by Shari Cross
The end of the bridge approaches and the thickest part of the fog stands in front of me, as firm and heavy as a white wall. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into it. They disappear into the heavy cloud, and a cooling tingle spreads across them. With a final breath, I shut my eyes and step forward. My entire body erupts in chills that prickle across my skin. It feels as though bristles of hay are poking into me at the same time that ice is being poured down my body. I keep moving forward, my arm outstretched in front of me, my eyes still closed. Finally, the tingles subside, and my feet press onto the soft dirt of the ground.
I slowly let my eyes open and look around me. Everything is so . . . ordinary. The southern side looks exactly the same as its northern counterpart. The trees are the same, the dirt is the same, the rocks are the same, and the fog is now gone. I look back to the northern side and realize that I can’t see the river. The fog is there pressed up against it, still forming a compact wall of mist. But now the fog is pressed up against the side of the river that we’re on, obstructing our view of it. The rest of Charles’ guards descend off the bridge, Rowan appearing last. His eyes meet mine for a split second before he quickly averts his gaze.
I turn around and face the Faenomen Forest. Charles is inside the tree line, glancing around anxiously. All at once, the sound of horses approaching echoes through the trees. Henry walks up behind me and wraps his arms securely around me, confining my arms to my side while pushing me forward. The sound of horses grows louder. Something’s wrong. Henry’s not just trying to keep me walking; he’s keeping me from running.
Turning my head to the side, I bite down as hard as I can on Henry’s arm. He yells in surprise and his arms loosen their grip enough for me to pull away. I break into a run, but within seconds, a stab of pain shoots through my scalp as I’m yanked backwards by my hair. I lose my footing and stumble painfully to my knees, the rocks and dirt tearing open my skin. Henry stands over me. He releases my hair and slams the back of his hand across my face, knocking me to the ground.
“No! Not her face!” Charles shouts, running forward. Charles’s hands wrap around my arms and he pulls me to my feet. He places one arm around my back as he holds me up, supporting my weight. My head is pulsing rhythmically and my vision is shifting in and out of focus. I can barely make out Charles’s face looking down at me while he turns my head from side to side. “Dammit, Henry! You’ve bruised her cheek and busted her lip! You’d better pray they recognize her enough to still honor the agreement!” Charles is speaking, but it’s diluted, as though he’s speaking through water. “Come on, Addalynne, pull it together,” he says, dragging me forward. I try to make my legs move, but they stumble slightly. Charles groans impatiently, and then another set of arms wrap around me.
“I can carry her,” Rowan says. Charles pauses momentarily, but then concedes and lets go of me. I stagger slightly, but Rowan is there. In a swift, gentle motion, he sweeps me up and cradles me against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers while walking forward, heading deeper into the trees.
“For what?”
“For not helping you.” He’s staring straight ahead as we come to a stop, and I realize I can no longer hear the horses. I turn my head to the side. Around a dozen armored men are standing about fifteen feet away from us, their black horses waiting behind them. Their armor is the color of the deepest black and they have black capes that are lined with red trim attached to their shoulders. They’re standing firmly in a row, their arms folded stiffly behind their backs.
In front of them, a strange creature that looks like a cross between a wolf and a dragon is pacing. Its tail is thick and covered in brown scales, ending in a long, pointed tip. Its body and legs are covered in silver fur, its feet ending in paws with sharp black nails. Its face is also covered in fur and resembles a wolf, but its mouth is long, snouted, and scaled. Its lips are pulled back, revealing razor sharp teeth, and as it breathes, several gusts of smoke and fire burst forward. I repress a shudder and let my gaze travel down the line.
