by Kala Merseal
Raethin’s patience began to wear.
“She never denied the rumors either, Arlow.”
“Maybe not. But I never heard her feed the stories either.” Arlow shrugged when he caught Raethin’s look.
“Come on, Rae. She’s young and peer pressure sucks.”
“She’s the princess,” Raethin snapped. “She should have the integrity to not gossip.”
Arlow rolled his eyes and dropped the argument, his retorts all but moot.
Another minute passed before Arlow sat up and Raethin sighed.
“Well,” Arlow deliberated. “I don’t like being the pessimist here but the chances that Verisca still stands are very slim. Theron himself would’ve had to come down from the heavens and save the king and the castle. So, the princess just lost her parents. Can’t you sympathize?”
“Maybe.” In fact, Raethin did sympathize. Ara was timid and fragile since they escaped. Her level of spoiled sass had diminished into a shadow of an orphan.
“You should be nice to her then, Rae.”
“Is that what you’re advocating? Or do you want me to like her?”
“I don’t expect you to fall in love with the princess,” Arlow said. “But being nicer to her might…ease the tension between all of us.”
Raethin laughed, finding the idea preposterous. Arlow glared at him and he quieted.
“Fine.”
Arlow fell silent finally and they rested comfortably in the quiet breeze.
Moments later, Max, Ara, and Nyphelia returned to the camp. Freshly washed of dirt and sweat, Ara didn’t cast a look toward the others before disappearing into the tent.
Nyphelia followed flashing a smile at Arlow.
Raethin and Max caught the flirtatious exchange, both grimacing.
“What?” Arlow asked, defensive. “You may not be interested in romance but I sure am.”
“Really, during this crisis?” Max groused.
“It’s better to love and have lost than to never have loved at all.” Arlow sighed.
Max and Raethin decided to ignore Arlow then, agitated by his romanticism.
The older elf turned to Raethin.
“I’ve already scolded him, Max,” Arlow said.
Max nodded. “You can’t treat her like a soldier, Rae. Nor can you treat her like a lady from the taverns.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Raethin waved him off, throwing the cloth back over his eyes.
“She’s a proper lady and the last heir to the Therilean throne,” Max continued, ignoring Raethin’s quiet attempts to squashing the conversation.
Raethin’s jaw clenched. “All Heirs are taught the arcane. She’s supposed to be just as much a mage as I am.”
“Her father nurtured her too much,” Max said. “Besides, with her marriage arrangement, no one worried that she should have the will for battle.”
But the princess’s betrothed had died decades ago. The so-called protection of their marriage alliance died with him.
While the Waetherean King remained close friends with King Raifeld, their political relationship had shifted.
Now the king was mostly likely dead, leaving the little princess to fight for survival and Raethin to pick up the pieces of her kingdom.
“Have you ever once witnessed her wielding magick?”
Max paused, mulling over his past protecting the princess.
“Ara kept her gifts to herself.”
“Or rather she never had the talent. Magick requires skill but first you need the aptitude to wield it.”
Max grimaced, his glare evolving into a deep scowl.
“Your speculations, distrust, and disliking will see us killed.”
“Her frailty and arrogance will see to our death long before that, my friend.”
“You were close to Raifeld, Rae,” Max said, shifting the direction of the debate. “Do you not feel the honor of ensuring the survival of his beloved daughter?”
“I feel honored to be entrusted with the King’s most treasured, of course,” Raethin said. “But our survival is slim and every moment the demons draw closer, waiting to strike. I fear that his trust was placed in vain. I fear that we will all perish.”
Max quieted and the three warriors fell into an uncomfortable silence. Then Max shuffled to his feet and dusted off his pants.
“Do not allow your anger and frustration to blind our mission, Rae. If we are to survive, we must strengthen our bonds or forever be divided.”
Raethin listened to him walk off. A minute later, Arlow stood and followed Max, leaving Raethin alone to stew.
