“Stop it!” I demanded in the same authoritative tone I used to command my ladies. Apparently, anger could bring Ayleth out of hibernation.
“I thought ya were smart. I can’t believe ya would do anythin’ Darric suggested. So from now on, he can teach ya. I’m not wastin’ my fuckin’ time with someone who disrespects me.”
I tore off the leather strap of his quiver. The mess fell to the ground, and I kicked the bundle into Flint’s leg. Arrows skidded across the dirt, the shafts snapped, and fletchings flew into the air.
I had to get away from them. I stormed through the cavern and shoved open the fur door of the Hovel.
Tears welled in my eyes as I paced from the bedrooms to the front wall and back again. Of course it had been wrong to brazenly shoot arrows at Flint. I should have waited until he returned, but I had been too enamored by the mind-bending sensation running through my veins—the absolute certainty I wouldn’t hit him. How did Darric continue to fog my reasoning to such an extent?
And Flint! How dare he talk to me that way! I might have the appearance of a peasant, but inside I was still Divine royalty. No one should ever speak to me so boldly, or they would risk imprisonment! At a moment’s notice I could return to Alamantia Palace, reveal the location of this wretched cavern, and end everything they knew. I had power. I was vital. What was Flint? Nothing! A no-name nomadic criminal hiding in the Daraban mountains who couldn’t wield a sword.
Anger flowed unchecked within me. I wanted to scream, run outside, and flatten Flint’s pointed nose to his face. But before I could act on the consuming rage, a burning sensation traveled across my temple, rounded my ear, and flowed down my neck. It stung and pinched, followed by a surge of nausea. I slapped my hand to my face. The Mandala. The distinct texture of the mark dazzled beneath my fingers, dauntlessly declaring her presence.
No-no-no-no-no-no.
I panicked. My thoughts crumbled into a thousand pieces.
Stop thinking about being Divine.
I took in a deep breath and let it out.
Again. Breathe deep. Who are you? Aya. Simple, unadorned Aya, who lives in the mountains of Daraban with three rowdy men who saved her from a life she despised.
I became frantic. My attempts to relax turned into hyperventilation.
The front door moved, and I bolted for Darric’s room. I had to hide until I recomposed myself. I had to remember how to make the Mandala vanish. What if I couldn’t? What if I couldn’t force Ayleth back into the recesses of my core?
The cat came into the Hovel and trotted to where I stood.
I had to focus. I thought back to the night Ambrosia helped me change my fate. I closed my eyes, clutching my fingers over the Mandala.
“What do people see when they look at you? The details of who you are to the world are never the same as what you perceive yourself.”
I gripped the bed frame, clenching my teeth.
“Somewhere rooted deep inside of you is the person you want to be. She’s foreign to you—someone you have never known but desperately want. Who is she? Envision yourself without the Mandala. Who have you become?”
I shoved Ayleth harder, internally screaming at her to leave the Hovel.
“Fight against it. The Mandala wants to be seen. The Divine part of you will not be forgotten easily. It’s not enough to envision yourself without our mark. You have to want to be rid of it. You have to know, with certainty, that you are more than the mark that defines you.”
I felt delusional—lost in the same senseless up and down I dreaded when I slept. Ayleth was furious to be cast aside. She did not want to be forgotten. She was stronger than I had ever known.
My entire body quaked. When the tremor subsided, I palmed my skin to find that the telltale glowing mark had vanished beneath healed flesh. A cold sweat drenched my hairline, and swirls of sickness churned my stomach.
I wobbled to the bucket by the workbench and sank my arms into the fresh water. It bubbled and overflowed onto the Hovel floor, at the same moment spraying high into the air and hitting me in the face. I splashed the cool water over my skin, droplets dripping from my chin into the agitated bucket. I tossed my wet hair behind me and buried my face in my hands.
I felt destitute and alienated by this new existence. Even if I wanted to go home, there was nothing left for me at the palace. My parents had betrayed me and sold me into marriage. I was scorned, broken, unloved, and erased.
The cat pressed into my thigh.
