymore. Panting and not being able to tell how long I’d been running, I finally stopped. Finding my bearing took its time, and I supported myself heavily by leaning on my thighs to catch my breath.
Stars of exhaustion danced in my vision.
Still, I monitored my surroundings as well as I could.
When I found myself beyond the outskirts of Amalach, on the opposite side from where we’d entered, I scanned the vast wastelands before me.
No horse, dressed in opulent ceremonial robes tailored to historical fae fashion, accompanied only by a satchel containing two relics of the gods and a magically crafted dagger of my bound Wielder that I hated, the inventory of my situation was pathetic.
No food, no water, only a fury burning brightly inside of me.
That and an almost painful emptiness where Dion’s magic had met mine after the Rite.
I groaned, and my thoughts jumped back to the midnight dagger, which I'd better get rid of sooner rather than later if I didn’t want Dion to track me through the weapon infused with his magic.
He’d warned me that it wouldn’t feel good to separate for magic-bound duos, and I was sure this was what he’d counted on in the first place.
He’d hoped I’d feel so uncomfortable that I’d overlook all his lies and the fact he was an obedient little tool for his grandfather, the fucking High King of the fucking fae.
A prince. A fucking fae prince, grandchild to the nefarious Galrach, Emperor of the Eternal Throne of Alaiann.
He was the sentient weapon that destroyed Amalach.
If he was so powerful already, how much would he gain from my Potential?
Was he even acting on his own accords? Or had it all been a ruse on his grandfather’s order?
I wouldn’t become an accessory to mass destruction—I’d rather die.
Larithia’s behavior made a lot more sense to me—she must have known.
Everyone had known but me. Nayana Garnet Ortha, the greatest fool in Ivreian history—or make that the history of both worlds.
I had no other choice but to walk into the wastelands, but with every step, my conscience screamed louder and battled my fury. The truth was inexcusable, but I’d broken my word to never run again without giving Dion a chance to explain.
The strange red spot under my collarbone burned, and I winced while fighting to ignore it. What was one more discomfort to add to all the others? One more vague secret of that damned princeling?
And yet, what if there was a minuscule chance that all this was just a giant misunderstanding? My resolve wavered with each step.
I remembered the letter from Dion’s grandfather—and the way the men—no, males—had reacted to it.
So much was going on in my mind: the talk of treason, the fae that had been sent after them, all the small things I’d learned over the months and never connected because I’d been missing crucial information.
Even as angry as I was, I had to admit that it felt real.
It should be impossible that a group of people could fake something so big for so long and so well—although they’d all succeeded in concealing their true nature from me for months, so what did I know?
Antas had told me he’d tricked Dion into coming with them so he could get some space from his duties—or his grandfather? From Antas’ brother. Shit, Dion’s uncle was Galrach’s brother.
The males also mentioned that they’d never seen Dion more alive than in these last months.
What if there was more to it? It wouldn’t change his lies of epic proportions or that he deceived and manipulated me into this binding under false pretenses—something that shouldn’t have been possible according to all the information that I’d been given.
Of course, that could have been more lies, but Larithia hadn’t objected when Dion explained the Rite to me, and even I had to admit that it would have been too much work if she’d been part of the potential ruse as well.
But maybe—maybe there would be at least a good explanation for why he’d acted like a monster in the name of his grandfather, the king.
I couldn’t imagine there could be one good enough, but those doubts, along with the nagging voice of my conscience reminding me of my broken promise, stopped me dead in my tracks.
I sighed deeply and angrily. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered to myself and turned in the direction of Amalach to find Dion and have a long talk with the princeling. Besides, I kept telling myself that with no supplies, I had a low chance of making it through the wastelands alive.
“That’s the wrong direction, sweetie.”
My eyes widened as a deep voice came from my left, a voice I’d only heard once before in my life, and just like back then, it made my skin crawl. My hand slipped into my skirts and gripped the hilt of the midnight dagger, then I shifted to face the man who had come for me. “Perran Feroy.”
“The one and only. It’s about time we met again, Miss Ortha.”
