Chapter Nineteen
Alaya
For two days I was left in the Pit, my earthy prison.
It was dark and musty, the smell of mould and rotten vegetation a constant bite to the back of my throat. The only light was when they opened the trapdoor at the top, a thin beam casting down to only highlight the degrading conditions.
I realised halfway through that first night there was no designated place to relieve myself, and by the time they chose to give me food and water the next day, the smell was already so unbearable it tainted the taste of the food in my mouth.
I had no choice but to hold my breath and endure, or starve.
I sat in the darkness, knees drawn to my chest. The same thoughts circled, over and over:
Earthbound Fae in Heartwood.
No bargain would save me.
No ransom they’d accept.
Each realisation settled on my shoulders like stones, one after another, until my spine curved under the weight. My head dropped into my hands. My breath came harder, shorter, as if the walls were pressing closer with each inhale.
Nowhere in Kaladia more dangerous than here.
My fingers dug into my scalp. The truth of it—the absolute certainty—made my chest constrict until I couldn’t draw a full breath. I would die here. In this hole. Forgotten.
I screamed then, the sound raw and animalistic, tearing from my throat until it gave out to hoarse gasps.
I cried until my eyes burned and swelled, until there was nothing left but dry, shuddering breaths.
I pressed my forehead to the dirt wall and almost let the darkness take me, almost surrendered to the dismal depths of that hole.
Yet by day three, something shifted.
My hands curl into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms. My jaw locked tight, teeth grinding.
I pace the small space—three steps, turn, three steps back—my muscles coiling tighter with each circuit.
Heat blooms in my chest, spreading outward like wildfire, burning away the hollow ache that had consumed me.
My breathing quickens, shallower, hotter.
My fingers flex and clench, flex and clench, as if preparing to tear through the walls themselves.
Kiernan’s voice surfaces unbidden—“You’re stronger than you know”—the memory of him so vivid I can almost feel the ghost of his touch against my skin.
My throat tightens as I press my palm flat against the dirt wall, fingers splayed wide, and push.
Hard. As if I could shove through to wherever he was.
But he’s not there.
My hand drops. I straighten my spine against the wall, the way my mother taught me. Chin up. Shoulders back. She’d survived worse than this pit.
I roll my shoulders back until they ache, lift up my chin until my neck strains. My jaw is set so hard my teeth grind together. The Castle of Thorns had taught me to bow, to curtsy, to smile with my eyes downcast.
I am done bowing.
I am ready to climb the walls of that pit when the trapdoor opens, and instead of my food being thrown in, Rawson climbs down with a hood in his hand.
If he notices my defiant glare as he rams it over my head, I don’t know, but he leads me to the ladder, and I climb out, the warm sunlight caressing my skin for the first time in days.
I am once again marched blindly, with my arm bent behind my back—though this time, thankfully, not bound and made to kneel on the ground. My body aches from the knocks and falls I’ve taken over the last few days and the cramped space of the Pit.
“Remove her hood,” that sultry smooth voice commands, and the sudden brightness sears my eyes, images blurry as I blink rapidly to clear them.
My vision clears. There he is—lounging confidently on a throne-like wooden seat set below a wooden frame strung with a white canvas canopy above, a crude tent-like structure.
Shoulder-length pale grey hair, almost white, frames a face that had clearly seen its share of battles.
He looks to be in his mid-thirties, possessing a rugged maturity that the younger Equitae lacked.
Scars mar his strong, rough features, but it’s his piercing ice-blue eyes that terrify me, holding my gaze, tracking my challenging stare with a dark, seasoned intrigue.
Reth Whiteborn. Alpha Stallion of the Heartwood Herd, the only Herd of Horse Shifter Fae left in Kaladia.
His lip curls back, revealing sharp teeth. His nostrils flare. The muscles in his jaw clench so tight I can see them working beneath the skin. His eyes narrow to slits, and every line of his face hardens. Something in me wants to flinch back, to look away, but I force myself to hold still.
Domanikk leans against the wooden frame to the right of where Reth sits, his posture casual but his gaze blatantly carnal.
He doesn’t just look at me—he’s devouring me, his eyes tracing the lines of my body with a slow, possessive leer that makes my own skin crawl.
He looks like a Fae who has found exactly what he wants and doesn’t care who knows it.