Standing at the end is a man who’s at least seven feet tall, but as I look closer, I realize that he’s not a man. Though male in form, his skin is made up of what appears to be tree bark. He’s wearing no armor and is only clothed in a pair of dark brown breaches covering most of his legs. His feet are bare and extend slightly outward, resembling roots, and his hair is made up of twirling green leaves and vines that drape their way down his back. He’s as magnificent as he is terrifying. Standing next to him, providing a startling contrast, is an ordinary girl, dressed in men’s clothing. She looks to be around my age, and has beautiful brown skin and long black hair. Her eyes dart toward me. They’re a vibrant green and remind me instantly of Drake. The pain their likeness evokes snaps me back to the reality that’s facing me, and I force myself to concentrate on what’s happening.
Charles is speaking with one of the armored men. The man has removed his helmet, and his russet-colored hair covers the top of his head and curls around his mouth in a full beard. He glances toward Rowan and his blue eyes land on me.
“She can’t walk?” he asks Charles.
“She can walk. She was well cared for. As you asked.”
“Then what’s wrong with her?”
“Unfortunately, she had a minor accident. She . . .”
“Bring her to me,” the man says sternly, cutting off the rest of Charles’s words. Rowan stays planted where he is, his heart beating rapidly against me. But it’s Charles who speaks.
“I want to see my mother first.”
His mother?
“You’re not in a position to be making the demands here, Berrenger. I want the girl brought forward.” He looks at Rowan and I. “Now!” Rowan staggers forward and sets me gently on my feet. My head is still aching, and I can feel the blood dripping down my chin from my lip, but at least my thoughts and vision are clear. “What happened to you, child?” he asks, his voice hard, but curious.
“I was struck down,” I reply emotionlessly, refusing to lie for Charles anymore.
“I see. And why was that?” he asks, his gaze landing on my injured wrist.
“Because she was disobedient,” Charles replies for me, his voice eerily fearful. I have never seen him afraid, and it leaves me terrified.
“Well, my little raven, I can’t blame you for disobeying him. He seems to be a difficult man to tolerate,” he says with a smile. “However, I do hope you learned your lesson, because I don’t take well to being disobeyed either. And neither does King Gareth.” His smile fades, his voice spilling caution. I pull in a breath and try to make sense of what’s happening. The man turns his attention to a small black carriage, nestled within the forest and guarded by several more armored men. “Bring him,” he calls. One of the armored men turns toward the carriage and helps a man climb out. From the way he moves; slow and painfully, I assume he’s elderly, but the man’s body is completely covered in a floor-length green cloak, the hood pulled up to conceal his face. The armored man guides the elderly man toward me, stopping only when they are inches away. I take a hesitant step back and bump into Rowan’s chest. I still can’t see the elderly man’s face, as it’s shadowed so sufficiently by the hood of his cloak, but I can feel his eyes on me.
“Yes. She is the one I saw. The one King Gareth needs.” His words leave me chilled. How am I the one he saw? Saw where? And why would their King need me?
But before I can even muster the courage to ask him to explain his words, the elderly man walks back to the carriage, disappearing into its confines.
“The King will be pleased,” the red-haired man addresses Charles.
“Then you’ll return my mother to me?” Charles asks, anxiety drowning in his voice.
The man turns toward another one of his armored men. “Obsidian, tie the girl to one of the horses and bring Berrenger’s mother.” Obsidian moves toward us, and Rowan wraps his arm around my waist.
“No!” Rowan shouts. “You can’t do this! I won�
��t let you give her to them!” Rowan pushes me behind him and draws his sword.
“You won’t let me?” Charles replies, his voice filled with equal amounts intrigue and anger. I look around Rowan’s arm and see Charles moving toward us.
“Stay back,” Rowan says, a tremble in his voice, as he points his sword at Charles.
“Rowan, don’t do this,” I plead and try to move around him, but he holds his stance and repositions himself firmly in front of me, his blade shaking in his hand. “Rowan, please!”
Henry comes from the side and kicks Rowan’s extended arm, causing the sword to fall from his grasp. I run for the sword, but am grabbed from behind by another one of Charles’s guards. He holds me firmly against him, my arms trapped at my side, helplessly watching the scene unfold before me.
