Chapter Eight
Mountains
We rode through the morning hours. Chevelle seemed content not to talk, but I was wound up in anguish, trying to decide whether I was brave enough to ask him questions. I had no idea how much he would put up with before he called it all off and hauled me back to the village for sentencing.
Our path became more defined, pushing us through trees and between rocks, trailing upward so minutely I didn’t even realize until I glanced back and saw the base of the mountains beneath us. I appraised the narrow path ahead, snaking high through a vast rock-strewn mountain, and turning back didn’t seem so bad after all. Fists clenched, I pushed out the question I’d been most concerned about asking. I was so tied up, it twisted into an accusation. “Watcher.”
My skin flushed hot when the word came out harsh. Regardless of how he’d treated me, Chevelle was still a member of Council. He spun on me, but I could not place the expression on his face.
Panicked, I tried to recover. “You’re my watcher.” It still sounded angry, so I added, “Why?”
He hesitated. “Frey…” His voice was gentle and he seemed to be searching for a way to answer. He must have decided I had no right to anger, because his face turned hard, his tone formal. “The council was concerned after you tried to choke Evelyn of Rothegarr.”
I drew a sharp breath. “What are you talking about?” It caught me off guard; I was more than offended. Does he really think I choked Evelyn? I bit down against my words, remembering the trouble I was already in with Council. But that brought on an image of the speaker’s discolored face as he struggled for air, the blackened thistle in the back room at Junnie’s. Evelyn’s expression as she ran from the garden was accusing, and it suddenly seemed right.
I swayed, my vision losing focus. I didn’t even realize I was falling until Chevelle’s arms were around me; he was quick, catching me before the rocks did.
He was kneeling, cradling me in one arm as my back rested against his leg. “I’m sorry, Freya. I thought… how could you not know?”
Humiliation flooded through me. He was right, and not only had I wished her to choke, I had been too much a fool to see I had caused it, just as I had caused the speaker to choke. I squeezed my eyes closed tight in misery, rolling away from him to curl onto a rock. He let me, stepping away to unsaddle the horses and settle onto a seat of his own. We were both still until nightfall, when he retrieved a blanket from the pack and laid it over me. I didn’t thank him, fearing what would come out if I spoke.
The next morning was quiet as Chevelle saddled our horses. I had plenty to think of besides the questions that had seemed so important the previous day.
I’d been convicted of practicing dark magic. I had thought it was a mistake.
The images rolled through my mind as we continued up the mountain. The lifeless body of a small gray bird. A garden of weeds with roots as black as soot. The faces of council as their speaker struggled to breathe. A thistle growing in Evelyn’s throat, slowly choking off her airway. Chevelle’s face when he had asked who had showed me to fuse the crystal with blood. His expression as he’d looked down at me the night before. How could you not know?
That image haunted me the most. It seemed familiar somehow. He’d let his guard down, and though strained with worry and fear, there was something else there, sadness or maybe just plain sympathy.
“This is a good place to stop for the night,” Chevelle said, breaking my trance. I’d barely noticed the day pass. A glance at the path behind us showed the lake far in the distance below. It shook me from my stupor.
I climbed down from my horse to stretch my legs over the trunk of a fallen tree, facing the mountain top instead of the view below, some part of me unable to accept the distance and height we had traveled. Chevelle led the horses to a thickset tree, its limbs stretching low and wide above the rocks. His hand spun to form a trough from the bark and tinder scattered beneath, the horses drinking as he used the same method to gather grasses from the sparse patches on the incline.
Movement up the mountain caught my eye and I looked to Chevelle in alarm. Though he appeared calm, he was staring in the same direction. A dark cloaked figure advanced in the dusk, the full cape covering every part of its owner, drawn hood shielding their face.
Chevelle nodded in greeting as I scanned the area for others who might approach. The stranger seemed alone, and reached Chevelle first, since he stood nearer to the horses than me.
The newcomer whispered to him, and Chevelle’s eyes flicked my direction more than once. Curiosity burned through me. And then a delicate hand reached out to pass Chevelle a package. Her fingers lingered against his during the exchange and my chest felt like it was blistering inside. They were whispering about me. My watcher. This woman. Chevelle’s gaze brushed mine once more and I hungered to hear what they were saying. I was fixated on it, my mind spinning, convinced that if I were as invisible as everyone thought, if they truly couldn’t see me, at least I could get closer and finally know.