Ceira is perched on the left arm of the chair, Reth’s hand absentmindedly caressing up and down her thigh. A few other Equitae are also present, including Rawson.
“According to Quinn, Prince Kiernan is bereft at losing his new wife. So, you can imagine my surprise when I find out that very wife has been sitting in the Pit for two days, right here in Heartwood,” Reth states,, his voice low and measured.
“In all fairness, he was an idiot to leave such a tempting morsel unattended. Like a moth to a flame.” Domanikk smirks.
Reth’s lip curls. “More like a dog in heat.” He turns his ice-blue stare on Domanikk. “What were you thinking? Do you realise what kind of shit they will rain down on us to get her back?”
“Actually, Quinn reports they have halted their plans to march on Heartwood for now,” Rawson adds.
My resolve falters slightly at his words.
My spine goes rigid. The breath I’m drawing stops halfway, trapped somewhere in my throat. The ground beneath my knees suddenly feels less solid, as if the earth itself has shifted.
They are not coming for me?
“At least that gives us some time to deal with this mess. Rawson, get the other prisoners.” Reth barks loudly, his deep voice echoing, startling everyone nearby.
Reth gets up, and heat rises to my cheeks as he stalks towards me.
He is tall, well over six foot, and his broad, muscled chest strains at his brown leathers, his ice-blue Enchantra glinting in the middle.
He walks with the confidence of a Fae that knows everyone holds their breath in his presence.
He stops slightly away from me, his face scrunched as if the mere smell of me disgusts him.
Though to be fair, after two days in the Pit—wallowing in my own waste—I disgust myself too.
“Name?” He asks, looking down at me.
“Alaya Mor—Alaya Steel,” I say, looking back with determination. A small flicker of a smile twitches on his mouth to be quickly replaced as he purses his lips tight.
“Alaya Steel.” My name oozes slowly from his mouth like he’s tasting each syllable. “Your name will be forgotten in the earth where your blood seeps, feeding the fertile land, the only worth you Earthbound Fae have as redemption.” He hisses through his clenched teeth, his control wavering.
“What makes you think I don’t want to be forgotten?” I scowl back.
He looks at me curiously, his ice-blue eyes flashing.
“That bastard Prince got himself a wife with bite! I’m impressed. It will make killing you so much sweeter.” He smirks, turning away as the other captives arrive.
I bite back a retort and finally look around at Heartwood.
We are in a large clearing surrounded by a thick, impenetrable forest. Above the treeline, ice-capped mountains loom on all sides, creating the valley where Heartwood lies.
A mismatch of various-sized tented buildings are scattered about the clearing, creating a village-like feeling.
I kneel at its centre, which seems to be their gathering area, with a large fire, a long, rough wooden table and chairs, and the tent Reth had been sitting under.
I almost let out a cry yet manage to clamp my hand over my mouth as I look over to where Reth has met the other captives with Rawson at the other side of the fire.
Both Earthbound Fae look as terrified and dirty as me, but it’s the one staring so intently at me—dirty blond hair plastered to his face, bright blue eyes wide—that punches the air from my lungs.
My stomach clenches, then drops, as if the ground has given way beneath me.
My chest constricts, ribs squeezing tight.
Heller.
His lips are moving, forming words I can’t hear over the sudden ringing in my ears. My vision tunnels, the edges going dark and blurry. I blink hard, trying to focus on what he’s mouthing, but my eyes won’t cooperate—they keep losing him in the swimming haze.
Reth returns to stand just in front of his seat where Domanikk and Ceira are, and all eyes turn to him. More Equitae have joined us, gathering around the edges of the green from nearby tents.
“For too long the Earthbound have sought to destroy us and our way of life, slaughtering and capturing without cause. You have all suffered the loss of your own herds, as have I, and lost loved ones and family to their King’s cruelty and greed for power. We are the Equitae! Do we show mercy?”
A booming ‘NO!’ reverberates in the clearing.
I dart a glance to Heller, who is now looking at Reth with contempt.
I remember the story he had told me about the raid on his village, and my heart reaches out to him.
My gaze flicks to Reth, who draws a long silver sword from beside his chair, the blade glinting in the firelight.
A tremor starts in my hands, spreading up my arms until my whole body quivers. Cold sweat breaks across my skin. My breath catches, trapped somewhere between my lungs and throat. The edges of my vision darken, tunnelling until all I can see is Reth stalking towards the other Earthbound Fae.