Chapter 4
D awning would’ve been much easier. For Garrik’s sake, she wished she could summon the Dawnspace and carry them across the mountain within seconds. His labored breathing set her every panicking nerve aching as Ghost carried them.
Garrik hunched over her, arms loosely draped around her waist, head rested on her shoulder. Occasionally, she’d catch a small groan and his grip would falter to where she’d need to hold his hands there. Shallow, icy breath fluttered across the skin of her neck, and more times than not, she caught herself counting the seconds in between.
At least he was breathing.
Alora brushed her warm hand over his weakened one and squeezed. Convincing herself that the touch was merely to check his grip and nothing more, she glimpsed his pale face over her shoulder—his cheek was pressed against her, eyes closed.
She didn’t want to disturb him. But that wary glance had her voice, laced in worry, ask, “How you doing back there?”
Those hands she was stroking with her thumb tightened a fraction. Garrik wetted his dry lips and grunted before he whispered, “Never better,” and winced as if the act of opening his mouth caused him a great deal of pain.
Frowning, Alora carefully dropped her cheek to his forehead, wishing she could take the agony away. Stars, does he feel colder than usual? She pressed into him a little more, hoping her warmth brought him some comfort. “You’re a bad liar, mighty prince,” she offered.
Garrik groaned his agreement and shuddered.
“I should check your wounds.” Alora dusted the hair from his forehead, wiping a sheen of sweat along with it. An ice fever sent another convulsion of shivers through him.
“I assure you … they are still there.” Between the slits of his eyelids, he must have seen her worry and added, “I will be fine, clever girl. Far worse has happened to me. This is nothing.”
It’s not ‘nothing,’ she thought and draped the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re fevered.”
“So that is why I am shivering.” As if it were in on a wicked scheme, his body ruthlessly trembled, and he released a quivering breath.
Warm fingers weaved into his hair, massaging lightly. Alora deepened a breath, relieving her prickling nerves and somewhat settling the panic in her veins as she watched Garrik’s eyes close. Knowing that little bit of contact brought him comfort, happy to see it relax his taut face.
Her other hand released his, traveling to the buckles on her battle leathers. “Are you able to sit up a moment?” she asked.
With great effort, Garrik tested his fortitude and straightened—stiffly—slowly. Hands fell to her hips and clutched there with what little strength he had.
Alora made quick work of removing her jacket. Leaving her sleeveless undershirt intact, she draped it over the bloody spot on Ghost’s stained white hair in front of her. The sentiment likely wouldn’t do much to warm him, but her skin was like an inferno, and she was willing to try to melt the ice of his.
He leaned forward, chest pressed into her back—and all but enveloping her with his muscular arms. Bloody, gray hair spilled over her shoulder as he rested his cheek there. She didn’t miss the slight nuzzle closer to her neck or the way Garrik contently hummed when his skin touched hers.
Thank you, darling, his voice came breathy inside her mind.
Pressing a tender kiss to his hair, Alora guided his arms around her and held tight. “Try to rest, mighty prince. We’ll get you home.”
Garrik’s eyes fluttered closed and didn’t open. Not for a long while.
They had to be riding in circles.
Camp had to be somewhere nearby. It had to be . Each hour, the glow casting off Alynthia brightened. The white-capped mountain peaks swelled against the star-gilded night sky. A hint of firesite smoke lingered in the air.
Garrik’s breathing had evened. That High Fae blood coursing through his veins seemed to be slowly working. The paleness in his skin had somewhat returned to its tanned hue, and his abdomen felt warm against her back, surely from the burns.
After hours of listening to his quiet suffering, of feeling his unusual heartbeat against her back, realization crawled in. Garrik had gone into the forest, to Kerimkhar, and had come out without any inkling of success.
“You haven’t told me what happened with Kerimkhar.”
His abdomen twitched against her back as he hoarsely rasped, “Forgive me, I was attempting to keep my insides … inside.”
“How entirely selfish of you,” Alora teased and threw a roguish grin over her shoulder, meeting weakened silver orbs.
Garrik’s frigid words melted into her neck as he answered, “The debt was traded. The grandmother is free.”
“How?”
Garrik’s eyes closed. “Can we talk about something else?” His lips formed a thin line.