I watched as the King of Merchants dismounted from his horse.
He wore elegant clothes of the finest materials, just as he’d been the first time I’d seen him at my parents’ house.
There was nothing to indicate that he’d traveled through Ivreia in the past few months—no dirt, no sweat, no discomfort—which was surprising, to say the least. A man of his physique should be dead on his feet after such a journey.
But I couldn’t dwell on that riddle, for it was vital to keep my wits sharp instead of giving in to distraction.
I counted eight armored guards in his entourage, and they dismounted as well—my chances weren’t good.
Me, a woman armed only with a dagger she was barely trained to use against eight battle-ready men.
Well, and Perran Feroy, but he would hardly count.
Given all the facts, my odds of escaping were practically non-existent.
“Nancy, take care of our horses. I’ll have your head if even one of them gets lost,” Perran Feroy said to one of his men while I was still frozen in place, indecision burning in my chest about what to do.
The guard named Nancy nodded. His red hair reminded me of Thain in terms of color, but the guard wore it short.
The similarities ended there because where Thain was tall, lean, and attractive, the man who was seizing the several reins was stout and rough-looking, with a thick red mustache and beard covering half his face.
He glowered as if he hated being ordered around. Yes Nancy, you and me both.
“Can’t say I’m happy to see you.”
“You’re very hard to find, Miss Ortha. Care to explain how you’ve been evading me all this time?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“You murdered my son, my only heir. Surely, I deserve at least that much of a courtesy.”
Gritting my teeth, I felt acid rise in my throat at the mention of his son Jelric, and it forcefully dragged back the memories of his weight on top of me. “Your son tried to rape me.”
“He was your betrothed, and he merely wanted to take what he was entitled to.”
“You’re as despicable as him. I see where he got it from.”
The King of Merchants took a step toward me, and I observed that his guards didn’t move with him. Maybe, if I lured him further away, I might have a chance to give him the same treatment I’d given Jelric. My hand tightened around the hilt of my dagger.
“My, my, no need to throw insults around, Miss Ortha. Even though your actions so far suggest that you’re intellectually challenged, let’s still try to have a simple chat here like reasonable adults. I’m sure you are aware of how outnumbered you are.”
Indeed, I was aware of that and also of the fact that it was my fault that I was alone in the first place. If I’d kept my promise to Dion, I’d still be in relative safety. Did it make me a monster because I yearned for the protection of an even more evil monster? “Outnumbered or underestimated?”
“Oh, I’m not underestimating you. You’re a murderer after all, escaped your own execution, evaded capture for months, and today I find you walking away from the Godless City wearing the most peculiar choker I’ve ever seen. What kind of dark bargain have you struck?”
My hand touched my neck in reflex, but there was only skin beneath the pads of my fingers and a faint darkness writhing and humming beyond—I refused to acknowledge that my binding mark might be purring.
“None,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I find that hard to believe. So, Miss Ortha, I’ll repeat myself one more time. How have you evaded me all these months?”
I retreated as Perran followed. I had to lure him further away, needed to keep him talking, so he’d be separated from his guards, who were still standing where they dismounted, looking slightly bored at the King of Merchants.
“By being more intelligent than you. Ever thought about that?”
“You see, that’s also hard to believe. You, a young villager, a woman no less, untrained in weaponry and survival, with no special skills according to your father, and who escaped from the gallows being drugged and half-strangled.
And the way how you escaped, this unnatural darkness no one could explain.
It’s very peculiar, Miss Ortha, wouldn’t you agree? ”
I just shrugged, letting him talk while luring him further away.
“But you can solve this little mystery for me, can’t you? So, who helped you, and how did day turn to night? It still terrorizes the dreams of the poor inhabitants of Credenta.”
A pang of satisfaction swept through my veins. It felt weirdly good to know that the people who would have gladly watched me die were still suffering from the aftermath of Dion’s power, but I shoved those thoughts far away. They would make me even more of a monster. Or a hypocrite—maybe both.
“Guess you’ll never find out.”