As I shook my head at the idea, my eyes fell downward. A small scream escaped. My arms were covered in tree bark, blending seamlessly with the stump on which I sat. I bolted upright, batting at them as if my shirt were on fire. Chevelle and the cloaked woman ran toward me and I looked up in panic. When my eyes fell again to my arms, they were normal. Had I imagined it? Was I losing my mind?
My head came up once more, and the woman gasped. It was Junnie. Her cloak had fallen, her golden curls a welcome sight.
Relief flooded me. “Junnie!”
“Freya,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke a strand of my black hair.
The shock of seeing her disappeared at the reminder. “Are you here for council? To collect me?” My voice was colored with the shame of being a criminal. Bird-killer. Elf-strangler.
Surprised, she glanced at Chevelle and then back to me, forcing a smile. “Are you all right, Frey?”
I stood there baffled, and then remembered screaming. I cleared my throat. “I was covered in bark.”
Her eyebrows turned up as she looked again at Chevelle, who was mirroring her concerned expression. “Maybe it’s time to allow her a few small lessons.”
Magic? It took longer than it should have to realize I’d unwittingly camouflaged myself. This whole thing was going to take a while to get used to.
“Tomorrow,” Chevelle answered. “Dinner?”
Junnie grinned as she reached an arm back, her cloak moving aside as she drew a bow from beneath. “I’ll get my own, thanks.”
He nodded, a knowing smile stretched across his face. They turned in opposite directions, each disappearing behind the trees and rocks that strewed the mountain, as I stood alone and confused. I sat, shaking my head as I stared down at the bark of the tree.
Chevelle returned quickly with two small, furred animals slung over his back. As his gaze reached the log that lay in front of me, it burst into an orange flame, thin branches forming a spit as he skinned and attached the animals. The process was so smooth, I couldn’t say exactly what had happened.
Chevelle was changing. Or, more likely, he was becoming more himself. He wasn’t as formal. He seemed relaxed, and apparently magic, quick and powerful, was intertwined into his every routine. He didn’t need to do much by hand; I would have spent hours trying to build a spit and skin an animal.
An old question came back to me and I asked, “How do you hunt?”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have a bow,” I explained. “What do you use to hunt?”
He hesitated, as if deciding what to tell me. “I use magic, Frey.”
He looked like he was waiting for me to be upset. “Oh.” I contemplated his answer. “I thought maybe you had a knife.”
He smirked. “Yes, well, that would have been easy enough.”
“And Junnie prefers to hunt… for sport?”
He had that look again and I wondered why he would be so cautious. Because I was dangerous? A practitioner of
dark magic? “No. Some prefer the meat not to be tainted by magic. They feel it is more… pure.” He pronounced ‘tainted’ with an edge.
“Is it? Tainted I, mean?”
“I have lived on it for—” His words caught midsentence and he said, “Well, it doesn’t seem to be, but to each his own.”
He turned back to the fire.
Junnie came back into view, a large animal slung over her shoulders, bow in hand. She dropped her burden on a smooth gray rock near the fire and whispered a short thanks before removing the arrow to skin the animal. My gaze moved between the sizeable carcass and her lithe form.
“I’ll be traveling fast and far and don’t intend to stop and hunt. I will pack the extra with me.”
I managed a sheepish smile. It seemed like I needed things explained a lot lately. “Where will you go?”
“Back to the village.”
“To council?” I breathed. “They sent you to find me?”
Her bright blue eyes flicked to Chevelle and back. “No, Freya. They will not know I saw you.”
“They are looking for me?” Terror crept into my voice. I was Chevelle’s captive, but he’d given me some sort of reprieve. The thought of council brought the danger of my situation to the forefront.
“No. They will not risk it.”
“They are afraid,” Chevelle said from his spot by the fire. Junnie shot him a warning glance.
“Afraid?” I asked, doubtful. “Afraid of what?”
“The mountains.” Junnie’s answer was curt as she returned to her work on the gazelle.
