Chapter 22 Judgment #2
Theron stepped closer once more, his attention fixed on me.
“You have earned the Weaver’s Torch,” he said formally.
The words sent a surge of relief through me so powerful my knees nearly gave again.
“Then you’ll give it to us now,” I asked, straightening, my voice sharpened with exhaustion and lingering fear. “We need to leave as soon as possible.”
He turned without answering, already walking away from the circle.
“Come.”
I followed immediately, frustration flaring hot in my chest as we moved back toward the fortress.
“You said I earned it,” I pressed. “Are you going to give me the torch now or not?”
“It is not here,” he replied with a flick of his wrist and a shrug of his shoulder.
I stopped short.
“What do you mean it’s not here?” I snapped, reaching out without thinking and grabbing his arm to halt him.
The instant my fingers closed around him, I knew I’d made a mistake. There was no give beneath my grip, only solid muscle and something denser beneath that, as if stone lay just under his skin. He looked down pointedly at my hand, and my face warmed as I yanked it away at once.
He stepped closer instead, invading my space.
“Your fire does not offend me,” he said softly, his voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous.
“Quite the opposite, little mortal.” Then his expression sharpened, just enough to remind me where I stood. “But a word of warning,” he added. “My army will not be so forgiving if you attempt to do me harm.”
His gaze lingered on me for a breath longer than necessary, something unreadable passing through it. I looked around nervously, seeing that he was right. They each had their hands on the hilts of their weapons as they watched our exchange.
“My treasury lies a day’s ride from here,” he continued, turning once more toward the fortress.
“We will leave as soon as the horses are prepared.”
A day.
Every second mattered, and yet there was no arguing with him now. I swallowed hard and fell into step beside him, the weight of the vow heavy in my chest, knowing with chilling certainty that whatever future I had just bound myself to was already beginning to unfold.
**********************
We left the fortress before the light was fully gone, the sky already deepening into bruised shades of violet and grey as the sun slipped lower behind the distant hills.
Tall and powerful horses were waiting in the outer grounds, each with glossy coats and alert eyes, already saddled and ready as if this journey had been anticipated long before I ever set foot in the Badlands.
Theron mounted with effortless grace, the stone-grey creature beneath him responding instantly to his presence.
It was unmistakably a horse in shape and movement, yet everything about it felt elevated.
As though some ancient sculptor had taken the idea of a warhorse and carved it straight from the bones of the land itself.
Its hide shifted subtly as it breathed, parts of it smooth and sleek like living flesh. Other parts catching the light with a dull, marble sheen, as if stone lay just beneath the surface, waiting to be called forward… just like its owner.
Veins traced faint, silvery lines along its powerful neck and flanks, not pulsing like those of an ordinary animal, but gleaming softly, as though lit from within.
Its eyes were what really held me, dark and reflective.
Intelligent in a way that made my hair stand on end, aware of everything around it and utterly unafraid.
When it moved, its hooves struck the earth with a sound that was deeper than was natural. Like stone meeting stone rather than hoof meeting dirt.
Despite its size and strength, there was nothing grotesque or warped about it, no exaggeration of limbs or features. It was beautiful in the same way a storm was beautiful. The way there was raw magnificence found in the formidable.
I understood then that this was no mere horse, no trained animal, but an extension of Theron himself.
A reflection of his dominion over this land, of the way the Badlands bent to his will without resistance or protest. And at that moment, it became painfully clear that just as the land answered to the Gorgon King, so too did the creatures born within it.
Aster, now reluctantly in human form, followed close behind, his massive form drawing more than a few glances from the soldiers as they fell into formation around us.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked as we set off, unable to keep the question to myself any longer. I also wanted to ask when Theron intended to return my weapons, but I wisely thought it best not to push my luck.
“I am not in the habit of revealing the location of my treasury,” Theron replied evenly without looking back at me. “It was removed from the fortress for a reason.”
His gaze slid briefly to Aster, sharp and knowing, and I caught the silent message beneath it easily enough.
Clearly, the King held a mean grudge against anyone, even a child brazen enough to try and steal from him.
In fact, I wondered if the reason he didn’t hold him accountable was because they had been children.
