Gold, page 35
Everyone disperses, leaving me in the middle of the square alone, left with the shuddering wind. Merchants tie up their carts, vendors close up their stalls. Shopkeepers have gone inside and locked their doors, and the shoppers and beggars have all turned away.
Turned their backs.
Panicked frustration gorges on me, a beast tearing out my insides and chomping on my guts.
No one will listen to me.
I have been a royal all my life. Servants, guards, nobles, advisors, they’ve all had to listen to me. But now, when it actually matters, when a queen is trying to entreat her people, to save their lives, their neighbors, their children, their homes…my words fall on deaf ears.
It’s different that Queen Kaila dismissed me—she has no true connection to this place. It’s even different that the guards didn’t put stock in my words, for they’ve seen me give atrocious orders. But for the people to turn away, to not even consider what I’m saying might be true…
It means I have utterly failed them.
I stand in the middle of the emptying square, watching them all leave. Watching my people reject me again. My hands burn with cold. I can’t keep failing like this. Not with everything on the line.
Perhaps Kaila is right. Perhaps I’m not wanted.
But I am needed.
That thought fuels me. Bolsters me. Fills me with determination like nothing ever has in my whole life. Highbell needs me. They don’t know it, but I do, and I won’t fail them again.
Turning, I march back the way I came. I don’t wait for Dommik to lift me up. I brace my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg over, setting myself atop the horse as I yank my skirts up and grip the reins. Dommik settles himself behind me, gripping me around the waist once again, not saying a word as I urge the horse forward.
The wind of the impending snowstorm picks up as we race back down the street, my white hair whipping free of its braid, strands scratching over my eyes. At my back, Dommik wraps his cloak around us both, though he needn’t bother. I relish the cold. It feeds something in me with every frigid breath.
The first of the snowfall starts spitting out when I yank the horse to a stop at the bridge. I jump down and walk over and then pace in front of it, eyeing the length, eyeing the other side that leads to the mountain. To the castle caught snugly at its side like a mother holding a babe on her hip. Between us, the frozen chasm yawns, sucking in the wind of the coming storm like a wheezing snore.
There’s one road.
One snowy, open road that leads from Seventh Kingdom. This is where the fae army will enter. They’ll crest from the hill and start marching down, and they can either go left up the mountain to the castle or cross the bridge and come into the city.
I can’t get Kaila or the guards to listen to me. I can’t fortify the road itself since it’s too open. And I can’t get the people to flee and hide behind the castle’s walls. So instead, I’ll have to protect the city with a wall of my own.
At the entrance of the bridge, right where it meets the short wall blocking the chasm, I drop down. With my legs tucked beneath me and knees braced on the stone bricks, I hold my palms out.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer Dommik. All my focus is right here, on my hands. On the gashes cut through each palm and the sharp shards of ice stuck to them. And I beg.
On my knees in desperate prayer, I beg.
I don’t beg the gods, because what have powerful men ever done for me? No, I beg the magic instead. The magic I shouldn’t have. I beg desperately for it to do something, anything, to help me save the city I endangered.
Please…
The wind howls.
Snowfall starts to drizzle down from the sky.
And I beg and beseech and pray.
Dommik watches me. A kneeling queen and a silent assassin, the two of us a seemingly unlikely pair. Except, we have more in common than most. We’ve both brought on death. He’s just honest about it. He wields a blade and spills others’ blood. I let someone spill my blood, and now the enemy will wield their blades against my people.
What I’ve done is far, far worse.
Please…
My eyes are shut tight, my hands shaking, everything in me coiled with a desperation that seems larger than life itself.
Because I regret.
I regret allowing my powerless life to mold me. I regret not standing up to my father. I regret marrying Midas. I regret allowing him to keep a woman in a cage. I regret looking down on the very people I was meant to serve. I regret taking everything for granted.
I regret becoming this bitter, cold woman, and I want to let that cold out. To make it do something good.
Please…
I keep praying to this power, keep begging this mercurial magic, and then, my teeth begin to gnash on frost. Ice forms on my hard-pressed lips and cracks against my tongue.
And somehow, as if it listened to my plea, the magic starts to surge. To rumble up beneath my flesh and through my blood and finally, finally answer my call.
I suck in a breath as I watch ice begin to coalesce in my hands. The scabbed shards that are always stuck to the gashes begin to puff up like clouds. They stretch, reaching for the other, and the two pieces merge into one. As soon as they do, they begin to grow. Like frost forming over a window, it builds up layer by layer, thickening until it’s a block of ice so big and heavy that I drop it on the ground with a grunt, unable to hold its weight.
I stare at it. At this perfectly formed brick made from solid ice, slightly cloudy with frost that’s as white as my hair, a blue tinge the same color as my eyes. And finally, I have an answer to Dommik’s question that he asked me outside of the barracks.
So what are we going to do?
Since no one is going to listen to me, then I’ll just have to defend Highbell myself.
Brick by brick.
Instead of a babbling brook, we follow one that sighs. The stream’s croon seems to pause between breaths and then lets out an exhale of relief, like someone finally falling into bed after a long day. Rocks steep lazily beneath the surface, making the water tint with rivulets of green.
