Chapter 12 #2
“It’ll grow back,” Valdis promises me. “Also, if you let it down, it should hide the sides. I had to cut it shorter in the front so—”
“It’s fine,” I say, a little firmer than I mean to. “I mean … it’s different, but … decent.”
Her laughter is as carefree as Odgar’s, and it catches me off guard. Everything back in my castle was always so restricted and orderly.
I find myself smiling faintly. “Thank you, Valdis.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Let’s go show off your new look.”
As we enter the main chamber, Odgar rises from the table where he was in conversation with Briony—and Seth, who must have joined while I was gone.
Odgar approaches me with long strides, his face exuberant.
“You look …” His gaze moves to my hair, and I clench my fists, resisting the urge to press my hand to the nearly bald side.
“Stunning,” he says at last. “Formidable.”
A scoff leaves my lips so quickly that I don’t have time to bite it back.
Valdis bursts into laughter. “Brother, I think your complimenting skills need a bit of work.” She pats him on the shoulder as she walks past, and he bats her hand away while those sunburst eyes take me in.
“Ready to go hunting?” he asks.
I nod, and his smile only grows wider.
The bow is much different from mine back in Erleya.
The span is shorter and has no definitive handhold, but it’s lighter and of a simpler design than my lucky bow back home.
Odgar set up a shooting range of sorts, little patches of cloth mounted to different trees.
It’s perfect, considerate, sweet, above and beyond.
We take turns shooting the targets for a while—Odgar has certainly improved—then set off on our hunt.
Odgar shows me how to track animal footprints and scat through the woods, until we come across a deer.
There are so many fairytales about Otherworlders who appear as a doe or a stag to guide lost souls.
It makes me a little hesitant to shoot the creature, but I eventually take it down with a single arrow and try not to focus on the mild guilt that settles over me.
“Well done, huntress,” Odgar says with a smile.
Huntress … I kind of like that.
My head feels clearer than it has in ages as we make our way back toward the village. The cool air has forced sobriety back into my body. Twigs snap and grasses rustle as we walk in quietude. The chatter of a creature followed by scurrying comes from the trees above.
A stream of memories gradually resurfaces as we walk.
Odgar tucking me into bed after I had too much ale, holding my hair back when my stomach rejected the excess drink.
I vaguely recall a few moments when he gently encouraged me to eat, to bathe, to get dressed—to live.
A strange blend of shame and gratitude bleeds into my awareness.
“Do you have any fondness for me?” Odgar abruptly asks.
Startled, my head snaps to his towering figure. When we danced at the Feast, and even after, there were definite sparks. Now, however, everything feels frozen in place—a lake in winter.
“You’re a lovely man, Odgar,” I breathe out.
He halts, his jaw working as though he’s fighting to control what tries to come out of his mouth. “Being a lovely man does not automatically earn your love.”
I wince. “Love is a strong word.”
He heaves a sigh, the leather across his chest straining. “It is,” he says eventually. “Maybe too much to ask of you, but do you like me?”
“Of course I like you.”
He nods toward the path out of the forest, and we continue walking. “Before I win your heart, I hope I can earn your trust.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure of what to say.
He smiles down at me. “Just so you know, I will not stop until I earn one or the other.”
“And how are you so certain you’re going to earn one or the other?”
“Oh, I will.” His smile shifts into a little smirk.
I roll my eyes, but it’s hard to be annoyed with a man who has been nothing but patient with me.
Too many nightmares haunt me, but each time, I force myself awake to keep Durvla from wandering into my subconscious.
I’m not ready for her to see me this way.
Tonight, sleep evades me completely, and I find myself stumbling beyond the tapestry and into the main room of the Great Hall.
I ignite a small flame in the palm of my hand and pray to Agryna that I don’t burn the entire building down.
I cannot stop the tremor in my hands nor the pang of my thunderous heart. Every time I close my eyes, I see Callum’s throat split right in front of me, I hear his last words—I will love you even in death. I didn’t deserve his love. I don’t deserve anyone’s love.
Even as I make my way across the room to a keg of ale, I can see the life fading from Ellynne’s olive green eyes as she bleeds out.
I want to unsee it all. I want it to be me instead.
I sit on the floor in front of the keg and down a mug of ale. It’s followed by another, then another, until my limbs grow heavy, until my thoughts slow and then cease to exist. I lay on my back in the dark, staring into nothingness while my body seems to sink into the wood beneath me.
When I finally drift off, no dreams haunt me.
I awake with a splitting headache and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My body aches, my side throbbing and numb as I shift onto my back. Someone jostles my shoulder. “Odgar go away,” I slur.
“Princess, it’s me.” That sickeningly-sweet voice. My eyelids feel too heavy as I blink up at the priestess. “Come on,” she whispers. “Let me help you.”
“Please stop calling me that.” The twinge that buds in my chest has me rolling onto my side again and automatically reaching out for the ale mug. Briony puts a hand on mine, halting me. A sob hitches in my throat and embarrassment burns in my face.
“Pri—Carys … let me at least take away some of the nasty effects of the ale. May I?”
I nod, and she presses her hand to my forehead. Slowly, some of the heaviness leaves my body, and the headache retreats. But the haze that so often shrouds my mind remains firmly in place. “I want to stop feeling like this,” I groan.