They were quiet the rest of the evening, but as I dozed by the fire, their conversation restarted in hushed voices. I tried to listen, but exhaustion won out and their words began to meld into dreams.
I could hear them as I was drifting, floating in a great shadowed lake. My white gown spread around me in the water, now-dark hair swaying with the ripples on the surface. I rose above, peering down at myself, and the image turned into my mother, the dark water going black, the ripples transforming to wind. I recognized the scene as her pendant began to glow, the wind howling, screams piercing my ears.
It was the same dream, but different now. I glanced around to find a village I didn’t know. Someone was coming toward me, an expression of fear and sadness on his handsome face. His familiar face. He reached out to me and I stepped toward him, tears streaming down my cheeks.
He wrapped his arms around me as I turned again to see my mother. A howl of rage escaped her and I started to go to her, but he held me. He was restraining me. I thrashed against him as I tried to scream, to tell him to let me go, but I had no voice. She reached her hand out and I could not move, could not help her, though I knew she was dying. I was imprisoned there, unable to move… unable to scream… unable to save her.
And then I couldn’t see her. Something was covering my eyes. I struggled yet again but my body felt like lead—heavy, useless. Darkness enveloped me and I was underwater, struggling to reach the surface, desperate for air.
“Frey.” A husky voice woke me. It must have been early dawn. The faint light revealed worry on Chevelle’s face as he stood over me. A look of fear and sympathy. The memory smashed into my chest like a thousand-pound ram, stealing my breath.
“You,” I hissed. He backed away as I sat up and glared at him with fire in my eyes. “You. You held me back as my mother died. You held me and made me watch her die.” I could almost taste the acid in my voice. He was still backing away, holding his hands in front of him palms out. A wordless hiss escaped my throat as I felt the fire coursing through me light in my hands. He would burn for this. Burn.
I was standing now, walking step for step toward him as he backed away. He said nothing, his face calm as the fire flared and I raised my hands to strike.
And then everything went black.
That was when I heard the chanting. My ears had been roaring with anger, but all that was left was a soft recitation. “Gian Zet Foria. Gian Zet Foria. Gian Zet Foria.” Junnie. Junnie was chanting something.
I was engulfed with an empty, lethargic feeling. My eyes batted open and I was lying on the ground, looking up at Junnie and Chevelle. Junnie’s words ran together as Chevelle mumbled. “Gian Zet Foria Gian Zet Foria Gian Zet Foria.” It seemed so familiar. Like Georgiana, Suzetta, Glaforia. They stopped simultaneously.
“Frey.” Junnie was talking slowly. “Stay calm and lie still.” I tried to convey my incredulity as I lay there, unable to move. “Explain to me what happened.”
All the anger and excitement turned numb. What came out sounded no more than a statement of fact. “Chevelle held me back and made me watch my mother die.” Junnie didn’t have the outraged look I expected. I sifted through the dream—the memory—searching for a way to explain so she would be stunned and infuriated.
They stared at me, and I was suddenly sure they were the reason I was lying on the ground incapacitated. They had control over me. My thoughts shifted, running through it again, going backwards from where I was. Their faces, the chanting from behind me, Chevelle backing away, the dream. The water. I remembered being trapped underwater just before waking, but I hadn’t been drowning. It wasn’t a dream.
I was horrified as more of the memory returned. The cloaks who had surrounded my mother, killed her, had been circling me. I knew they’d intended to destroy me, too, though I couldn’t see why. Chevelle had held me, pulled me into the water. He had tried to keep them from finding me as they attacked, tried to keep me from calling out to her. The look of fear, the look of sympathy. He’d held me back to save me.
Tears streamed down my face and my body began to release from the dead weight. Chevelle had saved me from my mother’s fate. How long had he been my watcher? In the memory, he’d fought to keep me from seeing, tried to cover my eyes. And later, he’d pulled me from the water, dragged me away as we fled. I shook with sobs and a pair of arms wrapped around me, supporting me as my limbs became heavy, my body and mind spent from the stress or whatever trauma the spell had caused. I couldn’t say which, because I was pulled from consciousness into a black, dreamless sleep.