It’s the exact shade of Slade’s eyes in the sunlight.
As I sit on top of Blush, leading the horse alongside the brook, I fiddle with the collar of my tunic, swiping a thumb across the loneliness that swells from my chest. I want to look Slade in the eyes again. I want to tell him all the things that I should’ve said right from the start. When I was too scared and too broken to know what was in front of me. When I was too full of doubts and scars to trust myself and my heart.
I was so sure that I was going to make the same mistakes I’d made with Midas. I thought I couldn’t possibly have real love with Slade. Thought he couldn’t possibly love someone like me.
Love happens in all kinds of ways.
He was right when he said that. Love does happen in all kinds of ways. But our kind happened like the dawn.
The dawn doesn’t question when to appear. It simply does.
He walked into my life with the surety of his presence, and from that point on, the night began to wane.
I was trapped in lonely darkness for so long that I couldn’t recognize the way the world began to illuminate—not right away. I was blind for so many years that, when my horizon began to brighten, I tried to turn away. To squint and blink and shut my eyes against it because I thought, of course, I couldn’t have that. Of course I’d stay in the dark.
But I didn’t.
He showed me what it was to face the sun and not shy away. He let me approach it with my hesitations, let me ease into it without being blinded.
Let me choose.
I’m in this light with him, basking in its warmth, and even our distance can’t take that away. Because no matter where we are, the sun always dawns. No matter where he is, I love him.
“We’re almost there.”
My thoughts scatter and I look away from the brook to Wick. He and Ludogar are riding in front of us, Emonie is beside me, and two other Vulmin named Marox and Ogith are behind us. We’re the six that Wick chose to take on this mission to rescue the Oreans. All the other Vulmin stayed behind in the village. We’ve been riding for a few hours now, going to meet up with the fae who will be bringing us to Riffalt City where the Oreans are being held.
I straighten in the saddle, trying to stretch my back, and Emonie digs around in her pouch before extending her hand to me. “Here.”
Taking the offering, I find a bit of syrup-drizzled bread. I instantly pop it into my mouth, the burst of sweetness coating my tongue and leaving a hint of citrusy sour that makes my lips perk. “Mmm, thanks.”
One thing about Emonie, I never go hungry during the long days of travel when I’m riding beside her. She’s always plying me with food to snack on. Right now, it’s a good distraction since I’m a bit nervous about going on my first real rebel mission. But I’m also invigorated. Ready to do something meaningful.
“Lady Lyäri,” Marox calls forward. “I also have some food you can have if you’re hungry.”
“As do I,” Ogith adds.
I look over my shoulder at the pair. Marox is scowling from beneath his bushy red beard at Ogith like he doesn’t appreciate the tag-on. Ogith gazes straight at me, his black hair wind-swept, his freckled face open and sincere. They’ve both been incredibly attentive since we left. I’ve already had offers to drink their water and to take their cloaks when it rained earlier this morning.
“I’m alright, but thank you.”
Ogith’s pale blue eyes go a bit dejected, but Marox sits up straighter in his saddle. “Anything you need, Lyäri, we will get it for you.”
“That’s very kind of you, but you don’t need to go to any trouble for me,” I say as I face forward again.
“That’s right. She has me,” Emonie chirps.
I snort as Wick begins to veer us away from the gentle brook and head deeper into the thick brush around us. The trees we pass have trunks adorned with black moss, like a broad body tucked into a cloak. Bright green leaves the shape of tears weep down overhead, shading us from the sun, and the ground is thick with overgrown bushes. The six of us ride single file down a narrow game trail with Ludogar at the front, cutting through some of the thorny branches that block the path.
We break through a particularly dense spot of brush, and then, it seems like the world opens up. Our group dismounts, leaving our horses behind to graze and nose around near the small pond as we approach the meeting place that seems to be a realm of its own.
A row of huge pillars stands as tall as trees. The stone is semi-translucent in a deep violet color and is incredibly old, with parts crumbled away and the rest cracked with age. Vines wind around them, sprouting through the fissures and clotting with little white reeds as puffy as the clouds.
Whatever this building used to be before, it’s clear it was grand. Now, nature seems to have taken it over, and time has worn it away. There are a few shallow steps leading up to it, nothing but open sky in place of a roof.
Wick leads us between the crumbled walls that stand on either side, but I watch my feet. The floor has the same see-through stone as the pillars, but beneath it and right down the center, there’s an underground river, making it seem like we’re walking on purple water. Every once in a while, a small fish darts by, pale scales looking like the streak of a star shooting past.
“What was this place?” I ask in a hush. I’m not sure why, but something about being here makes it seem like I should whisper.
“An old temple,” Wick says, thin streaks of sunlight dappling his face. He takes us to a spot where the wall has split, parts of the purple stone fallen in a pile with a thick layer of spongy vines grown over them. “The fae we’re meeting should be here soon. In the meantime, we can relax.”
I nod as we all cluster together, and I sit on one of the cushioned rock pieces. Emonie walks to the wall and clicks her nail against the purple stone, letting out a low whistle while fiddling with her pouch.
Ludogar shoots her a look. “Don’t even think about it.”
