9. The Sacred Forest #2
“Fine by me,” he said, giving an indifferent shrug of his broad shoulders. The heavy set of his brow and the rigidness of his posture lessened the effect. Without his wings, the prince seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t know what to do with his arms or how to relax his stance.
Corbyn must have been thinking the same thing. “You’ll get used to it,” he muttered darkly, jerking his chin over his shoulder. His scarlet cape was back, trailing over the pristine ground like a river of blood. The prince looked back at his own black cape and grunted.
“Let’s get a move on then,” Lenn grumbled, glancing at the sky. The nights came earlier this time of year; I couldn’t begrudge his anxiety.
Giving a swift nod, I turned toward the arch, stepping lightly under it and onto the Forest path.
Lenn filed behind me, leading both our horses.
The dragonmen walked together to his right, and the three Hersir brought up the rear.
The five horses trudged through the ankle-deep snow, kicking up tiny drifts around their fetlocks.
Our feet crunched the untrodden snow of the path, the only sound in this divine grove.
Neither birds nor woodland creatures dwelt here.
The High Priestess once told me it was because of the sacred connections this place held to the celestial realm.
That only those with magic—those Marked by the gods, a thread, or whatever power the Shifters held—could linger here longer than a few days.
Energy buzzed all around us. The air was thick with it, and the ground seemed to pulse beneath our feet. Perhaps it was plain on the outside, but something powerful lurked here. Something ancient and ominous.
“So, what’s the significance of this place anyways?” The prince’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I looked over at him, gooseskin stippling across my arms and neck. Be it from the biting cold, or the way his eyes seemed to pierce through me, I couldn’t tell. But the flippant way he’d asked the question rubbed me the wrong way, overtaking any other thoughts.
“Did they tell you nothing before you came?” I questioned, arching an eyebrow.
He rubbed idly at the back of his neck and shrugged his broad shoulders. “There wasn’t exactly, uh… time,” he said, a resigned look on his face.
I grimaced, the act pulling painfully at my scar. Unconsciously, my fingers rubbed at the puckered pink line. The prince’s gaze tracked the movement.
“Right,” I muttered, snatching my hand away. “My apologies.”
Of course there wasn’t time. There wouldn’t have been call for a replacement for another year yet. Plenty long enough to inform the next Talon of everything they needed to know about Volmere and her people.
But not this time.
I glanced at Corbyn out of the corner of my eye, but he was staring straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in the prince and his questions.
“It is much as the name suggests,” I began, looking to the path before me.
Though the ground was covered in snow, the carved rock posts that marked the way remained bare.
“This place is sacred to our people. Legend says it was here that Fenya first came to earth, gifting the four clans with their powerthreads. As such, this is where they erected the Temple, in her honor.”
“Fenya,” he remarked absently, “that’s your ‘mother’ goddess, right?”
The corner of my mouth twitched in annoyance. “She is the Mother, yes,” I replied.
“Mmm, so this is where your Curates live then?—”
“They are not Curates,” I cut in sharply.
“The High Priestess and her acolytes are chosen directly by the gods to relay their divine will and tend to the Temple.” My fists clenched tightly beneath my cloak as I recalled the twin dragons and the shining woman who led their religion.
How they spoke as if everyone else was beneath them and their sun god ruled over everything. Even me.
The dragon prince laughed. “Sounds a lot like Curates,” he said. “I’ve not found there to be much difference in most religions anyways. Nothing all that special about them or their followers?—”
I rounded on him before I knew what I was doing.
Lenn slid to a stop, startling both the horses he held and the ones behind him.
Corbyn watched intently, but the prince didn’t move a muscle as I stepped into his space.
He towered over me, and a crackling sort of intensity rolled off him.
But I wasn’t about to be intimidated by him. Not after everything I’d suffered.
Asvoria...
“Trygg, was it?” I bit out harshly, ignoring the Shadow.
“Prince though you may be, I will not abide your disrespect of me or my faith. Ask your questions, I care not. But ridicule my people again, and I’ll send you back to Ilfa Esari quick as you came.
Are we understood?” It didn’t matter that it was an empty threat. Who did this man think he was?
He crossed his arms over his chest, giving me a playful smile. Did he think this was a joke? The arrogant tilt of his head gave me some clue.
“I did not mean to offend, Your Majesty,” he said, rubbing a hand over the short hairs covering his jaw. “Forgive me, as I have clearly done so.”
