His wife turns to face him, bringing both of her hands to his cheeks. “When was your last meal, My King?”
Darius has to think back. It had been a while, probably since breakfast, or possibly even dinner the night before. He starts to respond, but Aldreda’s knowing smile stops him. She already knows the answer.
Of course she does.
“If you would follow me,” she purrs, “a feast awaits.”
He doesn’t have much of a choice, seeing as she’s already leading him toward the doors of the Great Room, but her chipper tone catches him by surprise, especially after witnessing the harsh expression she held through his mini tirade. “What’s the occasion?” he asks as the double doors swing shut behind them.
A spark of excitement flashes across her eyes. “You don’t recall?”
For a brief moment, all he can think about is how he’s probably forgotten something important. He swiftly counts through the months in his head. His panic subsides knowing that it’s not their anniversary he’s forgotten, so what event is she speaking of?
A coy smile tugs at her lips. “A decade ago, you strode into Trendalath with due force and declared your reign over this kingdom, banishing all illusié from this land.”
Ah, yes. Darius smiles at the memory, although it’s hard to believe ten years have passed. Even more surprising that he hadn’t remembered it until just now, seeing as it is, by far, his greatest accomplishment. “A historic day,” he says with a nod.
They continue their walk down the hall leading to the banquet room. It’s quiet—almost too quiet—but knowing his wife, she’s got something up her sleeve. The doors swing open as they approach. Atop the long banquet table are platters upon platters filled with savory meats, cheese, bread, and fruit. The servants scurry around the room, hurriedly placing gigantic carafes of wine around the table. A fire crackles in the corner and violet embers simmer below the burning wood. The scent of pine and rosemary fills the room. Paired with the meal, it’s enough to make his mouth water.
One of the servants bows and leads them to their seats. He pulls out a seat for the queen and she takes it graciously, then fluffs her napkin onto her lap. Another servant appears from the shadows and pulls Darius’s chair out for him. The king takes his seat, noticing that there aren’t any other guests in the room. Usually when Aldreda plans a feast, the entire castle is invited, but tonight is different.
A lone candle burns between them. Aldreda motions for the servants to leave. They scatter like wind-blown leaves, and Darius finds himself alone with his wife. The silence goes on for a few minutes, his comfort level diminishing with each passing second. He clears his throat out of discomfort, then reaches for a carafe of wine and leans over the table to pour them both a glass. “I must say, this is unexpected.”
Aldreda chuckles under her breath. “It’s a great accomplishment you’ve sustained for years and years. A decade is something to be celebrated.” She raises her glass with a twinkle in her eye. “To you, My King. And to this glorious kingdom we both can call home.”
He finishes pouring himself a glass, then raises his cup, the red liquid sloshing with the movement. “And to you, My Queen, for sticking by me, for better or for worse.” A lump catches in his throat as a memory surfaces, but he takes a deep breath and pushes it back down where it belongs.
Aldreda seems to notice his distress. “Cheers,” she says. She brings the glass to her lips but doesn’t drink, her eyes trained on the king the entire time.
He follows suit, taking a much larger gulp than intended. Just as he’s about to call for the servants, Aldreda stops him. Her voice comes out just above a whisper. “You were thinking of him, weren’t you?”
He sighs. Damn her for always knowing. Hiding anything from her is useless, seeing as her ability to sense things is uncanny. He’s not sure why he still tries to keep things to himself. Any sense of privacy he once had was lost years ago.
When he’s certain his voice won’t crack, he replies, “It’s hard not to.”
Aldreda runs her finger along the outside of the goblet. “I know you prefer not to discuss it, but I am open to it,” then hurriedly adds, “but only if you want to.”
“What is there to say?”
“I don’t know. My point is we’ve never talked about it.”
Her accusation and curt tone get the better of him. “Our only son ran away and we’ve never been able to find him,” he spits out. Hearing the words out loud sounds so foreign that he can’t help but slam his hands on the table.
Aldreda catches her wine glass right as it’s about to tip over.
“I think about this, all of this,” he exclaims with a wide sweep of his arm, “all the sleepless nights and men we’ve lost over the years in battle. How we have no one to continue the Tymond reign.” His breath catches. “It makes me wonder if any of this was worth it, or if it was just a waste of time. It’s beginning to feel like the latter.”
“Darius, stop,” Aldreda scolds. “You cannot possibly think that.” If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn her eyes were glimmering with fresh tears. But not Aldreda. Not the ice queen. “Braxton will return to us one day. I’m certain of it.”
“How dare you speak his name!” He rises from his chair and slams his hands onto the table. The dishes clink and shake, but Aldreda doesn’t move. She holds her stone-still gaze. Then, in an even tone, she says, “He is my son and I will speak his name as I please. I am his mother and I will hope for his safe and timely return, as any mother would.”
Darius narrows his eyes. “He made his choice seven years ago to leave this family and strip himself of the royal name,” he growls. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’d ever let him return.”
Aldreda purses her lips. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about our only son, then perhaps I should end this right here, right now.” She rises from her chair and claps her hands twice, a signal to the guards.
Darius lowers his gaze as the guards appear from the shadows. They surround the table ten-fold.
