Chapter 23
Ellie
Ishould’ve let Taran follow through on his threat of forcing me to sleep.
Everything is awful. Even though Professor Beckwith’s intensive training over the last few months transformed my body from skin and bones into lean muscle, the stupid horse still turned my legs into useless appendages of pain. They hurt even worse than they did last night.
And my back… my shoulders… my neck… It’s surprising I slept at all.
I spent most of the night twisting and turning on the cold, hard ground, relieving the pressure in one spot only for my new position to send spikes of agony shooting through me moments later.
But I must have succumbed at some point, since I don’t remember the sun rising.
With a groan, I pull my blanket over my head to block the sunlight hitting my face. It smells of smoke, but also musky pine, washing away a lingering clove scent—the remnant of a dream.
Hold on. I didn’t have a blanket. I pull the fabric off my face and examine it. It’s Taran’s coat—the one I burned last night.
“You were shivering.” Taran sits hunched over in the same spot across the fire, poking it with a long stick. A pile of several shorter ones sits next to him. “It didn’t take long for your fire to go out. I had to collect firewood after all.”
I push into a seated position. “Did you sleep?”
“No.”
That could be good. If he’s overtired, it might make it easier for me to escape… if that’s what I decide.
I still have no idea what to do, having fought with myself over Taran’s words all night as pain wreaked havoc on my limbs. My tactics lessons on dealing with fae warned me against their tricks, but I struggled to find any holes in what he said.
Pushing his smelly coat off me, I scoot closer to the fire as the morning air’s still quite crisp despite the sunny blue sky.
The pale-green grass and nearby trees remind me of the gardens visible from my bedroom window back home, and it hits me how nice it is to wake up to color for the first time in months.
Now that it’s daytime, I have a better view of my captor.
The fae clearly don’t care about modesty; he wears a tunic of undyed wool that ties loosely in the front but lacks a collar.
My gaze lingers on the lump of his throat as heat pools in my cheeks, but it’s an effort to look away, his gravity tugging uncomfortably against it.
This must be what they meant by fae being alluring. I need to be mindful of that and not let his looks lull me into a false sense of security. To ignore those striking eyes, swirling with an ethereal green light.
That’s easier said than done—somehow, imagining them as gray and lightless only makes the pull twist tighter. So I wrest my gaze away from his face, following the stylized, leafy vines embroidered down the sides of his tunic to his tight leather riding pants.
I quickly turn back to the fire, swallowing the blaze rising within me. “Are we just sitting here today, or are you going to force me back onto that horse?”
Taran’s eyes flick in my direction. “I’m waiting for my friend. He should have joined us last night.”
“Your friend is Emmrich?” My stomach sinks. What does that mean for Reid?
“Emlyn. He told mortals to call him Emmrich.”
My brows knit together as I scoot closer to the fire, warming my hands. “But he’s been in Haven for months.” That’s when I first heard about Alexis and Reid vying for his attention.
Oh no. My stomach rises back up, threatening to spew its contents onto the ground. Alexis hates the fae for killing her parents. If she had known…
Taran continues, oblivious to the nausea overtaking me. “He’s been spying on the queen for me.”
“And that involves having dishonorable relations with my friends?” I snap.
That gets Taran’s attention, his emerald eyes piercing into me as much as the bite in his voice. “I don’t always approve of his methods, but he does his job well.”
“And that’s all that matters?”
He shifts his weight, leaning forward. “This is what you’re arguing with me about? I didn’t tell him to bed your friends. I told him to watch the queen. He couldn’t get close to her without being recognized as fae, so he got as deep into her circle as he could risk.”
I scoff. “My friends are in your exiled queen’s inner circle?”
“Yes,” Taran exhales. “Reid has known her for over a decade.”
What? I bolt upright as curiosity outpaces my skepticism. “He has? Who is she?”
“Someone you’ve met but don’t remember. Because of your curse.”
“Then why take me and not Reid? If he remembers her, he could actually be helpful.”
Taran’s jaw tightens, his frustration bleeding into his words. “I don’t need someone who remembers her.”
“Then what is it about me you need?”
Instead of responding, he pushes himself to his feet and storms off. My fingers press into the cold, damp grass as I scramble after him, my aching muscles screaming in protest. I’m in no shape to catch up with him.
So I have to stop him. Preferably in the most intimidating way possible.