I broke into a fit of sobs and gripped the bucket for stability, only to cry out when a sharp pain sparked through my shoulder. I leaned back onto the bench until the sniffles turned to hiccups. My little feline companion crawled into my lap.
The fur covering the entrance of the Hovel moved, and Flint’s red head appeared in the opening. He hesitated when he saw me on the floor. Darric’s bracered arm grabbed the nape of his tunic and shoved him, stumbling, into the room, and the fur swung shut behind him
Flint’s shoulders dropped over his chest. A frown had fallen so low on his face it looked as if he might never smile again. In his hands he held a bouquet of pink and yellow peonies, which he transferred nervously from one fist to the other.
I wiped tears from my cheeks and smoothed damp hair away from my face.
He failed to move, apprehension gluing his feet to the rug. “I . . .” He gulped so hard his larynx bobbed, then licked his lips to wet his dry mouth. “I was an idiot. A huge blasted idiot an’ . . .” He squeezed the bouquet, nearly wringing the flowers from their stems. “I’m sorry for the thin’s I said an’ the way I acted.” He swayed on his heels and cautiously approached me.
The cat jumped onto the bench in a protective hover. I crossed my arms and tucked my knees into my chest. I wasn’t sure I was ready to forgive his insolence.
He lowered the bouquet, waiting for me to accept his apology, but I stayed silent in my defensive ball. He set the flowers on the ground, and the cat hissed.
“I guess I . . .” His eyes watered as I continued to disregard him. “I understand if ya don’t want to talk to me.” He turned to leave the Hovel in disgrace.
“Flint.” I groaned, exhausted.
He spun around at the sound of my voice, and his watery gaze filled with hope.
“I’ve never picked up a bow in my entire life,” I said. “Nor shot an arrow.”
He hung his head. “I believe ya. Darric explained it to me.”
“Did he?” I rolled my eyes.
“Darric an’ Bromly gave me an earful. Darric pays too much attention, so he made me understand.”
I scoffed, unfolding my arms, and pushed my legs out. “What did he say exactly?”
“He said your stance was a mess. Ya lack muscle control. Ya didn’t hold the bow straight an’ ya have no skill. I don’t usually see thin’s from his point of view, an’ his opinion doesn’t matter much to me, but he’s right.”
I wrinkled my nose, perturbed. “You can always count on that spectacular Ursygh charm. Both of you are abhorrent.”
“I don’t want us to be mad at each other. I shouldn’t’ve blamed ya for takin’ his advice. Darric can be convincin’.” He took a seat on the wet ground. “I’d give anythin’ to be able to shoot like that. When we were kids, I used to beg Darric to take me travelin’ with him, but he never would. He said it was too dangerous for me. So I asked him to teach me to fight. Dual wield, like he does. It’s a really complex skill, ya know, kinda rare. I learned to use a bow, but he’s always held me back. Now he’s got us hidin’ in the mountains nine months of the year.”
“It was wise of him not to take you. You did not have business joining the Onyx Guard any more than he did. I don’t care how much money it brought.”
Flint went from remorseful to stunned. “He told ya he was in the Onyx Guard?”
I nodded. “He was trying to protect his family. You have to know that.”
“From what? Insane toddlers?” He raked his fingers down his cheeks, and fresh an
ger warped his face. “Since ya haven’t figured it out, let me explain it to ya. Darric hides out here ’cause he’s a dishonorable cad an’ knows it. This protection is jus’ control over us.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that.”
“Do ya hear yourself? He brought ya here, remember? He changed all the rules we live by an’ tried to pass it off as ya trailin’ after him like an abandoned dog.”
“I followed him.” I repeated Darric’s story, though I was not a skilled liar. “I tore myself apart to keep up with him. It nearly killed me.”
“Is that what ya really think? You’ve seen him fight. If Darric didn’t want someone followin’ him, they wouldn’t’ve survived long enough to take one step in his direction. He knew exactly what he was doin’ the second ya started trailin’ him. He wanted ya to follow him. He wanted ya here, an’ I’ve been wreckin’ my brain tryin’ to figure out why.”