Like most other times Max spoke with him, Max’s words quietly struck a chord. Raethin would cease his teasing, he decided, but he would not relent in urging the princess forward. Ara would never grow stronger without the needed push.
King Raifeld appointed Raethin his royal commander during Ara’s adolescent years and his admiration and obedience to Raifeld had garnered gossip among the nobility in the Therilean court.
Ara had her father wrapped around her finger, given that she was his one and only heir, but that dynamic gave her the means to be childish and arrogant. The ladies and gentlemen of the Therilean court envied Ara for her beauty and youth but there was a subtle intelligence within her quiet demeanor. Early in his career, Raethin often admired her.
Her illusion of subtle uniqueness from the aristocracy shattered when rumors and heckling about the royal commander circulated the court and Raethin discovered their origins trailing back to the princess—jokes that the commander licked the king’s feet and followed him around like a lost puppy ran through the court.
At first, Raethin didn’t belief that she had spread that rumor, as often the rumors in court were nothing but lies. But then one evening at a party he overheard her, and her friends joke too loudly about him and caught her teasing gaze which quickly turned sour with contempt.
Most females flirted with him despite the jokes. In fact, Raethin discovered it to be a blessing in disguise when it came to charm them. But Ara treated him like a ghost. Never did the princess approach him. Nonetheless, tease him.
Raethin observed that he agitated her. Thanks to her father’s loving nature, Raifeld only allowed the royal guard to tail her, which meant that it was often that he was in her presence.
Ara acquainted with the others. He noticed that she often joked with Arlow and chatted with Max.
But never did she give him the same courtesy.
So, he returned the coldness in similar measures.
When dusk approached, Arlow let Ara and Nyphelia know they were readying to leave for the night. Ara and Nyphelia came out of the tent and Veron and Arlow hurried to finish packing the rest of the camp.
Minutes later the six began their nightly journey. The commander eyed Ara as she fell into step beside him. She too looked as if sleep evaded her, her cheeks sunken and eyes tired. She had pulled her hair back with a leather string, dark ringlets falling down her back.
Ara caught his scrutiny and bristled underneath his stare, her jaw ticking.
Raethin looked away with a grimace, and then muttered, “I’m sorry.”
There was a long pause of hesitation from the princess before she responded.
“For what?”
“I don’t like your arrogance,” Raethin said through his teeth. “It’s my duty to ensure your survival and an argument or any moment of weakness could mean our death. But my teasing does not help us either and I don’t mean to degrade your loss or feelings. I apologize for that.”
Ara did not respond but after a long moment she nodded at him. A silent acceptance of his apology.
Well, it was something at least.
♦♦♦
They all fully suspected the Kaevari to descend upon them during their second night in the Forest. But when morning came and they collapsed in a grove among a cluster of trees, their tense bodies relaxed, and chatter grew. Arlow and Veron unpacked and arranged the bedrolls and tent.
Max and Raethin mu
ttered strategies for the following night.
Ara and Nyphelia were exhausted but Ara noted that her body wasn’t as fatigued as the previous night. Slowly and surely her muscles attuned to the nightly traveling.
Nyphelia retired to the tent while Ara settled against a stump. Though exhaustion gripped her Ara was too afraid to sleep. The nightmares were getting too real. Raethin ignored her and laid back on his pallet. Arlow and Veron had left to gather firewood and Max portioned the dried foods from the packs.
Max looked up and saw Ara staring off into the woods.
“You aren’t sleeping well,” Max said.
“No one is.”
He nodded.
“How much longer until we find these druids?”
“Patience, princess,” Raethin said. His arms crossed behind his head and his usual cloth covered his eyes.
“The forest will accept us when it’s ready,” Max said.
“I’m suspicious of trusting a bunch of nature but I guess.” Ara sighed and shrugged. “What else can we do?”
“The Forest has a mind of its own, and its kin are called to hear it,” Max said. “The animals are goddess-blessed here. Children of Rakeva. Kin to the druids. They will lead us to their family if they believe in our good nature.”