Alora’s face twisted into something akin to disappointment. Despite it, she obliged him. “Tell me more about your mother?”
His smile returned. “What would you like to know?”
She pondered a moment. “Why did she stay with Magnelis?”
Garrik was silent for a few breaths, as if lost in thought. The sound of Ghost’s steps surrounded them before he speculated, “Love does wonders on the mind, I suppose. She loved him—thought she could … restore who he once was.” By his stuttering breath, Alora opened her mouth to tell him to rest, but he added, “Though my mother was wiser than anyone I knew, I thought her somewhat a fool for harboring such emotions.”
His voice fell quiet, airy. “She thought they were mates.” Scoffing a laugh. “Bonded for life, though they never performed the sacred marriage offering to the Celestials. Still, she felt in her heart that she belonged with him, and no amount of darkness should cause her to leave.”
“Sacred marriage offering?” Alora’s brows pinched. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It is not common. The idea that the stars hold the highest regard for two beings over the rest of the realm is not something taken lightly by most. The High King never honored Maker of the Skies or His stars, so Magnelis asked my mother not to partake in the offering. It was sufficient for them to believe them simply to be mates.” Garrik ground his teeth. Then added, “I wish she would have. Perhaps our lives would have been much different.”
Alora shifted on Ghost, pulling Garrik’s arms around her tight. “What is the offering?”
“Every kingdom is different. Some use the earth. Others burn flesh or use a strike of energy. Zyllyryon’s is wholly intimate. Washing by water. An act of service to your hopeful mate to say, ‘I am binding myself to you as your servant by humbling myself.’”
Garrik shivered. Alora willed her skin warmer, drawing out his sound of contentment.
He continued, “It does not need to be the entire body. Simply a cleansing by cloth against one’s skin is sufficient if that is all they can offer. Then, when both have washed each other and seek the stars’ approval, they wait.”
“They … wait,” she repeated.
“Mates become marked, but it can take hours, days, even weeks until the mark appears, identical to their mates. Each mark is unique. No one in the realm has one the same.”
“Have you ever seen true mates?”
His smile brightened, much like the stars. “Yes.”
“It’s truly real? Mates are real?” She twisted to look at him and caused him to wince.
Ignoring her apology, Garrik retorted, “Is it truly that far-fetched to believe so? To believe that someone who does not complete you but inspires you to be more than you thought you could be. Who allows you to fall because they know you can catch yourself but still stand near in case you need them. And you will always need them. Someone who gives you strength when you do not possess any. Your equal in every way who loves you with undying conviction, with unconditional heart. That you are nearly incapable of breathing when they are not near. A bond that leaves you utterly in shambles with yourself because the person you thought you were was so irrevocably changed through their eyes that you became exactly who you always wanted to be—and could not be without them . Someone who can steal your nightmares and replace them with dreams.”
Alora gripped Ghost’s mane tight.
She’d heard stories about how truly rare it was to find faeries with a mate mark. She’d never crossed the path of one before. Her world was full of myths and legends. And to dream that the stars fated perfect matches was merely for youngling stories.
Still, dreams existed for a reason. And if she was never fated to be with Kaine, perhaps she could still dream. Her mind, body, and even image were used and wrecked for so long, the thought of having someone truly be all those things—or even her be those things for someone else …
Was it truly that far-fetched?
“Do you think you have a mate?” The words escaped her before she could reconsider.
Garrik’s icy breath sent a shiver down her neck as his low voice rasped, “I think the stars are not so cruel to fate someone with me.”
There would be nothing cruel about being fated to you. Alora quickly reinforced her fiery wall inside her mind—he couldn’t hear her. How lucky someone would be to earn the love of someone so brave and honorable and selfless. Someone like him.
Yet he didn’t think he deserved it.
She was the one who didn’t deserve it.
Her voice fell quiet. “Do you think there is someone out there for me?” Alora’s head bowed, sighing heavily, retracting, “Maybe not, considering I’m still betrothed to Kaine.”
Ghost stomped her hooves noticeably heavier.
Garrik stiffened. “Do you wish to remain bound to him?”
Even if she didn’t want to, by Elysian law, no matter the kingdom, a betrothal was binding as marriage unless pardoned by one of royal status. She pulled at the sudden ache in her fingertips before turning to stare into Garrik’s darkened eyes. Without any doubt, said, “I wish to be free.”