“Aldreda, be reasonable. You know I would never hurt you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Darius raises his head and looks her right in the eye as it becomes clear.
Her hands move from the table to her lower abdomen. “I’m pregnant.”
ARDEN ELIRI
IT’S DIFFICULT TO say exactly what time it is, but the sun overhead indicates that I’ve slept longer than expected, which I suppose is a good thing after yesterday’s events. I silently curse myself for not bringing my pocket watch with me, even though I never bring it on Cruex assignments. Call me sentimental, but it’d tear me up inside if anything ever happened to it.
I pick myself up off the forest floor, brushing the dirt and dried leaves from my uniform. A film of dust lingers, but I ignore it, checking to make sure my chakrams are still secured in their holsters. I spot some thorny brambles in the distance. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the color and the shape of the fruit. When I realize what it is, I grin.
A blueberry bush. My favorite.
I grab the sack containing the Soames’s heads and jog over to the bush, picking as many blueberries as will fit in my palm. I know I should save some for later (who knows how long I’ll be out here), but I find myself devouring them by the handful. They’re perfectly ripe—not too tart, not too sweet.
When my stomach starts to feel on the verge of being full, I slow down and rip a small square of fabric from the sash on my uniform. I pick another handful of berries and place them inside the square and wrap it up, then tuck it safely into the outer pocket on my sleeve.
That’ll probably be lunch. Possibly even dinner.
I gaze overhead through the canopy of tree branches at the blindingly white sun. Luckily, the seasons have just begun to shift, so the heat isn’t overbearing. I lick my lips, realizing that both my mouth and throat are drier than usual, and immediately begin my quest for a
fresh water source. I try to discern animal tracks in the fallen leaves and look for wet spots along the ground, hoping that one of the two will lead me to a river or a stream.
After an hour of searching, and probably walking in circles, it dawns on me that I am parched to the point where I’m beginning to hallucinate. Passing out due to lack of hydration is a real possibility. Before I can fully register what’s happening, my legs go numb and I stumble into a nearby tree. I slide down the trunk and my legs splay out in front of me, the sack falling from my fingertips. My breathing grows ragged as black dots fill my vision. I close my eyes, swaying in and out of consciousness. I try to hold on for as long as I can, but my efforts are futile. It only takes a few seconds for the darkness to swoop in and take me.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out for, but when I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is a shadow lurking in the distance. Although groggy from my unconscious spell, I suddenly feel alert and concerned for my own safety. I lift my back from the tree and force my eyes to stay open, but every inch of my being aches and throbs, most noticeably my head. With a groan, I lean back into the trunk, feeling ashamed of my weakened state.
The figure grows closer. My vision still isn’t back to normal, but I can tell it’s a woman. And, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, a seemingly beautiful woman.
I take a few deep breaths, filling my lungs with as much fresh air as I can manage, hoping that maybe my vision will clear for just a few minutes and allow me to focus, to concentrate. It seems to work, if only briefly, and I’m not sure if I’m imagining the sound of sloshing water as the woman draws nearer.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” a silky voice calls out. The woman puts her hands in the air with her palms facing me. A surrendering motion.
I try to pull my back away from the tree again, to sit upright, but it’s no use. I’m too famished and too weak to do anything besides sit here like a rotting log. I have no choice but to let her approach.
When the woman finally reaches me, she kneels so that her eyes are level with mine. A slosh of water sounds again and my throat silently screams as she pulls something from behind her back.
A canteen.
Before she can even offer it to me, I grab the life source, guzzling every last drop of refreshing clear liquid. I pant, thirsty for more, as I lower the canteen, then smile sheepishly and hand it back to her. She smiles back. It’s genuine and warm.
“Thank you,” I manage to say. My throat is still dry and scratchy, but I can already feel a huge difference in my focus.
“How did you end up here in the Thering Forest?” Her tone isn’t accusatory—how can it be when it sounds as smooth as aged wine being poured for the very first time? With the effortless way her words roll off her tongue, I’d almost assume that she’s an escort for the royal court, but the way she carries herself is different than those girls. Poised and powerful with a silent confidence.
Suddenly feeling insecure in my own skin, I try to straighten my posture. I make it halfway when she tisks and gently presses my shoulders back against the tree. “Don’t exert any more energy than you need to, Arden.”
My breath catches and I force myself to mask my surprise as I look her square in the eyes—eyes that are the most vibrant hue of violet I’ve ever seen. Stunning.
She smiles, and I find myself wholly entranced by her beauty. Her mocha skin, silky obsidian hair, and again, those violet eyes. Perhaps she is an escort after all.
I silently scold myself for losing focus. How does she know my name?
As if she can read my mind, she says, “There’s no need to be concerned. I’m Estelle Chatham.” Her lilac eyes glimmer in the afternoon light. “I must say I’m surprised we’re meeting this way. Frankly, it’s not what I expected at all.”
I let out a laugh that sounds slightly more crazed than I’d intended. This is definitely a hallucination. That, or she’s an angel who’s been summoned to bring me to the afterlife. Neither sounds half bad given my current state. Anything to take my mind off the hunger, thirst, and pain I’m in is a welcome distraction.