With a silent incantation, I trace my hand horizontally through the air, and a wall of fire ignites the ground in front of him, flames rising above his head. He stumbles backward, tripping on the roots I rip up from the earth.
My legs burn as I catch up, then form an icicle, sharp as a blade, down the length of my arm. Taran scrambles back, trying to escape the roots clawing at his limbs. He freezes as I stop the icy tip inches from his neck.
“I’m tired of these games,” I say. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know.”
“Stop incanting. Let me go.” His voice echoes through the air. Through my bones.
My mind goes slack as I release my incantations. Ice melts. Flames die out. Roots retreat.
What just happened?
I stare at my wet hand, blinking. Taran pushes to his feet, further away, but I barely register him. I try to form more ice, but can’t even visualize the focal. Like a door shut in my mind.
My fingers clench. “What did you do?”
Taran pulls himself upright, running his hand through his hair. “It will wear off, eventually.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t enjoy doing that. I don’t want to do that.”
My mouth goes dry. Despite that sentiment, this changes everything. I’ve never heard of this kind of fae magic. How can I possibly escape something like this? I’d have to knock him out or kill him before he has a chance to speak.
Could I even bring myself to do that?
I need to stay calm. If he notices my panic, I’ll have lost. I splay my fingers, trying to relax, then curl them tight.
“Explain to me why I’m here.”
Taran sighs. “You won’t remember if I do.”
I shoot him my best glare. “Then you’ll have to keep doing whatever it is that you don’t enjoy doing to keep me from leaving.”
He narrows his eyes. “Fine. I’ll try.” With a glance at our pitiful campsite, he asks, “Do you have anything to write with?”
What? Wary of his intentions, I rifle through my bag, digging out my sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. I quickly flip past a bunch of sketches of Academy students to a blank page near the middle. I offer it to him as he sits on the grass, facing me.
“No, it’s for you. I want you to draw lines as you listen.”
Weird.
I make two small lines next to each other.
“Like this?” I ask.
“Yes.” He waits for me to continue.
I roll my eyes and begin marking the page. “This better be good.” I haven’t a clue where he’s going with this, but it doesn’t appear to be a trap.
“The exiled queen is my mother, Queen Esyllt Evermoor. I am the firstborn prince of Aedys, heir to the throne.”
My eyes widen, and my hand freezes. “You’re a prince?”
“Yes. Keep drawing.” He points at my sketchbook, and I dutifully begin again, no longer looking at the marks as I make them.
“The ability I used to bring you with me—and stop your attacks—is called willbending. It’s unique to the Evermoor bloodline, but has been weak for many generations.
When I was five, my mother discovered it had manifested in me with a strength not seen since the early days of our history.
She couldn’t accept her child being stronger than her, so she tried to kill me. ”
My heart hiccups. And I thought my father was cold.
No, don’t sympathize with him. He’s the enemy. He kidnapped me.
Taran gestures at my sketchbook.
I swallow my pity, then continue my tally marks. I need to uncover where he’s going with this.
He takes a breath, his gaze dropping to the ground.
He explains how his father, Gethin, foiled her attempt and exiled her, ruling in Taran’s stead after the realm passed to him—his first act as king was to end the Border Wars.
It’s possible he’s telling the truth, since we never knew why the fae stopped attacking.
“And the queen went to Landore?” I ask. “To Haven?”
“Eventually. Where are you with your marks?”
I check my sketchbook. “I’ve almost filled a page.”
“Start a new one. Not long after leaving Aedys, my mother found herself with child again. She gave birth to a half mortal, half fae she named Caeo. My brother.”
I glance up from my tallying. I missed what he just said.
He continues before I can ask him to repeat himself. “When Caeo was four, she moved them to Haven. Around the same time, we noticed her growing weaker, likely from running out of water from Aedys.”
The twittering of a bird catches my ear—I’m not sure which kind. I blink a few times, realizing I stopped paying attention.
Focus.
“A few months ago, Emlyn reported her health was improving. We ordered him to get closer, to discover more. He couldn’t approach my mother because she would know him, so he went through Caeo’s friend, Reid, instead.
He likely would have gone through Caeo himself, except he was already smitten with someone else. ”
The fire in Taran’s green eyes burns into mine. “You.”
It ignites a heat within me, but I bury it down—fae charm. I can’t fall for it. “What are you talking about?”