A command as urgent as inevitable death growled from his lips, “Ghost.”
Alora didn’t have any time for confusion.
Without hesitation, Ghost stopped and lowered to the forest floor, belly resting on the dirt below.
Alora’s feet touched down when Garrik slid from behind her and almost stumbled to his feet before he turned and extended a hand.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” she warned.
But he ignored her, still hovering there until she clasped his palm without another word of argument.
As if he stood on a dais in front of his rightful throne, Garrik’s chin lifted. She pictured a crown of obsidian-spiked crystals through his dirty hair. The dull silver of his eyes began to glow, locking onto her sapphires while he searched her face.
Almost as if he searched for an answer, a moment of unease rippled across his features before Garrik carefully explained, “I do not wish to cause torment from your memories. Normally, I would ask that you kneel before me.”
What is he talking about? Confusion gripped her. Alora hitched a breath as Garrik’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. And then it hit her like a damning blow.
Kneeling. The torment of my memories …
She realized what he meant. Could feel the hardened redwood boards crushed against her knees. Could picture Kaine’s polished boots. Hear the snaps and ties of his pants coming undone.
A gentle caress tingled across her mind when her jaw tensed. That touch so calming that not an ounce of fear solidified and festered.
Garrik wasn’t Kaine.
Her throat tightened, swallowing down a hint of hatred and replacing it with blooming anticipation. Then, Alora stiffened, angling her head higher as if a silver crown had gracefully lowered on her head, and said, “Kneeling before you is not the same.”
Those silver eyes gleamed as Garrik’s palm carefully lifted. Yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t take her eyes off his even when that hand clasped her cheek. He smiled before the voice of Elysian’s highest royal blood flooded over her in one gentle, powerful phrase. “Then kneel, darling.”
It wasn’t the same.
Her knees didn’t protest the fall. Tears didn’t threaten her eyes. On that forest floor, she peered up at him with nothing but hope.
Something shimmered in his irises as he cradled her chin, the other banded across his shredded leathers, over his wounds. A strength that hadn’t been there all night rippled from his shoulders and down his arms as he opened his mouth to speak the most beautiful words she’d ever heard. “It is my greatest honor.” Nothing but elation lay in his tone as his attention flickered to the stars, then back to her. “As your royal servant, I humbly stand before you. By my authority and the Celestials as witness, I, Garrik, High Prince of Elysian, grant you freedom from the ties binding you.”
It was as if the Stars Eternal opened the skies and poured out a vitalizing rain.
Tears burned her eyes and spilled over, relentlessly streaming down her face until she fought back sobs. An unmistakable weight washed from her body, enough to have her buckling forward and clasping her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.
Garrik dropped to his knees with a painful grunt and gripped her shoulders. “He has no claim to you any longer.”
Then it happened—the sobs. She couldn’t stop them, and they rattled through her until she couldn’t remain upright. Against her will, her face buried into frigid leather, and strong arms toweled around her, pulling her in tight with no hope of escape—not that she would even want to.
Free .
Garrik had freed her.
Garrik collapsed against her soon after they mounted Ghost.
Guided by the glow of Alynthia once again, the heavy scent and crackling of firesites whispered through the trees. Closer and closer to safety and comfort.
Ghost stopped along a tree line, and the glow of fires finally rose into the cloudless night as the moon cast its golden hue across camp outside the city gates.
“You asked a question earlier,” Garrik murmured against her shoulder. How he had the strength to remain awake escaped her. “Yes,” he said, firmly. “There is someone out there for you. Someday, some lucky male who does not deserve the air you breathe will beg the stars for the honor to worship at your feet. He will not be worthy and will search the stars every night simply hoping to live another second in your presence. Someone who will destroy Elysian to find you. But you will not require his rescue because you have already rescued yourself—the hero in your story.”
They were almost home, a mere twenty yards from the patrolling sentries, when she asked, “And what about your story? You deserve that kind of love, too.”
Garrik’s voice turned cold as he lifted his head from her shoulder. The glow of silver darkened. “No, Alora, I do not. I am the villain of this story. My life is meant for pain, and at the end of it all, Destiny will determine a shallow grave.”