Henry has Rowan on his knees, his hands wrapped around a chunk of Rowan’s hair, his knee pressing into his back. Charles is standing in front of Rowan, but he’s looking at me as he reaches into his cloak and extracts my dagger. The sun bounces off the emeralds, sending streaks of green light through the forest. Charles smiles and then looks down at Rowan. My own scream rings in my ears as Charles swiftly drags the blade across Rowan’s throat. Rowan’s body falls to the floor, his blood spilling around him. My body falls limp in the guard’s arms. Shutting my eyes, my tears begin their descent.
I feel the presence of someone standing in front of me and let my eyes re-open. Charles is looking down at me, a stretched smile on his face that causes his stitches to pull and release drops of blood. “I want to thank you, Addalynne. It’s because of you that I’m getting my mother back today.” He leans down and places his lips to my ear. “I hope they enjoy you. I know I did.” I look down, sickened, and see the splatter of blood on his white tunic, and my dagger twirling in his fingers: Rowan’s blood staining the blade. Charles grabs me by the arm and shoves me forward into the waiting hands of the armored guard, Obsidian.
Obsidian walks me toward his horse and pulls a rope from under the saddle. He ties the rope to the stirrup, then begins to wrap the other end of the rope around my wrists, causing blinding pain to shoot up the arm of my broken wrist.
“Mother!” Charles’s scream breaks in, distracting me from my pain and my imprisonment. I turn toward him and watch as an armored man places the body of a woman at Charles’s feet. Charles drops to his knees, his hands pulling her motionless head into his lap. The elegant curls I remember seeing as a child are now a tangle of weeds. “Mother, wake up!” he cries, sounding like a lost child, and though I despise him, I can’t help but pity him as I watch him try to wake his mother from an endless sleep.
Slowly, Charles staggers to his feet, drunk with despair, and his hand withdraws his sword from its sheath. He points it at the red-haired man. “You broke our agreement!” he shouts, tears streaking his face.
“I did no such thing,” the man replies blandly.
“You did! You promised that my mother would be returned to me if I brought her to you!” He points the sword toward me when he says the word “her,” his hand shaking violently.
“And I kept my promise. I returned your mother to you.”
“She’s dead!”
“Yes, she is. I never said that I would return her to you alive, only that I would return her to you.”
Charles charges at the man, but before he can reach him, he is slammed backwards by an invisible force. He falls down, his sword flying out of his grasp.
“I don’t want to kill you, Berrenger, but if you come at me again, I will have your head.”
“I want Addalynne back. You broke our agreement,” Charles says, but there’s little conviction behind his words.
“You can’t have her back. She belongs to us now. But I can give you something to remember her by.” The man walks toward Charles and pulls him to his feet. His fist connects harshly with Charles’s face and, as Charles stumbles backward, the man reaches out and snaps Charles’s wrist. Charles falls to the ground, screaming in pain. “Now go home,” the man says, before turning back toward his horse, leaving Charles sobbing on the ground, his dead mother next to him, and his men standing around him in paralyzed shock.
Chapter 34
HIM
“Drake Walton! It’s wonderful to see you again!” The corners of King Theoderic’s blue eyes wrinkle as he smiles at me through his grey beard. Grey marble steps lead up to the raised throne on which he’s sitting. The throne itself is composed of ornately carved wood and silver that depicts the battle fought between the kingdoms. A blue rug runs from his thrown, down the stairs, and across the throne room to the double wooden doors at the entrance. It’s on that rug that I stand now. “I wish I could say you look well, however . . .” he continues, gesturing at the fading bruises that shadow my face and the dirt that stains my clothes.
“Your Grace, it’s an honor to be in your presence. I apologize for my appearance, but I had to see you as soon as possible. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I reply with a bow.
“There’s no need to apologize, Walton. Though your arrival is earlier than expected. Does this mean you have come to rejoin my Schild?”
