The Outlanders

by Erin Rhew

  The Ethereal sighed and leaned into him with a satisfied grin upon her face. Layla envied them, the easy way they related to one another. Their love had grown without supernatural interference, free from doubts. She glanced down the hall toward Wil’s room.

  Vespa cleared her throat, drawing back Layla’s attention. “Grant wouldn’t tell me about my brothers. He said I need to talk to you. So, tell me, where are they?”

  Layla sighed. “You’d better come into the library and sit down.”

  * * * *

  Frustrated, Layla threw her dress across the room where it landed in a soundless, colorful heap. She marched over with the intent of kicking it but stopped. Abusing a piece of fabric seemed ridiculous, but she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs or destroy every piece of furniture in the room…or both at the same time.

  While not the cause of her anxiety, the dress added to her irritation. Worry over Wil, Nash, and Samson consumed her. Though they set out over a month ago, she had not heard a single word from Nash or her brother.

  And Wil…her stomach clamped down so hard the breath puffed out of her. Wil had not moved, not even a twinge, in the past month. She feared he’d become lost inside a dream world as the Volton warned. Yet she remained by his bedside every night, waiting and hoping.

  Unable to stand her room, the oppressive way it closed in around her, she yanked on the pair of trousers and a shirt she brought from Vanguard and stalked out the door. Layla didn’t have a direction in mind. The pent-up energy inside her bounced around at a dizzying speed.

  Vespa poked her head out of the library door as Layla stalked by. The princess joined her friend’s focused march. At first, Vespa stayed quiet, but Layla knew the silence wouldn’t last.

  “Where are you going, Layla?”

  “I don’t know.” She spat the words for no reason. Anyone who dared join her at this moment risked a verbal beating. Vespa had to know that, yet she half jogged to match Layla’s pace and bore the brunt of her anger without complaint.

  She usually preferred to be alone when she fumed, but Layla found herself taking comfort in Vespa’s company. She felt more connected to Wil and Nash in the presence of their sister. Though different from them in many ways, Vespa often flashed a smile that looked like Nash or showed unwavering compassion like Wil.

  “Are you worried about my brothers?” Vespa’s voice, devoid of its traditional song-like quality, betrayed her own concern.

  “Yes. Why hasn’t Wil woken up yet? Why haven’t we heard anything about Nash? I’m going crazy here. Rex has taken over the military, and your mother takes care of all castle related duties. There is nothing for me to do, so I’m stuck alone with my thoughts and worries.”

  “Wil and Nash are strong.”

  “They are, I know. But I can’t help but worry.”

  “Me too.”

  Layla squinted as they stepped out of the castle and into the bright sunlight. She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus, and noticed a rider approaching. He wore the clothing of an Ethereal guard, but she reached for the knife in her boot all the same. Though he did not appear dangerous, he had a body slung over the back of his horse. Layla ran toward the guard, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Vespa, dress hiked, followed at her heels.

  “Who is that?” Layla yelled to the man, less to get his attention than to give her burst of energy an outlet.

  The soldier slowed his horse. Layla rushed around to the side of the steed and lifted the head of the person slung across it.

  “Samson.”

  Dirt lined her brother’s face. A trace of blood seeped from a cut on his forehead, but he appeared otherwise unscathed. A short, relieved laugh escaped her lips. Her brother lived!

  “Samson.” She patted his cheek to rouse him. Questions zinged through her mind. Where had he been? What did they find out? But most of all, where was Nash?

  Vespa glanced at the Ethereal guard. “What happened to this man?”

  Worry marred Vespa’s face, but the princess maintained a quiet strength and presence of mind. In that moment, Layla saw just how much Vespa resembled the queen. Layla needed a strong, calm, clear-thinking princess right now, because her own emotions spiraled out farther and farther from her. Dizziness encroached as she struggled to control herself.

  The solider shifted in his saddle, avoiding eye contact. “We blasted the defense horns on him.”

  “You did what?” Layla’s face flushed with anger. The horse and rider whimpered under her withering glare.

  “I’m sorry, Fulfillment. He looked like a Vanguard, and he gave no indication he sided with us.”

  Vespa patted the horse’s nose as she thought it over, her expression softening before she returned her attention to the soldier. “You did the right thing. We can’t be too careful. Please take the Fulfillment’s brother inside.” Both animal and man relaxed under the deft touch.

  “Yes, my princess.” The soldier bowed.

  Layla took a deep breath, hands shaking with a volatile combination of anger and fear.“Don’t worry.” Vespa patted her shoulder. “Let’s go back inside so we’ll be there when Samson comes around.”

  * * * *

  Layla rushed through dinner, impatient to check on her brother. Volton Mars assured her Samson would be out for quite a while, but she still wanted to be there the moment he awoke. Standing, she bid everyone goodnight before dashing out the door. Grant shot her an exasperated look, as he often did when she let her impulsiveness get the better of her, but he didn’t try to stop her. She knew he’d been to visit Samson often as well, though Grant seemed better able to take the Volton’s advice than she.

  She pushed open the door to the sick room. Mars sat at his desk, writing. He spared a cursory glance and nodded like he’d been expecting her. They’d known one another long enough now for him to understand her temperament.

  “Any change?” she asked.

  “You haven’t been gone that long.” Amusement crossed his face before he returned to his writing.

  Walking over to the bed, she examined Samson. “He’s been out for several hours. How will we ever find Nash if Samson continues to sleep?”

  The Volton nodded, his gaze never leaving his paper. “He could awaken soon, or he may sleep until tomorrow.”

  “You don’t know Samson like I do. He’s stubborn.” How could Mars remain so calm with Nash’s whereabouts unknown?

