Chapter 23 #2
“You don’t remember Caeo because of your curse. He went to the Equinox Ball with you. That’s why you can’t recall it. Emlyn spotted the curse and helped Reid notice it, which allowed the two of you to form some semblance of a real relationship.
“We suspected my mother cursed both of you because she planned to return to Aedys with Caeo and didn’t want his love for you to get in the way.
That was practically confirmed when my father was assassinated.
” Taran’s gaze drifts away, his lips pressing together.
A moment later, his eyes flick back to me.
“I fled, meeting Emlyn halfway to Haven, and he informed me that the queen and my brother had disappeared.”
“And you decided to abduct me?”
“Yes. My brother loves you, and I’m hoping that will help him see the truth our mother has hidden from him. Otherwise…” His face darkens as he trails off, then he swallows. “Otherwise, if he won’t listen, I may be forced to kill him. And my mother.”
After a moment of silence, he clears his throat. “What’s the last thing I told you?”
I blink, startled by the question.
“Uh… that your father ended the Border Wars, and the queen went to Haven.”
Taran squeezes his eyes shut. “How many pages had you filled with marks?”
“One.”
He opens his eyes and gestures at my sketchbook. My eyes widen at two and a half pages full of marks.
I flip back and forth through the pages. “What? How is that possible?”
Taran sighs, running his hand through his chin-length hair. “You’ve forgotten the part where I explained everything related to your curse.”
No, this has to be some kind of trick. There must be something—
I look up at Taran. He must have used that willbending thing again. He made me forget something.
But there’s no satisfaction on his face. No gleam in his otherwise brilliant green eyes. If anything, he looks tired. Exhausted. Maybe a little sick.
An icy dread pools in my stomach, sinking all the way to my toes.
It doesn’t make sense for this to be a trick. If he could use willbending to make me forget part of this conversation, or mark my sketchbook without realizing it, then he’d have been better off making me forget he could, so I’d be easier to control. Instead, he explained it to me.
As best I can tell, he’s answered every question I’ve asked, and proven I’m under a fae curse in the process.
Where does that leave me now?
I sniff back the emotion threatening to break my voice. “Can you remove the curse? With your willbending? Force me to remember?”
Sorrow fills Taran’s eyes. “Not without breaking your mind. There are others more skilled with curses who may be able to, but not me.”
I nod, trying to control my breathing. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Tears burn behind my eyes anyway. My father, the Order… They won’t be able to free me, either.
My hand slips into my pocket, squeezing the stray button. Lost and alone, like me.
“So you can’t tell me why you need me?” I ask. If I can actually help him, then maybe he’ll help me find someone capable of breaking it.
Taran exhales, then rubs the bridge of his nose. “You remember the queen?”
“Yes.”
“She was living in Haven, but disappeared shortly after an attempt on my life and the assassination of my father.” The set of his jaw projects strength, but grief fills his eyes.
A pang of sympathy resonates in my chest. I’ve only known a world at peace, but I’ve often imagined what would happen if the war started up again. The risk it posed to my father. Such worries always left my mom sleeping worse when he was away.
I wipe the moisture from my cheeks. “You think they’re related?”
“I do.”
I search his face, seeking any signs of deception. There’s… something about him. Something I should know, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can’t reach. The way his tousled, raven hair hangs near his eyes. As if I’ve met him before, but I can’t recall anyone who looks at all similar.
Whatever it is, my gut wants to trust him. Or is this simply the fae charm everyone warned me about?
Arandur’s knickers. This is impossible to navigate. But if I accept that he’s been telling the truth and that we can help each other, then maybe I can build more trust by showing some compassion?
I rest my hand on his, like my mom always does when comforting me. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Taran’s gaze drops to our hands, then he pulls away, scooting out of reach.
So much for that.
He clears his throat. “I believe my mother intends to steal my throne, then force my people into war against yours. There are reasons I expect you’ll be useful in stopping her, but we’ve proven I can’t explain them in a way you can remember. You just have to trust me.”
His face shows no sign of duplicity. For whatever reason, he believes I can help him, and his eyes bleed a desperate hope that I will. That he’s convinced me. That he doesn’t need to fight me anymore.
Even if my gut is wrong, helping him is my best chance to get free of my curse. And if doing so can also save my people from war, it would be selfish not to. Cowardly, even.