“No, your Grace. My presence is not because of the Schild, and as of yet, I have no plans to rejoin.”
“That is unfortunate. Tell me then, what can I do for you?”
I recount the events of the past few weeks and tell him everything that Charles and Lord Vernold Berrenger have done. He listens patiently, and when I finish, he sits silently for several seconds, processing my words. I wait anxiously for his response, praying to the gods that it will be in my favor.
“If these things you speak of are true, then the Berrengers will be arrested and the title of lord taken from them. However, though I believe you, I can’t act until I speak with the girl. She is the one who witnessed the murder of Sarah Hunt and she is the one who Charles abused. This means that she is the only one who can file a formal complaint.”
This is the answer I expected, and though I understand it, it still aggravates me.
“I understand, your Grace. All I ask is that as soon as they arrive, you allow me to take her away from them and keep her safe.”
“Once they arrive, I will remove her from them and speak with her. I assure you she will be perfectly safe. And once she confirms what you have told me, I will detain the Berrengers and conduct a further investigation. I also grant you temporary amnesty. As long as Addalynne and the investigation collaborate what you have just told me, I will state that you acted in defense of your village, and the Berrengers will no longer have grounds to take you into custody or have you punished.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” I bow and then excuse myself from his presence. There’s a slight sense of relief, but knowing Addy’s out there with him keeps me infested with panic and anger.
I exit the Great Hall and one of the Schilds escorts me to where Gregory and my father were asked to wait. They’re leaning against the ivory, outer-stone wall of the castle, and their eyes question me as I approach. I quickly fill them in before the Schild proceeds to lead us to the chambers that King Theodoric had set up for us.
We walk in heavy silence through the corridors of the castle. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, making the sound of our footsteps echo and pound in my head. By the time we get to Gregory’s chambers, I want to break something. Gregory says something about coming by my chambers later before closing the door behind him. The Schild continues forward, knowing my father and I will follow.
“Would you mind giving us a moment?” my father asks the Schild when we reach my chambers. The Schild nods and allows us to step inside the room before shutting the door behind us.
I walk to the four post bed and sit on the edge, my head dropping into my hands.
“How are you feeling?” Father asks.
“Angry. Helpless. Scared. How would you expect me to feel?” I answer sharply though I know I shouldn’t.
The bed shifts beside me, and the weight of his hand se
ttles on my shoulder.
“I expect you to feel those things, but I also expect you to feel hope.”
“Hope?”
“Yes, hope. This nightmare is almost over, Drake.”
“It’s not over until she’s here, safe, with me. How can I feel hope when she’s with him? Do you have any idea what he could be doing to her?”
“Yes, I do. But I try not to think about it, as you should.”
“How? How can I do that when each sickening thought in my mind is competing with the next?”
“Because you can’t control what’s happening to her right now. And focusing on that will only trap you in fear and sorrow. Believe me, son, I’ve been there. I tormented myself for a long time with thoughts of things that I couldn’t control, and it lead nowhere.”
My mind drifts back to my adoptive father’s past, to the time when he lost his wife and unborn child. If anyone understands pain, it’s him.
“How did you survive . . . losing her?” I ask. I have never asked him about his wife because I know how much it hurts him to speak of her. I only know what happened from what Addy has told me and from the passing remarks he has made about her. But I can’t keep the question inside any longer. I need to know how he got through it, because the thought of facing another minute without Addy seems as impossible as turning water into fire.
I drop my hands and look at him.
“I survive because I have other people in my life whom I love: you, Genoveve, Robert, Gregory, Elizabeth . . . Addalynne.” Her name is a knife in my chest. “I live for all of you, and you make surviving bearable. The pain never goes away, not really, but you learn to breathe around it. Some days it’s easier. Others . . . others it chokes you like a block of ice expanding in your throat, cutting off your air and freezing your blood.” He shakes his head slowly, as if pushing the thoughts away. “But you won’t have to experience this. You will get Addalynne back.”