Flint’s claim was hard to deny, though I did not accept his assumption of Darric’s nefarious purpose. Darric hadn’t known what to do with me and came to the only rational solution: take me to the Hovel. He had tried to walk away but couldn’t find the callousness within himself to leave me behind. One of us was very wrong about my stranger.
“At first, I thought I knew his reasonin’ . . .” Flint continued. “I thought ya were from Burge an’ he’d paid ya to entertain us . . .”
I stiffened at the insinuation.
“But when ya didn’t wanna get in bed with me . . . It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d jus’ own up to it. Admit that when he found ya, he threw out every rule. But that’s typical behavior. He does what he wants an’ takes what he wants, when he wants.”
“I don’t intend to stay here. This is supposed to be temporary,” I reminded him.
“Darric isn’t gonna let ya leave.”
“You can’t hold me hostage!” I balled my hands and smacked the ground, crushing the bouquet.
His gazed flashed to the discarded petals. “Darric will kill ya ’cause ya know our location. That’s all he needs.”
I ran my fingers through my hair and dug my nails into my scalp. “You three are the most inconsistent, frustrating group of men I have ever met! Darric is not going to hurt me. I trust him. He hasn’t brought me any harm.” And he didn’t intend to.
“Any harm? You’re kiddin’. What do ya call the cut on your neck? Why do you keep makin’ excuses for him?”
I didn’t have an answer. Speechless, I let my hands drop into my lap.
He blew a puff of hot air. “Amazin’. You’re as infatuated with Darric Ursygh as those stupid girls in Burge.”
“I’m not infatuated with Darric,” I said.
“I see the way ya look at him,” he insisted. “You’re mesmerized until he sees ya, an’ then ya look away, cheeks flushed. Ya can almost see the change in your breathin’ an’ the beat of your heart through your clothes. It makes me sick,” he huffed.
I furrowed my brows, trying to pretend I wasn’t fully aware of the effect Darric had on me.
“He’s obviously given ya some reason to trust him,” he said, poking for information.
The private conversations about Medial Alexandria and dreaming were none of Flint’s business. “I am done talking about Darric. I know you came in here to apologize, but you are doing a contemptible job. Every time we talk, you either accuse me of being a prostitute or start an animosity-fueled rant against your brother. It’s exhausting, and plainly, I’m finished hearing it.”
“Fine.” He stood and straightened his tunic. He was so skinny sometimes I forgot how tall he was. “Maybe ya could come huntin’ with us.” He rocked on the balls of his feet, changing the subject in an obvious attempt to let his anger dissipate. “It would give me the chance to behave myself. Three could be fun. Bromly doesn’t hunt.”
“You mean . . . you, me, and Darric?” I questioned, because it seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.
He nodded uncomfortably. “You’re good with a bow, an’ I promise I’ll do better to not complain ’bout him. You’re a new ear, an’ I rant a lot.” He gripped a fistful of his tunic to dry his sweaty palms.
Was it possible I made him as nervous as Darric made me? I’d never considered it, but he always seemed to be stumbling through his minutes when alone with me.
“You could try ranting about yourself to give me an opportunity to get to know you, instead of your opinions about your brother,” I suggested.
“I’d like that.” His smile turned genuine. “Anyway, I had to promise Bromly that I’d work on pelts through lunch . . . an’ dinner”—he bobbed his head—“an’ in between. If the two of ’em have their way, I’ll pass out in a pile of scraped deer hides.”
“I gather that once you step out of this room, you are at their mercy?”
“Yes.”
I giggled, and the light returned to Flint’s eyes. “Best not to keep them waiting.”
Almond curls floated in the temperate air. The blank emptiness of space and time surrounded me, punctuated by twinkling sparks of yellow light. A speck of glitter landed in my hand and disappeared into my skin. My veins began to glow, and an emerald stem sprouted in the center of my palm. Roots spread into my fingers and wrist as the plant branched upwards, unfolding two tiny leaves before budding into a pink flower—a rose, though smaller than any I had ever seen. I plucked the bloom from my hand, and the glistening veins faded.