I bit back the question and focused instead on the road ahead, the rhythmic sound of hooves against packed earth grounding me more than I expected.
I was glad I was at least better dressed for riding, because before we left, I had been escorted back to that room only to find riding gear on the bed waiting for me.
It wasn’t the western style I was used to, but the soft charcoal colored trousers fit perfectly and were reinforced along the inner seams with dark leather.
The forest-green riding tunic, which was laced at the side, allowed me freedom to move, cinched at the waist with a leather belt I wished was my own.
The boots fit well, reaching mid-calf, which was high enough to prevent my legs from rubbing against the stirrup.
Aster rode in something similar. Loose trousers also reinforced with leather.
A thick, belted tunic in brown, which stretched across his shoulders, though his split at the hem to allow his legs freedom in the saddle.
The leather boots he wore reached only to his ankles; his calves were too big for any other style.
The track wound away from the fortress and into a stretch of dense woodland, trees arching overhead as if closing ranks behind us.
It was quiet, the moss and leaves littering the ground softening our horses' steps.
The scent of damp earth and pine was thick in the air, and fireflies flickered faintly between the trunks as dusk deepened.
Time pressed in on me with every mile.
“How much time do we have?” I asked finally, my voice tight despite my efforts to keep it steady.
“Every hour we spend riding is another hour taken from us in getting to the capital.” For the first time since leaving the garden, Theron glanced at me properly.
“The king’s army was sighted earlier today,” he said after a moment. “Still on the move. Still advancing toward the palace, but far enough away that they have some distance to travel.”
My heart pounded at the mention of him.
“So don’t fear, you have time yet for your little intervention.”
I searched his face, looking for mockery, especially given his tone, and strangely found none.
“Have faith, little queen,” he added, surprising me when he came up beside my horse, and the words startled me more than anything else he had said.
“I’m not a queen yet and don’t know whether I ever will be,” I reminded him, and he scoffed in a laugh.
“Then you underestimate yourself and your appeal, for had you not offered me an opportunity of the bargain you made, I might have been tempted to make you my queen instead.”
I gasped, his playful wink doing nothing to cool my cheeks. My mouth dropped, but before I could even think of a comeback to that, he cantered ahead of me, taking his place at the front once more.
We rode on in silence after that.
I found myself settling into the saddle more easily than I ever had before.
The motion of the horse felt familiar, almost comforting, and I realized with a faint, incredulous huff that somewhere along the way, I had become competent at this.
Not fearless, I wouldn’t go that far just yet, but capable at the very least. The thought brought with it a strange mix of pride and sorrow for the version of me who would have trembled at this only weeks ago.
Night fell properly as the forest thinned, the road widening into a stretch of broken stone half reclaimed by grass and roots. Ahead, pale shapes rose from the darkness, columns fractured and toppled, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of weather and neglect.
Ruins.
Theron slowed, then raised a hand.
“We stop here for the night.”
I opened my mouth to argue, the words already forming, but one look at him stopped me cold. His expression brooked no challenge, and any resistance from me wouldn’t be bravery, it would be foolishness.
The soldiers moved instantly, splitting off in practiced efficiency, tents erected with quiet precision as fires were lit and a perimeter set. It was clear this was not the first time they had made camp among the bones of the past.
Aster first helped me down from the horse before leading me over to where a campfire had already been lit.
He then sat beside me as food was distributed, the warmth of the hot meat a welcome contrast to the chill creeping in from the dark.
We ate in silence, exhaustion weighing heavily on my limbs now that the adrenaline had faded.
I barely registered when a guard approached to guide me to my tent, too tired to question it, too aware that I would gain nothing by refusing either.
Inside, the space was modest but clean, blankets laid out neatly atop a bedroll. I sat for a long moment, staring at the canvas walls, confident that sleep would never come, that my mind was too full of worry.
I was wrong.
When I woke, it was not to light or movement, but to my name being called in a whisper.
I latched onto it instantly, my mind sensing the familiar sound. Not of my name, but the way in which it was said.
“Alexandra.”
My breath caught painfully in my chest as I bolted upright, heart hammering as the sound echoed again, closer this time.
I knew that voice.
My lips parted, the name tearing free before reason could stop it…
“Atlas.”