She glances over her shoulder at him as she continues to walk the length of the wall. “What?” she asks innocently, though her molten eyes dart left and right.
His teal eyes, however, are unwavering. “You cannot, under any circumstances, steal something from this place.”
She stops and holds up a finger. “Firstly, it’s called foraging. And secondly—” Another finger juts up, but she pauses. “Umm…why not?”
He lets out a huff and looks at the rest of us, but Wick sits down and busies himself with taking a drink from his water skin, while Marox and Ogith avoid eye contact.
“This place is sacred,” Ludo says, like it should be obvious. “It was built for the goddesses.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Which one?”
His brows draw together. “Does it matter?”
“Does it matter,” she scoffs. “Of course it matters. Say this was the temple of Dronidylis. She was the goddess of favor and filch. She would love for someone to steal from her temple. It would delight her.”
My lips curve up in amusement. I see Wick fighting a smirk behind his drink. Even Ogith and Marox share a look of mirth between them.
“This wasn’t the temple of Dronidylis,” Ludogar says irritably.
She taps another part of the wall. “How can you be so sure?”
His words falter, but not his scowl. “Just…don’t steal anything! It would bring us bad luck.”
“Did you not hear me? Favor and filch,” Emonie retorts. “I’d argue that we would get good luck.” Then she looks to me. “Droni is my favorite goddess.”
Not surprising.
Ludogar sighs and shakes his head, looking up at the trees growing high overhead like he’s trying to see the sky and find a goddess up there who will help explain things to her.
Unbothered, Emonie plops on the floor, legs folded and back up against the wall before she starts picking at the little vines dangling next to her.
Just when I lean back to get comfortable with the wait, I hear a sound behind me. I turn quickly as Wick gets to his feet, and see a hobbling old fae making his way toward us.
“Good, you’re here,” he says in greeting.
He has shoulder-length brown hair streaked gray from age, and a short beard that looks like a perfectly shaped square hedge. His skin is pale with hues of gray like a clouded moon. He’s wearing a black leather vest over his tunic and creased pants with a red belt looped around his waist. As he walks, he taps a wooden cane against the floor, sending an echo through the ruins of the temple.
“Brennur,” Wick says as he walks over to meet him while the rest of us hang back. “Thank you for agreeing to come back for us.”
The slightly hunched fae gives a quick nod. “It was a task, I won’t say it wasn’t.” He looks over at Ludo. “Lerana insisted it was urgent when I brought her back.”
“Yes,” Wick answers. “We’re grateful you were able to bring her and return for us.”
Brennur stops and lets out a tired sigh as he leans on his cane. “Of course, of course. You know I do all I can for the Vulmin. But why do you want to go to Riffalt?”
“There may be some Oreans there who need our help.”
Brennur’s wiry eyebrows lift.
“We’ll need your help with that as well,” Wick finishes.
There’s slight hesitation in the old fae’s face. “That is very dangerous…”
“You’ll be well compensated.”
“You know I don’t care about that,” Brennur says with a wave of his knobby hand. “But to sneak Oreans out of Riffalt is a great risk.”
Wick gives him an enigmatic smile. “Everything worthy of risk is worthy of doing.”
“Yes, yes. Fine. Of course, if that is what the Vulmin mission requires, you know I am at your service,” Brennur says as his eyes begin to skim around the rest of us in the group. “Now, let’s see, how many am I—”
The moment his eyes land on me, they go wide. There’s a shock of silence that seems to stab through him, making him stagger back from the plunge. Then, he yanks it out with a gush. “Y-you. You’re Auren Turley.”
I give him a polite smile. “Yes.”
His face seems to drain of all color before he whips toward Wick. “How is she here? How is this possible? She’s dead.”
“That’s just what the monarchy declared,” Ludo says.
“And we all know how often they lie,” Wick adds. “The Lyäri Ulvêre is alive and well, and she has returned.”
Brennur’s hand shakes on his cane. “How is this possible?” His gaze keeps tracking back to me, his eyes the color of clay.
“The goddesses brought her home,” Wick tells him. “Maybe even Dronidylis,” Emonie says under her breath, making me crack a smile.
“What’s she doing here?” Brennur asks.
I step forward and answer, because I’m tired of being talked about instead of talked to. “I’m going to Riffalt to help the Oreans.”
His expression is dumbfounded, with traces of fear filtering through as he looks from me to Wick. “You expect me to bring her to Riffalt City? Are you mad?”
“Auren can take care of herself,” Wick replies, and a surge of pride goes through me before I nod at the old fae.
But he shakes his head, making his squared beard bobble. “Absolutely not. I cannot take her anywhere, least of all there. I can’t be seen with her! None of us can! Do you know what will happen to us if someone realizes who she is? Tales of the Turleys might not be talked about in cities like Riffalt, but they will figure out who she is quick enough. And if Lord Cull or the other nobles hear word of it…”
“He won’t. No one will see her. We just need you to take us to Riffalt. I will handle the rest, Brennur. Trust that I know what I’m doing is in the best interest of the Vulmin.”
His lips press down hard, thinning them out. “I don’t like this…”
