Chapter 2
TWO
ARYELLA
I’ll never forgive myself for letting you believe, for a single second, that my heart could ever beat for anyone but you.
—FROM THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA’S LAST KNOWN LETTERS TO QUEEN ARYELLA I
I craved anything that made me feel alive.
The icy rain on my skin. The sharp, splitting pain in my shins each time my feet pounded on the uneven forest floor.
Crisp air filling my lungs. The chirps and trills of birds searching for mates.
The rich smell of spring moss and fresh soil, ready for creation and growth.
Shera, my eight-month-old umbra, running with me at my side.
Craving life felt reasonable for someone who’d come back from the dead. And I’d spent the last four months of life sorting through what was real.
Ten months ago, I’d been living in a daze. I’d believed that my parents were Phillip and Elowen Gold; that their five-year-old son, Oliver, was my brother. When Phillip and Oliver were killed, Elowen left me alone in the wilderness. Even then, I didn’t doubt that she was my mother.
I’d been starving to death when a group of strangers arrived to help me. They told me I was the Queen of Nyrida. That my true father was Simeon Whitlock and an ancient prophecy said I was fated to marry a great leader and save this world.
But even that was a lie, created to control me. Simeon was not my father but my uncle. He’d stolen my memories long ago. And claimed me as his own so he could marry me off to an ally, Commander Elias Winterton, to secure his power and keep me from the man I once loved.
Gavin Smyth.
Even Gavin had kept my identity from me.
My stomach growled, pulling me back from stewing on their lies.
In the past, I might have ignored my hunger or let it swallow me whole. Now, I listened to my instinct. I ran on, and the chimney smoke from our log cabin soon came into view. That meant Damond was awake and already cooking.
“Gods bless you, Damond.” His cooking kept up with my training regimen. I was strong now, not brittle. Toned where I used to be too thin. Solid. Quick. And my favorite thing? I could run for four hours without stopping.
Shera and I burst through the cabin door. The wind slammed it shut behind us. Damond sat at the table, hands folded in front of two breakfast plates. Mine, fresh and untouched. His, nearly finished.
“You have another message from your uncle.”
His words nearly had me spinning on my heel and back into the torrential rain.
Shera’s face rubbed against my hip. I brushed my hand over her damp head.
“Sit.”
She obeyed. She was wild, but my magic connected us, and she seemed to listen to every word from my mouth.
“How long has it been here?” I sighed at the small piece of paper.
“Since you left for your run,” Damond answered.
I looked at the note and gritted my teeth as I read:
Smyth lied to you.
The words were written in an elegant script that seemed appropriate for an ancient sorcerer.
This was the twelfth time in recent weeks that my uncle Simeon had used his magic to materialize a note in our small cabin. Making things appear and disappear out of thin air was apparently one of his many talents.
Both Simeon and Molochai wanted to control my powers in their own ways. Molochai wanted my magic so that he could become wholly unstoppable and seize the entire continent. Simeon wanted to use me as a weapon to destroy Molochai for good.
My uncle didn’t like things that were natural or wild. He liked control. Over four hundred years ago, he’d wiped my mind clean and put me in a four-centuries-long sleep to make me and my power easier to manipulate. It didn’t work, thanks to Gavin Smyth.
When I thought of Simeon and all he’d taken from both of us, I understood why Gavin had always been so angry all the time.
We’d barely been married when Simeon took me from him.
In his determination to find me, Gavin had made a blood oath with Molochai, his father, in exchange for immortality, and unwittingly became the Butcher of Nyrida, compelled to slaughter thousands of innocents over centuries, including Phillip and Oliver Gold.
When Simeon woke me up in the present, Gavin threatened Simeon to ensure he would be the one to find me, train me, and nourish me back to life.
He had been trying to buy me time before going to my people and Elias.
He’d been intending to protect me from Simeon and help me remember what we once were.
Get me strong enough to fight for myself.
But his fear had kept him from revealing what we were to each other, and his omissions, along with my impulsive inclination to save his wife—who I now knew was me —had cost me my life.
I snatched a pen off the table and angrily scribbled on the back of the note.
He lied to me to protect me from you.