Chevelle was still holding me when I woke in the late morning. I wondered if he’d slept at all. Cradled in his arms, I reached up to rub my bleary eyes. As I glanced up at him, it struck me how close we were. My hand dropped from my face to fall against his chest. That didn’t help. Heat rose in my neck; I could feel the corded muscle beneath his shirt.
I had to look away. He must have thought I was searching for Junnie. “She left just after dawn, when she knew you were safe.”
“Oh,” I breathed. Perfect. We were alone in the middle of nowhere and I was sitting in his lap. My flush deepened and I hastily stood to straighten my clothes.
He watched me fidget.
“Um, so I guess we should get going?” I stammered.
“No.”
My breath caught and I forced myself to look at him, still edgy from the closeness the moment before. I convinced myself I was imagining the way he studied me as he sat against the downed tree. He had no idea what I was thinking. It was the furthest thing from his mind.
“No?” I asked, unable to mask the tremor in my voice.
“Magic first.”
That wasn’t exactly a relief. It was obvious he saw my anxiety, but I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t enjoying it. He just remained sitting there.
“What should I do?”
A sly grin crossed his face and he rolled his hand out in front of him. “You are only limited by your imagination, Freya.”
Great, so if I screwed up it was just a problem with my mind. I considered that, recalling what Steed had said about feeling it, thinking about what you wanted to happen. But what did I want to happen? I had to catch that line of thought before it spiraled out of control; I concentrated on finding something small. A tiny pebble lay on the ground at my feet. I focused on it hard, willing it to rise. When nothing happened I looked for Chevelle’s reaction.
> He watched me, his serene mask back in place. “Do you need motivation?”
I was afraid of the kind of motivation he’d provide, remembering the fireballs flying at me in the meadow. “No.” My answer was too quick, and he laughed. I knelt closer to the gray rock. I thought it moved a little, as if trembling in fright, and the notion had me shaking my head.
Chevelle stood. “You’re trying too hard, Freya. Let us play a game.” He held out his hand and a stone flew up from the ground to land in the center of his open palm. He closed his fist around it and when he opened it a moment later, the stone was floating a half inch above his palm, slick black and shaped to form a tiny hawk sculpture.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, moving to touch it.
He held up his other hand up to stop me. “Take it.”
I wanted to hold the trinket; I reached forward and concentrated on moving it from his palm to mine. It floated shakily across the space between us, which seemed so odd at first I thought Chevelle must have moved it. I squeezed my fingers around it, as if to verify it was real, but when I opened my hand again it was only the dull gray rock.
Disappointment filled my face as I looked back at him. He tilted his head toward the stone; I would have to make this sculpture myself. I closed my fist around it, mostly because I had seen him do the same, and instantly I knew what I wanted to see. I opened my palm up, grinning triumphantly, and exposed my creation for Chevelle to see. Balancing there was a slightly misshapen but undeniable sculpture of a small black horse. Chevelle rolled his eyes.
Still smiling, I looked back to the stone, but it had returned to its uninteresting round shape. Chevelle answered my unspoken question. “Yes, it’s… tricky.” He smiled a little at using Steed’s word. “You can’t change something’s makeup, but you can change the way it appears. You can move it, but only if you’re near. You can stop someone’s heart, but you can’t make them feel happy about it.”
He hesitated after that last part, contemplating, and then continued, “You can manipulate the elements, move water, draw it from the ground, but you cannot easily make it appear from nothing… though one can usually collect moisture from the air. Fire is easier. It spreads so fast. You can pull a small spark from anywhere to create a flame, fueled by the air and…” He trailed off as I leaned closer to him, listening intently.
Chevelle looked into my eyes, words forgotten. I didn’t know what he had seen there, but he blinked, shaking his head. “Let’s keep working.” He stepped a few paces away as he spoke. “You’ll need to think clearly and stay calm. The best fighters are the best thinkers.”
“Fighters?” I asked, confused.
He shook his head again, as if clearing it. There was a long pause as I waited for his answer. “I’d like you to practice just for protection.”
“I have fire.”
He picked up a fallen branch, long and jagged, and snapped the smaller twigs from its side. “Yes, but you should learn to think more openly. It is an important resource and should be familiar to you. You should have years of experience by now.”
“Why don’t I?”