My mouth opened, readying for the words I meant to say, but they lodged in my throat. An irritated growl escaped instead, and I whirled away from him on my heel, kicking up a curtain of snow behind me.
Remember what we said about keeping your composure, Asvoria?
Nobody asked you, I groused.
And after all, the Shadow continued, as if I hadn’t even spoken, he does have a point. The Curates of Lightwing do bear remarkable similarities to the Temple acolytes. Even the High Priestess functions in a capacity resembling Lightwing herself.
We continued down the path, even as I cursed the voice in my head. I don’t give a shit about the Herald of the Nighteater or her followers. That gods-damned woman has sent him here as part of some plot, I know it.
And what if she has? the Shadow barked. Would it not be more prudent to keep him close? Watch him for any sign of treachery?
The blood boiling in my veins slowly settled to a simmer. I couldn’t deny that she was right, but my pride had been hurt. Not only by his words, but by his impudence. We’d only just met. Where did he come off speaking to me that way? As if he was my friend?
The rest of the group traveled in tense silence. Absently, I wondered what Lenn thought of this AEldinian prince. He’d certainly let me know either way. And I was sure he’d have something to say about my little outburst.
Those were becoming more frequent lately.
Without my mother, I’d lost my grip on my temper.
But sometimes I got so angry, I couldn’t hold it all in.
Hardly anything made sense anymore in the wake of her death.
But my anger… that made sense. It was real and hot and alive.
Some days, it was the only thing that reminded me this wasn’t all some horrible dream.
I had to remember that if I was going to find my mother’s killer.
Before I knew it, we came to the end of the path.
The two Holy Wardens—massive hawthorns over a thousand years old—rose up before us, marking the entrance to the Temple.
Sunlight dappled the ground around their trunks, filtering through the orange leaves still clinging to the branches.
Unlike the other trees in this forest, these two did not shed their greenery when the autumn winds blew.
Even other hawthorn trees throughout the queendom, like the ones in the Citadel gardens, lost their foliage to the changing of the seasons.
But the Holy Wardens never did. A lingering of Fenya’s blessing, the High Priestess claimed.
As the breeze rustled through the leaves, traces of magic clinging to the two silent sentinels wafted with it.
I passed between the trees, running a hand over the rough bark of the one to my left.
Despite all that had happened in recent days, peace washed over me as I stepped into the clearing.
When my eyes adjusted to the glare, the Temple sitting neatly in the center of the narrow glade came into view, a small collection of plain buildings constructed out of beams hewn from this plain forest.
Off to the side of the buildings, a few acolytes—identifiable by their dark purple tunics—rooted around in several raised garden beds.
One of them noticed our arrival right away, setting aside his basket piled high with cabbages and raising an arm in pleasant greeting.
He made his way toward us, jogging through the snow.
“Well met, Your Highness!” he called. “Ah, I mean… Your Majesty. Forgive me.” He came to a stop before me, laughing nervously but maintaining his endearing smile.
“No apologies needed, Dunfjall,” I replied. I’d met him on my last visit to the Temple, about a year ago. He hadn’t changed much since then. Still as amiable as ever. “Tell me, is the High Priestess here?”
He looked between me and Lenn rapidly, his face falling. “We received your raven, Master Lenn,” he said. “Lady Estrid is away, I’m afraid. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Away? Where has she gone?” Damn this gods-awful timing.
Dunfjall shrugged. “Can’t rightly say, Your Majesty. If she told anyone, it wasn’t me. Of course, you’re all welcome to stay here. Too late to be heading back now, by any means.” He glanced at the dragons in apparent interest, his bright gaze lingering on the prince.
I looked at them as well, my jaw clenching painfully. Though I didn’t much relish this delay, I didn’t have any choice but to accept. I had to speak to the High Priestess about her meeting with my mother and ask about the assassin. We were stuck here for a little longer yet.
Turning my attention back to the acolyte, I said, “Very well. We will await her return in the morning. Would you be so kind as to see to our horses?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, signaling over his shoulder for a few of the other acolytes to help him.
Once they’d made the trek and began leading all the horses down to the stables, he gestured for us to follow him to the largest of the plain buildings.
As we headed toward the structure, our supply wagon ambled into the clearing.
I could only hope we wouldn’t be stuck here more than a night. Every day the winged assassin was allowed to live was a threat to my life and the lives of my people. A threat to the dragons, as well. My heart lurched at the thought.
Wasting time could spell all our doom.