The paper was gone the moment I finished writing. My eyes opened wide when, seconds later, the note reappeared.
Are you in love with him?
My pulse stuttered. Damond crossed his arms with a sigh.
I wasn’t sure of the answer, but my uncle didn’t need to know that.
What does it matter to you? I wrote back.
Jaw clenched, I tapped my foot on the floor. Each passing second tested my limited patience.
The note reappeared with a brief, warm gust of wind.
It was never my intention to hurt you. Come to the Winterton Caves. I‘ll meet you there. I’ll help you, Aryella.
“Bullshit,” I muttered, glancing at Damond, who was always careful with his reactions. After learning how thoroughly I’d been manipulated, I wanted to make my own choices, and Damond respected that.
I’m doing this my way , I wrote back. Let my uncle wonder about the full extent of my anger. Though, I almost added fuck off for good measure.
Damond and I were hiding from Molochai just outside a small village in Avendrel called Varamuth, a few days north of the Winterton Caves.
Molochai must have figured out I survived his attempt to kill me when my power didn’t transfer to him, so he would be looking for me.
And Gavin was still bound by a blood oath to kill for Molochai on command.
Until the oath was broken, we were hiding from Gavin, too.
Simeon’s magic was more refined and controlled than anything I knew—and I knew if he truly wanted to find me I wouldn’t be able to escape. I couldn’t decide whether to feel solace or fear that he was allowing me to remain free.
Maybe he did feel some guilt for the choices he took from me.
I tossed Simeon’s next note in the fire without a glance at his reply. I’d had enough of him today.
“Proud of you,” muttered Damond.
I gave an acknowledging grunt and turned toward my bedroom, snapping my fingers twice so Shera knew to follow. I eyed my breakfast plate in passing, and my stomach growled again. “I’m bathing and coming back. Please don’t eat my food.”
“You’re dripping all over the floor, Your Highness,” Damond called playfully. “You and your wild puss.”
“Call me that again, and I’ll break your nose,” I threatened. “Call her that again, and I’ll set your precious hair on fire.”
I slammed my bedroom door, hearing him chuckling on the other side.
He knew I didn’t mean it. Some days I was so angry that I took it out on him just to keep the blackness at bay.
He weathered it. Provoked me, sometimes, just to get me talking, but never retaliated.
Pitied me when he saw the tears of fury brimming in my eyes.
Tears were better than nothing at all, he said.
I recalled how numb I was while alone in Warrich, and I knew he was right.
I bathed for an hour and thought about which of my gods’ powers to practice in the afternoon.
I had a decent grasp on everything elemental : fire, light, wind, ice, water, and earth.
The way I summoned each elemental power was the same.
I reached into my wheel and gripped the proper spoke, then it flowed through my body and out of my hand like a river.
I could control the strength of the flow for a few moments, but not enough to reliably wield around anyone or inside the house.
The power of the goddess Floris unsettled me the most. I could extend and control tree branches and vines like they were my extra limbs. Damond often watched in awe from a distance. He’d become like family to me, but I often wished Gemma, Caz, Finn, and Ezra were here to see me thriving, too.
At least I knew they were alive and well. Damond had contacts at the Winterton Caves, and soon after we’d arrived here, he’d received word that my friends were safe. Caz had lost his leg, but a physician was working on a false one that might allow him to walk again.
Later, he had written to Gemma and received a letter in return. Gemma wrote that there were sinister reports of my brutal death south of Brinnea. One of Elias’s spies had seen what unfolded from afar. They assumed I was dead and that the Butcher disposed of my body.
I forbade Damond from telling her anything in his letters other than that I was alive and that no one should know besides Finn and Caz. Ezra was unwaveringly loyal to Elias, and I didn’t know how to handle my betrothed. I chose to leave Ezra in the dark and prayed he’d forgive me for it someday.
It had been nearly five months since Gavin Smyth had forced his way into my life and taught me to fight for myself.
Some of his methods were questionable, but the more I recalled our time together, the more sense his actions made.
He knew I liked tea with honey instead of coffee.
My middle name. My real mother, Christabel Whitlock, and her love of blue jays.
He knew more about me than I knew about myself.