Chapter 2
The snowy mountains of Uldarvik loom ahead as the loud blast of a horn emanates from the shore.
Gooseflesh breaks out along my arms as I take in the dozens of Uldaran warriors, armed and ready for battle.
It’s been one week since we set sail from Erleya.
Since I was dragged, unconscious, from the only place I’ve ever known.
As we draw closer, my eyes lock on a warrior towering above the rest. His large hands are wrapped around the worn handle of a battle-axe, his broad chest puffed out.
“Princess, just give me the command …” says the large soldier woman beside me.
I keep my gaze affixed to the warrior prince. “Very brave, Angharad, but if they attack, we’re fucked.”
She huffs out a nervous laugh as Briony comes to stand beside her.
Ashore, Odgar lowers his weapon, and the others follow suit.
I release a breath, but a haze creeps into my awareness.
I’m not sure how long it is before we disembark, but sapphire eyes with a sunburst of golden brown steadily regard me.
A familiar man just shy of Odgar’s height stands beside him. His name escapes me.
Dark ink peeks out from Odgar’s trimmed beard and his sun-kissed curls are pulled back into four braids.
The sides of his scalp are bare and proudly displaying numerous other tattoos.
I resist the urge to press my hand to my face, to obscure my blemishes.
My bruises are gone, but there are scars that Briony couldn’t fully banish from my skin.
“Princess Carys,” Odgar says in his deep, rumbling voice. “What a pleasant surprise.” He gestures to the man beside him. “You remember Seth.”
Seth bows. “Lovely to see you again, Your Highness.”
“Likewise. And thank you,” I say to both men. It’s nearly summer solstice, yet patches of snow still cover the land behind Odgar. Many of the Uldarans gawk at me with varying expressions.
“Unfortunately, I have to take you to my brother,” comes Odgar’s voice again, cutting through the recurring mind fog. I pull my attention back to him. “But do not worry; he is a fair and just king.”
I nod, schooling my features into courageous certainty, but the word king ricochets in the echo chamber of my mind. It sends my thoughts tumbling back to the Fortress on the Mount, to my father—the king—then my mother … both gone when I still needed them …
There’s a subtle weight on my shoulder, and Briony’s saccharine voice floods my senses. “Princess Carys.” She sounds so far away as my hazy mind refocuses on the situation at hand. Icy blue eyes peer up at me with concern. “Are you alright?” she asks.
I shrug her hand from my shoulder, and the movement sends a ripple of pain through my still-healing body.
“Prince Odgar has given Angharad and the crew permission to replenish here before setting off again. She wishes you good fortune.”
I turn my attention to Odgar who holds the reins of a dark grey horse.
I don’t recall him leaving at any point, but Angharad and Seth are nowhere in sight, and the worry etched between Briony’s eyebrows is achingly familiar.
She gives me an encouraging smile and turns to approach a sable horse beside the one whose reins Odgar holds.
I blink away the grogginess and the frustration.
“Are you alright riding with me?” Odgar asks. “This strong fellow can handle us.” He pats the horse’s flank and is rewarded with a pleasant whinny.
I take a step toward the steed, but my legs are so unstable with disuse that I might as well be teetering on a narrow rampart. My stomach lurches as though I’ve toppled over an edge. I halt, standing still as the cold sensation of falling into icy water envelops me again.
Water in my lungs.
Fire all around me.
“Carys.”
Odgar’s deep voice tugs me from my reeling memories. My chest feels overstretched, my lungs reluctant to draw a full breath.
“You’re safe,” he tells me.
I clear my throat and lift my chin. “I’m in a new land. How can I be so sure?”
He arches a brow. “That is a very fair question, but you are with me. No harm will come to you.” He steps aside. “Do you need help getting into the saddle? I’ll sit behind you.”
I swallow hard and nod.
Everything is a blur, as if we’re riding through time—yet it feels simultaneously sluggish. My mind battles with the past and present as I fight to focus on my surroundings. There are mountains all around us and a fjord in the distance, the sun sparkling on the surface.
“Carys?” Odgar says my name in a way that hints it isn’t the first time he’s called me.
I don’t glance back at him but stare ahead at the snow-specked dirt path instead. “Yes?”
“Is there anything I need to know before you meet the king?”
Everything within me tenses. Where do I even start?
I suppress my torture-riddled memories and start with what’s most important for him to know.
“My mother, the queen, is dead. By now, the people of Erleya probably think I’m dead.
