Chapter 7
“Hatred is a barren desert.
There is nothing for you there.”
- The Old Book
Imust have dozed through the afternoon, because the grumbling of my stomach woke me to the setting sun.
My eyes opened enough to note the wisps of darkness in the Sky. My cheek was warm and my body relaxed as I breathed in the air’s woody aroma. I closed my eyes once more and listened to the soothing, steady beat of the wind—until I realized that the wind shouldn’t beat.
My eyes flared open, and I found that my head was resting on Rowan’s chest behind me. I frantically sat up, almost falling off the horse. I would have fallen, too, if Rowan hadn’t wrapped his arm around me and corrected my balance.
“Get your hand off of me!” I panicked, and he let go.
“I think the phrase you are looking for is ‘thank you for saving me.’”
“Saving me?! You abducted me!”
“I recall a certain willingness on your part. Something about sacrificing yourself for that girl. What was her name again? Alona?”
“Don’t speak of her,” I bit out.
“No? What about the man who so heroically tried to save you? Was that your lover? He definitely looked at you like he’d seen you na—”
“Don’t be crass. And don’t speak of him either,” I interjected. The jabs at me were one thing, but attacking those I loved was another.
“But he didn’t save you, did he? No, he just stood there as you offered yourself up to the wolves.”
“He tried to step in,” I bristled. His accusations, coupled with my growing hunger, were eroding my remaining sense of reason.
“No, he watched and let you be taken. He stepped in at the last moment to preserve whatever shred of dignity he believed he had. Lies are easy to believe. The truth is brutal. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but if he had wanted to free you, he could have.”
That was the last straw. I elbowed his chest sharply. A sliver of pride filled me when I heard him release a low grunt. That pride was gone in an instant.
A deep chuckle vibrated against my back, and I froze.
That was worse than silence.
I clenched my fists and let myself feel the bite of my nails in my palms.
“You’re psychotic,” I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
We had reached the prairie, with faint light still left in the Sky.
I looked out over the grasslands, at the red and orange hues of the changing pastures.
There was nothing but tall grass and withering wildflowers for as far as the eye could see.
It was beautiful but completely different from the wooded area surrounding Oak Hollow that I’d grown up in my entire life.
When I was a child, I dreamed about exploring the continent and seeing all of Ethoria.
My wanderlust had dimmed as I grew older and became more aware of my responsibilities.
Kaven was right when he told me I was trapped in Oak Hollow.
I didn’t want to believe him. But it’s true.
I had become complacent, content to be stuck in a stalemate forever.
I had never been this far from home, and yet I felt no awe—only a dull ache in my chest. The longing for the smell of freshly cut oak stung my throat.
The horses stopped moving, and Veilers began dismounting alongside the culled. Rowan descended and turned to me. I prepared myself to be lifted, but he didn’t touch me.
“As much as I would love to continue our back-and-forth repartee, I’m afraid it ends here for the night.”
“Why? Are you afraid the others will question if you can handle me?”
“No, rather why I haven’t. The others would expect me to punish you for speaking out of turn and in disrespect of a man of my stature.”
I almost laughed. “A man of your stature?”
“Yes.” He nodded affirmatively.
“What are you, their leader?”
“I am their commanding officer. Which means you’ve been bickering with the one person who might actually keep Balor from splitting you open like you did his lip.
” His eyes locked with mine, and I gulped at the threat.
“Balor was not pleased with the little attack from you and your lover boy. He believes that women who talk over men—let alone fight—should be punished. He’s old-fashioned like that. ”
“Are you old-fashioned like that?”
My gut clenched.
“Gods, no,” he huffed.
I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I didn’t.
“I will lift you off the horse once you agree to temper yourself for the night. Do you agree?”
“He said he would gut me. I will silence my tongue if you agree to protect me from him.”
“I will protect you from Balor. I swear it.”
I nodded in agreement. Trusting a Veiler was dangerous and had the potential of getting me killed—but I didn’t have a choice.
Rowan lifted me from the horse and planted me firmly on the Ground. He untied the rope knot on the saddle and lightly pulled me toward where the others were setting up camp. Dropping the end of the rope, he gestured for me to sit on a large rock.