“How do you know my name?”
Her mouth twitches as she begins to say something, then thinks better of it. She pulls something from the inner pocket of her cloak and holds it out in front of me. I blink a few times to make sure I’m actually seeing what she’s holding.
It’s a pocket watch, exactly like the one I own.
“Where did you get that?” I ask. My heart picks up speed and I begin to feel lightheaded again.
The pocket watch dangles from her fingertips, spinning round and round in a clockwise motion. “Let’s just say we’re alike in more ways than one.”
I open my mouth to ask what she means when I notice a small creature creeping up behind her. “Look out!”
Estelle turns, her obsidian hair whipping wildly behind her. She jumps to her feet, looking out into the forest then up at the canopy of trees.
“Not up there, by your feet!” I yell.
Estelle looks down at her feet as a ball of black and white fur approaches her. I cringe, thinking it’s probably a skunk that’s about to spray its goodness all over us (thanks to my loud ass), but instead I hear Estelle laugh then coo. “Juniper, there you are. Come here, girl.”
I lean my body to the side so I can see around her. I can hardly believe my eyes. It’s not a skunk. It’s a fox.
The woman has a pet fox?
Juniper passes right by Estelle. I freeze as I realize she’s headed straight for me at an alarming speed. “Estelle . . .” My voice trails off as the animal grows closer. I bring my arms into my chest and close my eyes, but nothing happens. My lap grows warm and when I open my eyes, I look down to see Juniper curling into a ball right atop my thighs. I gaze at Estelle in amazement, but she just shrugs as if she’s seen this a million times before.
“She’s taken an immediate liking to you,” Estelle says.
“She’s beautiful.” The fox stays still, more than comfortable in a stranger’s lap.
Out of nowhere, Estelle says, “She’s yours. Consider her a welcome gift. I can never keep track of her anyway.” She swiftly returns the watch to the inner pocket in her cloak. “I’m a terrible pet owner.”
I look down at Juniper just as her bright blue eyes gaze up into mine. I release my arms from my chest and gently graze her fur coat, fascinated by the black and white marble design.
“She’s a marble fox,” Estelle clarifies. She joins me on the ground and pulls some berries from another pocket within her cloak. Juniper gobbles them up as if she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Where did you find her?” I ask.
“One day I was walking through the woods and she sort of just appeared,” Estelle says as she takes her free hand and scratches behind Juniper’s ears. “She started following me around day after day and never left.”
I continue to stroke the glossy coat as the little fox finishes her meal. “Why Juniper?”
Estelle grins, pulling another handful of fruit from her cloak. “Juniper berries. I can’t get her to eat anything else.”
“I’ve never heard of those before.” I take one of the berries from her outstretched palm to examine it. “Are they any good?”
Estelle shrugs. “They taste like a cross between blueberries and raspberries.”
“Well count me in,” I say as I pop the berry into my mouth. “Blueberries are my favorite.”
Estelle doesn’t respond. Instead she just looks at Juniper, then pulls her pocket watch out again to check the time. The look on her face says she needs to leave and, although I can’t place my finger on why, I don’t want her to go just yet.
“That reminds me,” I start, “before Juniper showed up, you said that we’re alike in more ways than one. What did you mean by that?”
“I meant that I’m illusié, as are you.” She says this so nonchalantly that one would think we’re chatti
ng about something as diminutive as the flavor of tea over Sunday brunch.
“How did you know . . . ?” My voice trails off, not wanting to give too much away, but apparently Estelle knows everything there is to know about me. The thought alone is frightening. My chest constricts and I suddenly feel as though I can’t breathe.
Estelle senses my discomfort immediately. “Breathe in and out, Arden,” she soothes. “One, two. One, two.”
I nod as I do what she says, but my breathing only gets sharper. My lungs feel as though they’re on fire, the flames growing and rising with each inhale.
“You know, you can actually heal yourself, seeing as that is your power and all.”
I look at her with wide eyes as the young boy’s words from yesterday echo in my head. You’re a healer.
With Juniper still sitting comfortably in my lap, Estelle takes both of my hands and places them palm-down on my chest. “Focus,” she instructs. “Like you did yesterday.”
If I want to focus, I’ll have to ignore the fact that she has some sixth sense and seems to know everything about me. How, I don’t know, but that’s a question for another time—a time when my lungs don’t feel like they’re about to explode.
“Focus,” she repeats, keeping her hands pressed against mine.
I close my eyes, trying to channel the same energy as yesterday with the Soames boy, but whatever I seem to be reaching for isn’t there. It’s like reaching into a dark abyss, a void where nothing exists. My eyes shoot open. “There’s nothing there,” I manage. It hurts to speak, to breathe. To just be.
“Look at me,” Estelle says. “You can do this. You will be fine. Now focus.”
I let myself fall into her gaze, into those deep violet irises, the beating in my chest growing as she continues to press. Deep within her gaze I find something, albeit I’m not sure what exactly. My fingers begin to pulse with energy. An electrifying shock sparks from my fingertips as an overwhelming and unexplainable sadness washes over me. I don’t dare to look down at the glow emanating from my hands.
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