I’m not sure what Lord Commander Rheon will tell them, but he intended to use me, not just to take over the throne but—” I pause to swallow.
“In any case, all I know is that I don’t have a place to go, nor a title anymore. ”
There’s only the background noise of the villagers around us and the crunch of the layer of snow beneath the horse’s hooves. After a while, Odgar says, “I’m sorry about your mother.”
I wet my lips and stare straight ahead.
“In Uldarvik, the throne can be won—challenged, if you will. It’s an entire ritualistic combat that most wouldn’t dare to attempt, but you have nothing like that in Erleya, right?”
Numbly, I shake my head.
“So, the throne is rightfully yours no matter who sits on it now.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
He’s quiet for a while longer, then he says, “Did you ever choose a suitor?”
A mixture of regret and anxiety settles deep in my chest. I try to make sense of the feelings, but my mind is a never-ending rope, all knotted up, and with no decipherable beginning. Nothing makes sense anymore. “Yes,” I respond quietly. “I chose you.”
If I’m not mistaken, he sighs with relief. I refrain from looking at Briony as she continues to ride silently beside us.
“Unfortunately, Iywan declined and insisted that I marry Rheon.” A shudder rolls through me at the thought of being wed to a man who once publicly flogged dozens of people for the sake of setting an example to the masses.
“Did you end up marrying him or—”
“No, thank Rhianu. I fled before he could get his hands on me.” It’s a small lie by omission, but I can’t bring myself to tell Odgar about the torture that came before. Not right now. Not when I need to keep my brave face on to meet the king.
“Alright, revna, what do I need to know?” Odgar asks.
My heart struggles against my ribs, fluttering wildly like a flag in a windstorm. I draw in a breath and swipe at the tear that slips down my cheek.
I try to think of where to start the narrative. Uncomfortable heat pulses in me, rushing down my arms and into the palms of my hands. I lift them from the saddle and ball them into fists, but the tiny flames are still evident. Fuck. Of course this would happen right now.
Odgar murmurs something in Uldaran and pulls the horse to a halt.
Beside us, Briony does the same. Odgar’s hands wrap around my fists and I start to tug away, but a cool sensation fills my palms. I stare down at his hand covering my fist—my skin is wraithlike against the coppery undertone of his light brown complexion.
The tiniest ringlet of steam rises from our hands.
My eyes flare wide. “How did—?”
He releases his grip, water droplets dancing along his fingertips for a moment before he grabs the horse’s reins again.
“Waterweaving,” I whisper. I glance over my shoulder at him but can’t crane my neck enough to see the expression on his face. “Is magic not outlawed in Uldarvik?”
“Outlawed, no. It’s considered a rare gift from the gods.”
I scoff. That’s not quite how I’d describe my flamewielding.
Odgar nudges the horse into a walk, prompting Briony to do the same. She looks as surprised as I feel about Odgar’s magic, but Briony is a woman of very few words most of the time.
“Do you trust me a little more now?” he asks, his tone gentle.
“No,” I say.
The soft rumble of his laughter fills my ears. “We’re almost at the castle. Tell me what you can about your situation.”
I release a breath. “Iywan was part of a group called the Zenith. They want to tear open the Veil to the Otherworld … Or, I’d say, technically the Underworld?”
“Why the fuck would they want to do that?”
“Ultimate power for Erleya.” I can’t bring myself to tell him about my connection to Enidwen. “They wanted to use me for it because my royal blood could sort of control whatever entity surfaces. That was their belief, at least. It’s bullshit, if you ask me.”
“I agree,” says Odgar.
“But they were adamant. They insisted that I help them decode the prophecy—as it’s in a language that I apparently can read.
Don’t ask. But refusing to help them cost me one of my most trusted guards.
” My voice catches. I’m unable to say Callum’s name aloud.
The memory of his face as he confessed his love to me triggers the sensation of Eefa slashing me with her dagger. My hand shakily goes to my face.
“Who did that to you?” Odgar asks quietly, one hand resting on mine atop the saddle.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead now. They all are.”
“Well, she’s left you with a mark of survival.”
A scoff slips past my lips.
Our surroundings have changed by now as our horses follow the winding pathway that leads up to a stately building.
It spans across the land, the exterior made of coarse, irregular stones, a tower on one side providing the only height in the otherwise flat architecture. “Is this your castle?” I ask Odgar.
“Yes, but believe it or not, my sister and I don’t live here. We live in the Great Hall closer to the main village. It’s a smaller castle, if you will.”