But underneath that, something deeper stirs. As if helping him will somehow fill the hole in my heart, like a missing puzzle piece.
“Alright.” My chest tightens, hoping I’m making the correct choice. “I’ll trust you.”
* * *
The rest of the day crawls by, with Taran growing more and more agitated as several bells pass without Emlyn arriving.
He keeps insisting we’re in the correct location, despite nothing about our campsite or the nearby forest seeming particularly identifiable, claiming Emlyn should’ve found us by now even if something had delayed him.
I can only hope that whatever happened, Reid’s safe.
I’ve finally convinced him I’ll stay put while he goes and searches, but hesitation blankets his face as he mounts his horse.
“Don’t make me regret trusting you.” His emerald eyes bore into me, and something flutters uncomfortably in my throat. I swallow it down, my fingers finding their way back to that button.
“I won’t leave. I promise.”
Even if I wanted to, it’s not like I could get very far. He’s leaving a horse I’m unable to ride, and based on last night’s travel, we must be at least a dozen miles from the Academy. My legs almost gave out when I walked to the trees to relieve myself.
Taran’s lips purse as if debating with himself one final time, then he kicks the horse into a gallop, riding south along the tree line.
He’s actually trusting me.
I spend most of the afternoon stretching amid tall blades of itchy grass, massaging my legs, and crystallizing blocks of ice to numb my muscles with—as Taran said, his willbending wore off eventually.
More proof that he’s trustworthy, I suppose.
He left some food—mostly nuts and berries—but I’m famished by the time he returns, about a bell before sunset.
“I didn’t find him,” he says as he dismounts, and his horse wanders to where the other one stands, munching on grass. “But I got more food.” He holds up the rabbit carcass that was hanging off his saddle.
My stomach turns, but I’m hungry enough to have no objections. I simply volunteer to collect more firewood while he skins and cleans his catch.
Our meal’s hanging over the fire by the time I return, and I sit on the grass next to him, watching the meat cook. Its gamey scent fills my nostrils, sending a sharp hunger pang through my belly.
Despite the pops and cracks of the fire, the silence between us is maddening.
“So, you don’t want war with my people?” I ask, hoping to find some common ground. If we both want peace, that’s a good place to start.
Taran looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No. The Land already punished your people, and the wars cost countless lives. And if we had let you be, the Second Betrayal would likely have never occurred.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pretend I don’t understand most of what you just said.”
Taran exhales, then leans forward to pull the cooked meat from the fire with his knife. But I swear his mouth curls with a hint of a smile.
He sits back down. “You wouldn’t, I suppose.” He tears the meat with the jagged blade and hands some to me. “I’m sure mortals teach history quite differently than we do.”
That doesn’t automatically make your version better.
But picking a fight won’t help anything, so I swallow my response.
Feeling horribly uncivilized, I rip at the meat with my teeth.
It’s tough, but tasty, and its juices drip down my chin, making me instantly aware of how messy I am—two days since my last bath, sleeping in the dirt.
I attempt to wipe my mouth on my shoulder, as if scratching an itch, and take a whiff of myself. I stink of smoke.
Meanwhile, Taran looks… Well, flawless is an understatement.
The setting sun reflects off his sleek, midnight hair, perfectly windswept from his ride.
His smooth skin practically glows, with not a single sign of stubble.
My eyes trace his jawline, down his neck, to his clothes.
While patches of dirt and sweat cover mine, his are pristine in comparison.
“How are you so clean?” I ask. There must be some kind of secret to it.
Taran coughs, choking on his food. “What?”
“Is it a fae thing?” I lean closer, inspecting him. His face reddens, and he avoids my eyes. “I’m a mess, but you—”
He presses his fingers against my lips, shushing me. The flustered expression that briefly transformed his features disappears as he tenses, looking westward.
“Horses are approaching.”
I move his hand away from my mouth, the cold air kissing my lips as his warmth disappears. There’s only silence.
“How can you tell?”
“I can sense them.”
What does that mean?
He pulls his hand free of mine, and I flush at the realization I was still holding it. He goes straight to his horse, pulling his bow from the saddle and sliding an arrow into it.
Moments later, two horses appear in the distance, the sound of their hoofbeats arriving soon after. My shoulders relax as I recognize the riders.
Reid. With Taran’s friend, Emlyn.