The wind shifted, and a strong breeze ruffled my hair, carrying with it an intoxicating scent. So enticingly familiar—crushed florals mixed with fresh grass. I inhaled, and my heart fluttered. I wanted this fragrance in my lungs. It was safety. The allure of desire. A reassurance that no harm would ever come to me whenever it was near.
Dark green moss grew across the ceiling of Darric’s room, nurturing a system of roots that descended from the odd flowers growing on the roof. I rubbed my face into the fur covers, taking in the musky animal scents of the Hovel.
It was May. Spring had brought heat to the valley. I had been living in the mountains for almost a month.
I had grown to love the simple appeal of Darric’s bedroom. Now that I knew him better, there were signs of him everywhere. A pile of spare knives waited in the corner beside a variety of sharpening stones; my stranger did not keep dull weapons. The exquisite sword above his nightstand lacked a cross guard, and the hilt was inlaid with iridescent black mother of pearl, a black diamond pommel, and braided obsidian details along the grip that resembled twisting vines. It was a shame such a gorgeous weapon hung in his room unused.
Wooden hooks on the wall housed his spare shirts and two different cloaks, one heavier and lined with dark rabbit fur. Two freshly carved pegs had been added shortly after my arrival, and my own hooded cloak hung from one of them.
The cat sat on the bedside table next to a bucket that hadn’t been there when I’d fallen asleep. I rolled over onto a crushed pile of broken petals. “Ugh.” I gripped a handful and clumsily threw them at her. “I don’t need crumbled flowers.” More floral parts fell from my head as I sat up.
The room had gone dark, and the candle I’d lit yesterday was a hard puddle of tallow on the nightstand. I found a clean cloth hanging over the side of the bucket. After all the time I’d gone without bathing, this was by far the best reason to get out of bed since the sugar-covered strawberries at the palace.
I peeked outside the bedroom. The Hovel was empty. Pulling the fur tightly shut, I tugged the lacing on the front of my dress. The cording stuck together and popped as the knots passed through the frayed eyelets. I had been glued into the dress for so long that once the fabric detached from my skin, I breathed a sigh of relief, just as though I’d been released from a corset. I shook the dress out, and a wave of dirt scattered across the rug. I hung the wretched thing on the only available hook and quickly slipped out of my chemise.
My dirty skin looked appalling. The bucket of water must have been an understated hint from the Hovel brothers. Embarrassed,
I pushed the idea aside and made a mental note to bathe more frequently.
The water fizzled at my touch and nearly froze my fingers, but it felt amazing to wash off the grime. I wouldn’t have cared if it contained snow from the mountaintop. I quickly scrubbed my face, not knowing when one of my male companions might grace me with his presence. Manners and etiquette were something the three practiced sporadically. I wasn’t positive any of them would ask if I was decent before barging into the room.
Flint had done a miraculous turnaround after promising to stop slandering Darric. Most mornings he greeted me outside the Hovel with a bouquet of flowers: roses, peonies, daisies, bearded irises, lupines. I suspected the bath water was from him.
It had taken my shoulder a week to heal after the archery fiasco. When the pain subsided, Flint and I spent a lazy afternoon shooting rabbits from the entrance of the cavern. He showed some envy at my ability to use a bow with untrained accuracy but kept his grudge to a minimum. I quickly learned that moving targets were significantly more challenging than stationary trees. Thankfully, the distance prevented me from hearing the frightened voices of the small creatures.
In the days that followed, Flint told me everything about himself. He was seventeen and confident his birthday was in January. He hated the cold despite living his entire life in Brisleia. His mother had abandoned him on the Alamantia City streets as an infant. Years later, he identified her and used to watch her from the roof of their house. Amazingly, he had no interest in reuniting with this estranged woman and felt only animosity towards her for deserting him.
He loved the salted pork Darric brought from the mountains, and bear fillets were the main course he anticipated every spring. Food relentlessly consumed his mind; he had an insatiable appetite. Some days Bromly would cook three meals simply to satisfy Flint’s hunger.
He enjoyed dancing and drinking at the tavern in Burge, and with the journey south drawing closer, his enthusiasm seemed to grow daily, especially as it now seemed almost certain I would be joining them.
Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence Page 21