Chapter 9
Alora
“I’ll go prepare her. Let her know the time has come.” The muffled statement floats through the thick door, waking me from dreamless sleep.
I cried so hard until my weeping fell into silent sobs that racked my entire body until exhaustion caused me to slide to the floor. Which is now where I lay, peering under the smallest crack under the only exit.
The voice belongs to the man referred to as Rune. I slowly lift myself from the dank floor and place my ear closer to the timbers.
“No. It’ll be me.” This voice is smokier, heavier. The Devourer. “Let her walk through the heather one last time with something more in her heart than sadness.”
Sadness. It’s almost unfair how he can see through the fragile glass that walls off my soul.
I’ve done everything I could to make it obscure, to hide away the curiosities that are hoarded behind the panes.
How he could see so clearly when I’m made of nothing but stained glass, such things will remain unknown to me.
His voice, closer now continues, and if I could lean harder into the wooden barrier, I would.
“Grant her the right to walk with rage and vindictiveness. Let the ground be marked by her sacrifice.”
What would he know of sacrifice? Frustration builds in my veins and I push away from the door. I shift away but place my back against it, not willing to let the words escape me even though I should.
I knead my knuckles into my dry eyes in an attempt to wipe away any evidence of my tears.
I concentrate on the voice, clearer now as it approaches.
“Allow her dignity. At least let me give her this.” A slow exhale is audible as The Devourer finishes his request.
Silence ensues and I can’t imagine what is taking them so long to enter.
A sudden boom from the door slamming caused me to jolt, the anger from the action causing me to tense.
It’s mere moments before words, gravely and subdued, greet me. “Alora, it’s time.”
The low timbre has my skin pebbling.
“Let’s be done with it then.” I spit the words and shove past him. I don’t know where this corridor leads to, other than to the end of everything., but I still hold my spine straight.
I’ve thought of Hanin often since the last time The Devourer left. What if the promises of the veil are empty, and there’s no one or nothing for me?
Unexpectedly I ask him, “I wonder who waits for me on the other side? Who will be the first to look upon me as I enter through the veil?”
Silence. Maybe he isn’t used to his victims conversing with him, maybe he’s uncomfortable with this familiarity in which I speak to him. If so, good.
“I’m sure the goddess herself will be there to draw you into her embrace, to celebrate a beloved warrior coming home.”
I scoff. What a fucked up response when he’s the one to send me to her. I don’t need his admiration or whatever bullshit of remorse he’s feeling. He’s the one who’s willing to be complacent with King Euron, gods know why.
I stare out to the landscape that’s swallowed the sky. Leaves sway, molted and damaged, on the barren fruit trees.
Finally outside in the crisp morning air, a reprieve from the stuffy dungeon, I can’t help but notice clouds forming, dark and promising an offering of their shed tears. I’ve always pondered what would make the heavens cry so swiftly in this region.
I feel the first drop of rain land on my cheek. I had hoped for escape, for The Hidden to find me, but that isn’t happening, it feels as if it won’t either.
The skies aren’t gentle with their kisses, they’d prefer to wail and weep with the soft pattering that builds along with the wind.
I finally turn toward The Devourer, my eyes locked on him in defeat.
His face cracks slightly, catching me off guard. “I wish you’d see this is more merciful, for that I won’t apologize.”
Ice fills my body and my mouth slacks. His green irises are focused on mine, a shadowed look on his face.
“You bastard,” I whisper, holding my breath after the insult, my chest threatening to cave in with his confession.
Twisting to get away, I put as much space as I can between The Devourer and me. He speaks in riddles and half measures. It’s maddening. He isn’t what I expected with our brief interactions but we still manage to be at war with each other nonetheless.
Rune is standing near a horse drawn cart, while a dapple gray horse stands, marbled with black and white, rigged and ready.
His warm brown eyes dance between the two of us, his jaw tensed and mouth set in a tight line. He glances from where I walk towards him to the man behind me and holds his gaze. His expression is unreadable but has a haunted look.
He’s heard every word between us, he was certainly close enough to do so, and by the way he stays silent, looking expectantly at his companion, I can’t help but be curious by his demeanor.
I walk past the man and move towards the back of the cart and climb up inside. I don’t have the energy to fight this any longer, so I settle on the wooden bench and let the crisp, cooling air wrap around me.
“He’s coming.” The Devourer’s voice is sharp, a slight lilt in the statement I hadn’t noticed before.
I peer over my shoulder and see that Rune and him are sharing the same severe look.
Odd.
Rune shakes his head, sandy blonde hair , in the process.
Whereas The Devourer and Nightmare are hard and intense, Rune seems more gentle.
It’s disarming, but I’ve learned to not underestimate those that appear unassuming.
I haven’t seen much of The Nightmare, thank the goddess, but Rune, who is rarely seen by the citizens of Noxia, appears completely different even though he wears the same garb as his companions.
He climbs up to the seat behind the horse and I center my gaze on the silver stitching of his ebony vest.
With a slap of the reins, the horse jolts forward. The limbs of the trees twist and sway in the gentle breeze, as if bidding me farewell.
Hoof clopping behind me breaks the nervous tension in the air. Turning to see who would be flanking us, disbelief has my jaw dropping.