He stopped. I could tell by his expression he hadn’t meant to say so.
“Why can’t I use magic?” I clarified. “Why couldn’t I use it before?”
There was another long pause and then he spoke carefully. “You were bound.”
Bound? The word was so foreign in that context. All I could think of was the young children in the village, binding themselves to play the games of fairy children, who were unmagical until coming of age. I recalled seeing it in the documents in the briar patch—Francine Glaforia, bound against using all but practical magic.
Bound.
They must have known not to trust me. They must have known. My knees gave out and I crumpled to the ground. How many times could the earth be pulled from beneath my feet? Chevelle took a step toward me and I held up a hand to stop him. Bound against using magic. Assigned a watcher. My anger toward him returned, swift and unforgiving. He had been a volunteer. “Let’s just go,” I said coldly, looking up the mountain.
We rode wordlessly on as I chewed over this new knowledge. As my watcher, Chevelle would have been involved in the binding by Council. Maybe Fannie should have been punished for whatever she had done, but how could they assume I would follow in her footsteps? So I’d killed a bird, stolen a few papers from the council library.
My argument faltered, so I went back to anger, betrayal that he had lied to me. And not just him. The entire village must have known I was bound, known I couldn’t perform magic, as they sat and watched me try. Sending me to Junnie for lessons, allowing Evelyn to taunt me without recourse, giving me the blame for everything that happened. Because they expected me to turn.
The horses slowed to a stop, irritating me further. I didn’t even have control over that. Chevelle stepped down and started a fire. When he walked away, I recalled what he had said earlier in the day, that you could stop someone’s heart. It hadn’t occurred to me that might be how he killed his prey.
He made his way back over the scrubby brush, two small rabbits in hand. He dropped them and a branch covered in fat, blood-red berries by the fire, and I posted myself on the edge of an uneven rock to watch.
He didn’t speak, but I couldn’t tell if he intended to give me my space or was just indifferent. I had, after all, apparently been guilty of the charges. I was a criminal.
I silently wished Steed was here to build me a shelter so I could crawl in and hide until morning. I wasn’t about to try to build one on my own and risk embarrassing myself in front of Chevelle.
A gust of wind pushed the flames beneath the spit, causing them to writhe and jump. They formed shapes that pulled at my memories. I tried to follow them, but couldn’t seem to get my thoughts to cooperate. I could remember my dreams, the wind and fire surrounding my mother. But the memories that came back when I woke from those vivid nightmares were dull. The harder I clutched at them, the more they drew away.
When recognition dawned, I leapt from the rock, cursing Chevelle. He turned to me as I yelled, “Give it back!” He didn’t appear to know what I was talking about, but I was so angry I was having trouble forming the demand. “Give my memories, my mind back!”
His confusion cleared, but Chevelle didn’t offer a response. The fire in me itched to burn him.
I seethed. “Unbind my thoughts.”
“Freya.” His voice was smooth. “You don’t understand.”
I fumed, “Well, I’m sure that has nothing to do with you rummaging around in there.”
He shook his head and his complete lack of agitation caused me to take pause. I supposed it was possible he actually couldn’t free my thoughts. If the council had bound me, likely all of them would need to reverse it. And they wouldn’t do that. Because they had convicted me.
I might have asked how the process would work, but I was too furious to pursue conversation with any kind of composure. And it didn’t matter, because they’d already counted me guilty. I was staying bound. I let out a frustrated growl, clenching my jaw shut. He was one of them. I had to remember that.
I might have run back to the village right then, but they would never release me. I had nothing. I glanced down the mountainside. I couldn’t have found my way back if I’d wanted to. I had no idea where I was.
I stared at my palms, some spell-bought map carved into my skin, and was hit full force with the knowledge that I didn’t even know where I was going.
I was about as low on options as I could get. If not for Chevelle’s desire to skip out on Council business for a few days, or whatever we were doing here, I’d already be imprisoned. I could hope that with the dreams, with the mountains, with wherever my family’s map was taking me, I could remember more, could break some part free. It was all I would have in my captivity. It was the mountains or nothing. I could see no other way.