“I know,” she says gently.
“Just make me unconscious again. Please.”
“I—”
“You had no problem doing so repeatedly back in Paramount! You had no problem inflicting pain either!” The anger comes out of nowhere, boiling hot.
Briony winces slightly. “I will forever regret my actions. I am so very sorry. But putting you into a state of unconsciousness is not going to help you learn how to cope.”
Weak, comes Enidwen’s voice from the mist in my mind. Weak. Undisciplined. Cowardly. Control your impulses!
I flinch so hard that Briony also jumps. “What is it?”
You don’t have to feel all this pain if you let me in more. Let me take it away.
A shiver rolls through me, growing in intensity until my hands are trembling and sparks bead on my palms like sweat.
Briony whispers almost conspiratorially, “The enchantress again?”
“I can’t block her out.” I rub my hands together as if I could rub the sparks back into my body. “I can’t. She’s too strong.”
“Breathe in slowly and think happy thoughts. Riding through an open field. Archery. That beautiful view of the fjord and the mountains.”
I inhale deeply, counting to five.
“Exhale and push away the negative thoughts. Envision building that wall between your mind and the enchantress’s.”
I sit there, breathing and trying to follow Briony’s instructions.
You cannot block me forever, says Enidwen.
I would rather die trying than let you take over.
Her laughter is the last thing I hear before my body relaxes. Briony eventually convinces me to go back to bed, and as much as I try to keep myself awake, I lose to a dreamless sleep.
About a hundred people move through the forest, beginning the three-day trek toward the Hallowed Wood. We’re at the front of the multitude, Briony on my left, Odgar on my right. Somewhere to his right are Valdis and Seth.
I refrain from glancing back at the others. In Erleya, I was used to being revered when I walked through the corridors or the concourse, but here, I’m gaped at like an outcast. Unless I’m making a fool of myself in the mead house. I push away thoughts of the mind-numbing ale and trudge onward.
Our first stop doesn’t happen until night falls, and everyone settles in to find some much-needed sleep.
Bedrolls are scattered around us within the woods.
I lie on my bedroll beside Odgar, the sparse canopy of two trees overhead.
Their trunks bow toward each other without touching, eerily reflective of me and Odgar.
Briony is farther from me, settling onto her own bedroll.
Despite the cold, I tug off my boots and massage my aching feet through my socks. What I’d give now for a long soak in a hot bath. To smell less like perspiration and more like myself.
“Here, let me,” says Odgar.
I lift my head to find him sitting in front of me. He pats his lap, and when I frown at him questioningly, he reaches out and grasps my ankle. I bite back a yelp as he tugs my foot onto his lap, but as soon as his thumbs press into my instep, a tiny groan slips past my lips.
I close my eyes and lean back, my palms against the bedding behind me. Odgar continues the massage, and it hurts so good that another tiny moan escapes.
A quiet, deep chuckle reverberates in his chest. “If a massage can elicit such sounds from you, raven warrior, I wonder—”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, cutting him off.
But when I peek at him from beneath my half-closed eyelids, the sparkle in his eyes and his playful smirk coax a smile from me.
His hand wraps around my other ankle, but this time, when he tugs on my leg, I’m yanked so close to him that my arse makes contact with his thigh.
He lowers his face to mine, and I half expect him to kiss me.
My heart kicks into double the speed, but from what, I’m uncertain.
“Tell me what you like,” he says in a hushed voice.
“Pardon me?!” The words erupt from me, far louder than I intend.
I keep my gaze on his face, on his eyes that appear dark blue under the cover of night.
Around us are a few flickering torches that scream fire hazard, and in my periphery, Briony is sitting upright, her face angled my way as if she’s ready to jump to my rescue.
“What kinds of things do you like?” Odgar asks calmly. “Favorite scents? Foods? Colors?”
The tension that I hadn’t realized gripped my shoulders melts away. “Why in hells do you want to know that?”
“Why not?”
“Alright—then you tell me first. What are your favorite scent, food, and color?”
Another low rumble of laughter in his chest. “The earth after a fresh downpour of rain or snow. Unless it smells like damp horseshit. Venison. Black, blue …” He lifts my braid from over my shoulder and slides his thumb over the golden streaks. “Gold.”
When he looks up at me again, my stomach does a somersault.
I tug my leg away from him and slide backward, putting space between us.
“I … should try to get some sleep.” I pull the thick socks up and retie the ribbon around the top to keep them in place beneath my knees.
“I’m not used to so much on-foot travel,” I admit.
Odgar smiles and nods. He doesn’t seem phased by the very obvious distance I put between us, but I’m certain he notices. “Good night, raven warrior.”
I’m no warrior, I want to say in return. “Good night, Odgar.” I roll onto my side and try to find sleep but with no luck.
I shut my eyes and cling to the little mental strength I have so I can keep up a wall between the enchantress within me and my own thoughts; she has a habit of slipping into my mind when I’m off guard.
I’m not sure which of our thoughts are more daunting at this point, but I focus on the sounds of an owl hooting in the distance and the occasional rustle of the leaves, hoping that sleep will soon come.