“You fucker.” My body is twisting to fully face the rider. “You have some nerve, Devourer. That’s my horse.”
My mare’s face is level with mine, her hot breath blowing over my face, sending wisps of my hair billowing with each exhale.
“Rune, what seems to be delaying us?”
The man looks from me to the Devourer. “Well, she… I don’t know. One minute she’s silent as a priestess and the next yapping at you.”
The Devourer’s brow quirks at me as well. Apparently I have that effect on these men.
He looks down on me, expression unreadable.
“Do you like Dahla?” Imaginary daggers fling through the space between us. “She was mine as a young girl. How unfortunate your ass has graced her presence.”
Her gentle brown eyes are still laid on me. A twisting sensation in my gut has me quick to ask the Devourer, “You won’t hurt her, will you?”
His eyes turn more fierce with my sudden shift in tone. “Never.”
I study him as he studies me, his gaze chiseling against my walled—up exterior. Releasing my breath, I look at the horse again.
“Dahla.” My cheek leans against the snout of my longtime companion, her dusty scent filling my nostrils. The moment feels calming, the reassurance that she’ll live on a salve to my nerves. I take another stolen breath and brace myself for what happens next.
“Saltare.” The mare springs to life and rises onto her back legs, rearing her muscular body to the sky. She shakes her brute head, causing The Devourer to lose the reins. His strong thighs grip the saddle and he points his toes forward in the stirrups, leveling them with the ground.
His hands grab the horse’s withers, lacing his fingers in her long mane.
The cart makes a sudden jerk as the horse bolts, spooked by Dahla’s sudden movement. Rune flips into the back of the cart, landing on me, his heel knocking me on the head. He struggles to get upright as his limbs tangle and curses are mumbled under his breath.
My already throbbing head pounds more incessantly and spots form in my vision. An audible holler echoes in the surrounding chaos. I’m able to look up in time to see Rune grabbing the lost reins, the unexpected disruption urging his brows together until they form angry slashes.
He quickly stops the grey horse from its gallop. Turning back to me, he sends me a glare that would slice anyone else in two. I merely turn my lip up and scoff before looking back at Dahla and her hopefully unseated rider.
My amusement is cut short. Of course he’s still upright. Annoyance nags at me.
If I didn’t loathe the man who stole my damn horse and was leading me to my demise, he would actually be magnificent.
His dark tresses, unkempt and untied from Dahla’s rearing, fall gracefully over his forehead, kissing his jaw in a way that can only be explained as godly.
The mischief in his eyes tells me all I need to know.
He’s definitely an experienced rider. Very experienced.
Somehow I’d assumed that he probably sat around often, a life of leisure for the reward of being merciless.
The Devourer is more complex than I care to admit, my assumptions clearly wrong again.
“Ahh, little warrior. I should have guessed you would have more tricks in that cunning brain.”
His hand loosens from Dahla’s withers and he stretches his fingers. My eyes catch on the veins that twitch and flex down his forearm. I follow the muscular arms to where his shirt collar is laying open, the buttons now undone on his collar, and notice an ebony, gleaming band inked into his skin.
His chagrin smile fades as he follows my line of sight. Fingers quickly grasp the opened collar and he works the buttons back in place.
I can’t help but stare at the man. For as much as his actions are both evil and wrong, his physique is that of a warrior. If only he had chosen the side of humanity rather than turn his back to it.
Green eyes sparkling, they meet mine and hold. Enchanting me. He grabs the fallen rein and then looks down at the leather straps. Snatching one up, he grips it between his teeth and leans forward to grab something from his waistband.
I see the gleam of the blade and I watch as he cuts the strap shorter. He knots them together in one fell swoop and rests them in his lap. Once the dagger is sheathed again, he slides the loose leather piece between his fingers.
Looking again at me, he bites the leather and lets go while sliding his hands into his hair. He smooths the disheveled locks over his head, combing them back with his deft fingers. Eyes still on me, a sultry wickedness transforms in his brilliant gaze. He takes the strap and knots his hair back.
His appearance looks respectable again, not like the carefree version I caught a brief glimpse of. I watch as the mask of composure slides back over his face, though the phantom of seductiveness peeks through.
My face heats and I can’t tell if it’s from confusion or embarrassment. Somehow the encounter felt forbidden.
He’s about to bring you to your death. To kill you. Get it together. Perhaps the heel to the head knocked the sense out of me.
My thoughts turn over the possibilities of the inked skin as The Devourer rides past the cart and moves to the front.
A jostle of the cart signals we’re moving again.
I sit alone, quietly, lost in thoughts of Leeson, our friendship and the solace she’s provided me.
More bittersweet are the memories of my family.
I imagine Hanin back at our home weaving little flower crowns from white bells, those memories call to me like a siren’s song of old.
Time slips and I’m unaware of how long we’ve gone on for.
Closing my eyes to the now bright sunlight, exhaustion takes hold and I drop to my side and let the warm sun wash over me.
The lull of travel has me quickly dozing off, my mind rioting against the prospect, but my body wins out, and I finally fall into a light sleep. I barely hear the velvety voice, the words seemingly far away but close at the same time.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” The words are followed by a gravely bark of laughter.
“Piss off.” The murmur slips from my lips as exhaustion overtakes me, and I’m lost to the choking dreams of flower crowns and flames.