It was days before I spoke to Chevelle again, though he didn’t seem to mind the lack of c
onversation. He simply rode as he always did, with intermittent glances in each direction, as if I weren’t even there. In truth, he hadn’t appeared to notice my behavior at all.
When I finally broke the silence, we were navigating a narrow pass. “How long will we be riding?”
I wasn’t specific in my question, not wanting to reveal I had no idea where we were headed. If he’d been under the false impression he’d had to take me, I wasn’t about to mess that up only to be dragged back to the village. Especially after everything that had happened.
My horse quickened his pace to ride alongside his and I made a mental note to learn how to control the horse on my own. The constricted path forced us close together, our stirrups and legs brushing as we rode. Chevelle nodded at my hand and I held it out, palm up.
Chevelle indicated a spot on one of the mountains. “We are here.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show. The information would’ve only helped if I’d known where I started on the map or its endpoint. But at least I knew we were closer.
When we came through the pass our path widened, but the horses didn’t separate as I had expected them to. I decided I’d had enough of that. “How do I control Steed?”
I could see the humor in his eyes at my phrasing, but he kept a straight face. “Think of where you want him to go and lead his head so.”
I concentrated on turning left and we were instantly spinning, the unexpected twirl throwing me half from my saddle.
Chevelle caught my arm and righted me on my now-still horse. “Maybe not so severe next time.”
My face heated, but I focused on the horse’s head again, turning him back to our course as I gave a small nudge with my heels.
I was cautious after that but it became easier to control his movement as we rode. I practiced guiding him, eventually even maneuvering him back and forth between the misshapen rocks and spiky brush on our way. I was still afraid to have him kneel when we stopped for the evening, though, imagining him rolling on top of me if I tried. I slid down and stretched my legs, glad for a rest after the hours of tensing every time the horse changed direction. The air was brisk. I ran my hands over my arms to warm them.
I started as black swirled around me. Chevelle had thrown a cloak over my shoulders. He moved in front of me to hook the clasp, his dark eyes piercing as he stood so close. My heart stuttered when he leaned in, our faces unbearably near. Just before he touched me, his cheek slid alongside mine, his mouth at my ear. I froze as he spoke low, his breath on my neck sending a shiver through me.
“Stay. Still.”
He was gone. He moved so fast it took a moment to understand. The hood of the cloak was drawn over my head, Chevelle standing a good distance away, facing the trees. I was watching him as two men drew near. I hadn’t seen them; they must have been concealed, or camouflaged by magic as I had been days before. The tassels decorating their long robes identified them as members of council, but I wasn’t familiar with the two. They mustn’t have been from the village.
As they approached Chevelle cautiously, I examined their insignia. Even if they weren’t from the village, I still needed council members to unbind me, and I had a sudden urge to go to them. But I remembered my warning to be still.
“She’s not going back.” Chevelle’s tone, level and uncompromising, caught my attention.
I pushed the hood back to better hear and the taller figure glared at me as he hissed, “You’re protecting her when you know what she’s capable of?”
I flinched at his words, but something else had caught my eye. The robes were ornate, the tassels interwoven with color. He was Grand Council.
I studied the other newcomer, who acted as if I wasn’t present. He was incredulous, staring at Chevelle when he spoke. “Her mother slaughtered your clan, your family. Why release this terror—”
The man’s words were cut short, his face contorted in pain. Chevelle had gone rigid, every muscle tense. The councilman struggled, suffering from some unseen force. Blood poured from his nose and I gasped. Chevelle’s head jerked toward me and I couldn’t catch my breath—his eyes were as black as onyx. When his focus returned to the men, they eased away, the first supporting other by an arm as both bowed slightly, stepping and stumbling in their retreat. Chevelle watched them until they spun to disappear, and then he turned to me.
One look at his face and I knew the cause of the devastation. I still couldn’t remember, but I knew what I had heard was truth.
My mother had killed his family, his entire clan. He’d been there in the village in my dreams, in my memories. He had saved me. His family was there as well. The people running and screaming and dying were his clan. I knew the cloaks in that vision now, too. They were Grand Council. The council was circling my mother to stop her. She was killing the northern clans. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t know how I knew, but I was certain I didn’t want my memories back. What I had was already too much.