Ara grimaced but said nothing, too fatigued to argue. Max’s gaze turned sympathetic as he studied the slouched princess.
“You’ve much to learn in this adventure, my dear.”
“Knowledge is futile if we don’t survive, Max.”
“Then learn quick and use that knowledge to survive.” Max sighed and nodded toward Raethin. “He knows what he’s doing. Your father wouldn’t have picked him otherwise, so listen to him.”
Heat crawled up Ara’s neck. She turned away and crossed her arms, ignoring Raethin as he peered at her through the cloth.
Ara shoved off the stump and grabbed a cantene, sipping the cold spring water. They had not settled by a creek, so their water supplies were limited for the day. She pocketed the canteen in her knapsack, then moved away from Max and Raethin to lounge against a tree by the tent. The breeze brushed across her face, its caress calming. The chirping and chattering of the Forest’s critters lulled her, and soon Ara found herself dozing.
Darkness welcomed her and for the first time in three days, she found sleep comforting and restful. She fell into a dream, welcoming the abyss.
Ara drifted through the cosmic waters, feeling its pull deeper into her subconscious. Through the darkness, crimson eyes fluttered open, then narrowed. White canines erupted from black lips, cinching upward at the corners. A sanguine, wolfish grin, with teeth elongated to terrifying points.
Her name flitted through the waters, riding on its ripples. A caress, possessive and furious. The thunder to foreboding lightning. The lips and red eyes drew closer, and as if stepping into the limelight, his face appeared. The very same face of the horned demon in her nightmares, whose lips dripped with her father’s blood.
“I’ve found you.”
Ara jerked, a cry splitting from her lips. A hand anchored her to reality, pulling her out of her nightmare and back into her body.
Her eyes flung open. Soft emerald replaced crimson as Raethin peered down at Ara.
Ara shifted away from him. His hand fled, the touch that rescued her from the demon’s torment now leaving her surprisingly cold.
All too sudden, Raethin left her side, putting distance between them.
“If you are not hungry, Princess,” Raethin muttered, “Then I suggest you lie down in your tent.”
The smell of cooked meats would have called to her
hunger, but instead it twisted her stomach — or the nightmare messed with her nerves. Ara stumbled to the tent and fell onto her bedroll beside the slumbering Nyphelia and laid there, eyes wide and staring at the tent’s fabric ceiling, until dusk.
Chapter Four
Ara chose to walk beside Max the third night. Nyphelia clung to Arlow, their whispers agitating the rest of the group throughout the night. The waning moon hung high above them, a telling sign that the time was around midnight. The group fell silent. Raethin crouched as he peered around a tree. Ahead, they heard muffled whining and hissing, the melody of a predator hunting its prey.
Arlow unsheathed his sword as he crouched beside Raethin. Nyphelia moved to Ara and gripped her hand, her breaths labored with panic. Ara’s own heart beat painfully in her chest as they waited.
Raethin pulled away from the tree, his grimace illuminated by the sliver of moonlight cutting through the canopy. Ara jerked as his gaze met hers, flushing underneath their intensity.
Raethin unsheathed his own sword as he held a finger to his lips, hushing the others.
Arlow mouthed, “What is it?”
Raethin’s eyes cut to Ara again.
She watched his lips as he mouthed back.
“A trap.”
A shiver ran down Ara’s spine at the reply. Goosebumps rose over her bared skin. Her nightmares flooded her thoughts in a violent wave and her stomach dipped in response.
Without a sound, Raethin crept toward her, gripping her elbow. The contact grounded her as she turned to him.
“They are watching, Princess,” Raethin whispered in her ear, lips brushing against soft skin.
Abruptly, Raethin pulled away and turned to motion for the others to follow as he crept along the cluster of trees.
Everyone moved at the commander’s same pace, inching around the trees.
Soon, Ara saw the trap.
Within an opening in the forest, where the moonlight pulled over a patch of meadow, a pile of limbs and wings quivered and moved. With the group’s slow, silent movements, Ara had time to study the creature. Fear shot through her chest and her heart accelerated.