Looking around at the culled, I noticed that none of them were bound. Even Serene and Oliver were no longer tied.
“I see that no one else is bound.”
“They never threatened a Veiled One, and you have… on multiple occasions.”
I scoffed.
“That’s ridiculous. You’re idiotic if you think I could take you down.”
“No one would ever think that. You couldn’t even cut my throat when given the opportunity to do so.”
“Then why are my wrists still bound if I’m not a threat?”
“I never said you weren’t a threat. A fingernail scratch can still hurt,” he taunted with a slight curve to his lips.
I wanted to scratch his eyes out—to show him a true fingernail scratch—but I could barely even see his eyes through the narrow slits of the mask that he still wore.
“Do you always wear that mask? It seems like it would be uncomfortable for long periods of time.”
Maybe if I made light conversation, he would stop seeing me as a threat and cut me loose. The binding was chafing.
The heat of the fire that the Veilers had built hit me, and I inched further forward on the rock to be closer to it.
“No. Sometimes I sleep.”
Rowan looked at me with a curious glance, as if I were the peculiar one. Another Veiler walked up to him and whispered something in his ear. Rowan’s playful expression dropped. “I’ll be back.”
“Wait, what about Balor?” I asked nervously. “You said you would protect me from him!”
Anxiety blanketed me. I was an easy target out here, especially without full mobility.
“Balor won’t dare try anything. Not if he values his life.” His words lent me some relief, but not nearly enough. Rowan and the other Veiler roamed out of sight.
I sat on the rock and looked around at the camp.
There were seven large tents pitched around the campsite.
I counted twenty Veilers and eleven culled, including myself.
Most of the culled sat around the fire in silence.
Their eyes were lifeless. Rowan had warned me that my hope would go away, but theirs—it was long gone.
My wrists were still bound, but the tail-end that Rowan usually carried or tied to the saddle was lying in the grass.
All the Veilers seemed to be busy either setting up the campsite or engaged in other tasks.
I saw Oliver and another boy of his age sitting next to each other, quietly staring into the fire. I stood and moved toward them.
I crouched beside the fire, feeling its warmth brush against my skin.
The flickering light cast deep shadows over Oliver’s face, making the exhaustion in his eyes seem even heavier.
He looked hollowed out, like a shell of the boy I had seen back home—always with his nose buried in a book, always somewhere else in his mind.
“Oliver?” I kept my voice low, careful not to draw attention.
He blinked, slow and unsteady, before finally turning toward me. It took him a moment to register who I was. When he did, something in his expression cracked.
“Mavis?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I nodded and offered a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, it’s me.”
His lip trembled. I could see the struggle behind his eyes—desperation warring with fear, trying to decide if he could be hopeful. I reached up, brushing away the single tear that rolled down his cheek with my knuckles.
“Don’t let them see you break,” I murmured. “I don’t know what they want from us, but I know that we have to be strong if we want to survive it.”
Oliver sniffed and wiped his face. It wasn’t much, but I saw the faintest flicker of fight return to him.
Beside him, another boy shifted uncomfortably. His tawny skin looked paler than it should have, like the blood had drained from his face long before I sat down.
I placed a hand gently on his shoulder, feeling him startle under my touch. “What’s your name?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Isaac,” he rasped. “I’m from Dewwich.”
Dewwich was about two weeks’ travel from Oak Hollow. My father used to do trade in Dewwich all the time because of its proximity to the Corrish Sea and the capital.
Before I could say anything, Oliver stiffened beside me. His eyes widened in silent panic as he looked past my shoulder. Isaac followed suit, the color leaching from his already pale face. I stood and slowly turned, finding myself face-to-face with the woman of flame herself.
Her ginger hair was loose now, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves that fell to her hips. But there was nothing soft in the way she looked at me. Beneath her mask, her green eyes burned with something I couldn’t quite place—contempt? Intrigue? Disgust?
Probably all three.
“Forming a coup, are we?” Her voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous undertone that caused goosebumps to form.
“Of course not. He’s from my village.”
“I don’t care.” She stepped forward, closing the already too-small space between us.
I resisted the urge to take a step back. She was close enough now that I could see the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and the faint scar along her jaw. Close enough that if she wanted, she could grab me by the throat before I even had time to flinch.