I couldn’t fathom the pain Chevelle had suffered, surely a hundred times mine at the loss of my mother. His mother… his father… each member of his family? How much loss had he endured? Tears streamed down my face.
Chevelle took a step toward me and I was struck by fear. He must despise me. That was why he’d become my watcher.
He gave a curt nod at my reaction, his head still dipped as he walked away. I wanted to speak but the words choked me. I wrapped myself tighter into the cloak as Chevelle constructed a hasty shelter.
I was his responsibility, but surely he loathed me. How could he not? I thought back to the scenarios I had envisioned after the memories of my mother being killed came back to me… what I would do to those men if I were to ever find them.
Now I remembered the truth. They were saving the North.
I couldn’t say I didn’t still want revenge though. What he must feel toward me for taking so much from him. My mind was reclassifying every look he’d ever given me, everything that had happened since I’d met him. Why he hadn’t looked at me as I’d lain under the tree in the meadow, explaining why Fannie had struck me. Why I’d wanted to learn transfer magic… to get my mother’s things. The look he’d given the pendant on my neck… my mother’s pendant. Of course he’d volunteered to be my watcher. I had taken everything from him.
My thoughts began to muddle as my mother and my dreams and my own life twisted together. I still couldn’t retrieve my memories; I only had the last years, which seemed a haze now. The only parts clear to me were the days since Chevelle walked through Junnie’s door.
I thought of how I had cursed him when I’d found he was my watcher. The hate in my voice when I’d demanded my memories back. The memories of his family’s murder.
My mind writhed with anguish through the night. As I emerged from the shelter late the next morning, I was resigned. I would continue my journey with him and let him return me to the council without resistance. It was all I could do.
I found him sitting near the shelter’s entrance, distress apparent in his features.
“Thank you,” I said, indicating the shelter.
He nodded, but his face didn’t quite return to the serene mask he usually wore.
My stomach knotted; I hadn’t eaten since our ride the day before.
“I’ll get you some food,” he said. A fire lit beside us as if of its own accord. He strode off in search of food, and I sat close, tucking my cheeks into the material of the cloak for warmth. A moment later, he was back, our breakfast roasting over the flames. We ate in silence and mounted the horses as we had each day before, but it was obvious nothing was the same. How could it ever be?
I was racked with guilt as we made our way up the mountain. I purposefully rode behind him, glad at least to be able to control the horse on my own.
Small patches of snow had started to dot the landscape, the vegetation a darker, sharper green. Occasionally the sun would break through the mist, making me squint, and I would appreciate the calmer, hazier atmosphere. Gloom, as they called
it at home, in the usually sunny village where I would spend my eternity. I wondered where I would be kept as a captive, if there would be windows, if I was unfit for public view.
Chevelle picked up speed after we passed through the more difficult part of the trail and then we rode fast the rest of the day. I struggled to keep up. I was sure I knew the cause of his hurry. He’d decided he wanted to get this journey over with, end it and return me to the council for punishment, to be done with me.
We rode long into the evening, well past sunset, and I began to wonder if he would stop at all. I was contemplating possible ways to sleep on a horse when he finally stopped. We were riding through a small pass, the moonlight barely lighting our way, and Chevelle’s horse disappeared. My head swiveled, searching for any sign of them, and then my own horse turned beneath an overhang and stopped in a cavern so dark I hadn’t seen it until we were there.
Chevelle tossed out a small flame, giving us enough light to dismount. The horses walked to one end of the cavern, their hoofbeats echoing softly, as we remained in the other.
“Frey.” Chevelle turned to me as he spoke. “Yesterday… the council trackers…”
Trackers? I tried to focus on what he was saying and not let my mind run wild with the new information.
“They will send someone for what I have done.”
I thought of the councilman’s face, distorted in pain.
“We should continue your training.”
“Training?” Even I could hear the dread in my question.
“Practice. You should be able to protect yourself.”
I remembered his words from before the revelation that ended my magic lessons. Fighters. A chill ran down my spine as I nodded my assent. I’d skinned out of a few run-ins with council and it was no secret how they operated. I might be safe enough with Chevelle, but if the others retrieved me…
“We will work again at first light and possibly as we ride.”
Frey Page 8