A Kaevari sat hunched over a griffon. Its teeth tore into its throat, gnawing muscle and bone. A rustic stench gilled the air.
Ara’s stomach twisted, and she resisted the urge to gag.
A hand found hers and squeezed. Ara caught Raethin’s frown.
“Even I can hear your heart,” he mouthed and nodded his head to the Kaevari.
They continued inching further away from the Kaevari and its kill, praying to the gods that the demon did not follow them.
Ara took deep breaths as they crept, trying to calm her thundering heart. Her gaze strayed to the demon, watching as it dug into its prey.
Its features were predominantly masculine — a male if it were to have a sex. Maybe they did have genders. Ara had little knowledge of the Kaevari, garnering all her wisdom of the creatures from Raethin and Max.
Her stare dropped down to her hand, and Ara frowned.
The commander still held onto her hand. Compared to her sweaty, shaky palm, his hand was cool and smooth, his calloused fingers surrounding hers in a steadfast grip.
Despite the circumstance, Ara flushed as she drew another quivering breath.
The group had followed the tree-line that obscured their presence from the Kaevari and split off on the other side. Still, those in the rear eyed the creature as they inched away, and no one relaxed, even as they gained more distance from the meadow.
Ara went to withdraw her hand, needing the distance from the infuriating commander, when his grip tightened.
Astonished, Ara tugged. Raethin returned the tug twofold and caught her when she stumbled into him.
“What are you doing?” Ara hissed in his ear. Her hands rested on his chest to force distance between them.
“Stop moving,” Raethin whispered back, his arms like steel bars surrounding her. “Do you really think that was the only demon?”
Ara halted, going slack in his arms. When Raethin decided she would not resist his urgency, he turned and pulled her along, one arm still wrapped around her shoulder.
The others paid no attention to their short quibble, their movements succinct with their leader’s. Ara watched the forest around them, looking for any signs of more Kaevari.
“D
o you not feel them, Ara?” Raethin’s sudden whisper sent shivers down her spine. Ara quickly shut down the betraying thought of her name dripping from his lips as Raethin spoke further.
“They watch from the trees, surrounding us. If we had attacked their kin back there, they would’ve aimed for the kill.” His voice dropped even lower, a hum even Ara struggled to hear despite their proximity. “They are biding their time to attack. Their magick calls for our blood. Do you feel it?”
“Do you?” Ara countered, her body quickly growing cold with shock and terror. His arm tightened around her shoulder, currents stinging at his calloused fingers’ touch against her arm’s bare skin.
“Yes — and you should too.”
♦♦♦
Ara had always feared magick. Her father hired countless tutors of the arcane arts to tutor her throughout her life, all unsuccessful. It was her greatest shame that she couldn’t learn the control needed to tame her innate abilities, no matter how hard she tried. Most from her father’s inner circle that knew about her weakness was told that Ara simply did not have the gift.
In truth, the gift that Heirs inherited was entirely different than her violent, archaic gift — a torrent of chaos that should be a calming wave of power.
Ara saw what she should have had in Aescion. Her betrothed was a prodigy, a sorcerer gifted by the gods in such a way that even while he lived, he made history.
Jealousy had marred her innocent relations with the Waetherean crown prince, a dark emotion which she chose to stifle than to let cloud her feelings for Aescion.
Even though Ara never confirmed the truth to Aescion, she felt that he suspected. There were times where he would beg her to practice and study with him, and often Ara obliged until he crept too close to the line, under which she shoved her magick. Aescion had gotten through to Ara though on a deep, emotional level and she tried practicing with him and oftentimes reaped the consequences late at night with nightmares of shadows and blood and bones.
Then, after Aescion’s proclaimed death, Ara’s dwindling flow of magick faded as if died with her beloved prince.
Ara felt nothing on that third night as they passed through the Rakevan Forest. Even after Raethin hinted at his knowledge of her weakness and Ara tried to reach out and feel the demons’ energies, nothing rebounded back to her senses.