  The Volton’s pen froze above the paper. Layla waited for him to say something, anything, but soon the black tip once again scratched across the parchment. Biting down her frustration, she took a seat beside the bed and took Samson’s hand, just as she did every night with Wil.

  “Wake up, Samson.” She patted his hand with a little more force than necessary, wondering if she could jostle him awake. “I need you to wake up, you hardheaded mule.”

  She watched the mesmerizing rise and fall of his chest, listened to the soft puffs of his breath, and remembered their shared childhood. Growing up, Grant bet his younger brother two months’ chores that Samson couldn’t climb to the very top of the tallest tree on their farm. Samson made it halfway up on the first attempt before falling and breaking his arm. Their parents told him never to climb that tree again, but as soon as he healed, Samson scaled it again. He dropped from an even higher perch and broke his collarbone and leg. Their parents forced Grant to call off the bet and told Samson never to touch that tree again. About three months after his big fall, Layla awoke to triumphant screaming in the middle of the night. She rushed out of bed to find Samson celebrating from the top of that accursed tree. Layla knew her brother—tenacious and unyielding.

  “Wake up.”

  To her surprise and the Volton’s, Samson stirred, groaning. Layla leapt up and peered down at her brother. He popped open one lid, staring at her, incredulity written all over his face.

  “What in all of Vanguard happened to me? My head feels like that time I got into my father’s firewater.” Samson grabbed his head and groaned some more.<
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  “It’s the Ethereal defense system.” If she weren’t so worried about Nash, she might have taken the opportunity to laugh at her brother.

  “Well, it works.” Samson cradled his head between his hands, rubbing his temples. “Vance and his men would be wise to keep their distance, especially if you’ve installed them all around the perimeter of Etherea…”

  “Where is Nash?” She searched his face for signs. Volton Mars appeared beside her.

  “No hello, Samson. Glad you’re safe?”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Hello, Samson, glad you are safe. Where is Nash? Why did you come back alone?”

  Samson struggled to get up. “He’s been captured.”

  “Captured? By whom?” At his words, a lump bloomed within Layla’s throat. The solid mass blocked her speech.

  “The Outlanders. They captured us both, but their queen let me go. She said she would release me so I could come back here to deliver a message. So here it is. She made me memorize every word. ‘I, Cataleen—Queen of the Outlanders, servant of the First Ones—will keep the Ethereal prince and acting king, Nash, as prisoner until Wil, the rightful king of Etherea; Vespa, the princess of Etherea; and Layla, the suspected Fulfillment hold a meeting with me in the Outlands. You have one month to arrive. If you do not, Nash will be killed, and the Outlanders will join Vanguard to decimate Etherea.’”

  Samson leaned back against his pillow as if the message drained him of all energy. He closed his eyes. Within seconds, soft snores emanated from him. Layla whirled around to face Volton Mars and found horror written upon his face. The weight of the impossible task imposed upon her by the Outlander queen fell heavy on Layla’s shoulders as an image of the incapacitated Wil filled her mind. A second image of Nash hunched over in a dark prison, dirty and thin from starvation, assaulted her. She started to wrap her arms around herself and give into the hopelessness crowding around her. But her Vanguard nature roared forward like a beast.

  Layla leapt up, her hand reaching for her sword. “I’ll kill that woman if she lays a hand on Nash. I don’t care what she’s the queen of.”

  Volton Mars ducked his head, fiddling with the rope on his green robe. “I’ll summon everyone. They’ll want to hear this.”

  * * * *

  Layla shuffled to Wil’s room. Exhaustion fatigued her entire being. As expected, Samson’s declaration distressed everyone. Their tense, sometimes adversarial, discussion about how to handle the situation lasted through the night and early into the morning. She forced one foot in front of the other, stumbled over to the chair, and collapsed into it.

  Mustering the last of her energy, Layla grabbed Wil’s hand, careful not to squeeze too hard. She leaned forward until her mouth rested right beside his ear. A piece of his blond hair, which had grown longer as he slept, tickled her nose. She ignored it.

  “Wil.” Insistent tears lodged his name in her throat. “Come back to us.” She repeated this same phrase each night, to no avail. “Please, we need you now more than ever. Your brother has been taken captive. The Outlanders are threatening to kill him. Only we can save him. Please wake up!”

  Wil didn’t move or show any signs that he had heard her. She applied more pressure to his hand, though not enough to injure him. Could he feel her touch? Hear her plea?

  “We need you.” She pressed her forehead against his cheek. “I need you. You always know what to do, and I need your advice right now. Please, Wil, I need you.”

  She allowed the tears to flow, hating the weakness of them but overwhelmed with the responsibility on her shoulders. Climbing on the bed, she snuggled up beside Wil, resting her head by the crook of his neck, and cried as she drifted off to sleep. He didn’t stir.

  * * * *

  As the hard light of midday streamed into the window, a soft voice called to Layla. Deciding the sound emanated from her own imagination, she turned her head to relieve the cramp forming in her neck.

  “Layla.”

  She popped up her head, awake as if she’d never been asleep. Wil’s blue eyes, which had been so clouded with pain the last time she saw them, now sparkled.

  “Wil. Am I dreaming?”

  “I don’t know.” His laughter brushed against her cheek. “Am I?”

  “I can’t believe it.” She gaped at him, assessing this miracle before her.

  His complexion maintained a slight pallor, but he looked a great deal healthier than the last time she’d seen him awake. A sly grin played along the corners of his mouth. She longed to wrap her arms around him and never let go, but she kept her touch at bay. Though he had awoken, she feared reinjuring him. They lay in silence for a long while, gazing at one another. He reached for her hand, and their fingers intertwined. She marveled at their joined hands. His engulfed her smaller one, yet they seemed to fit together perfectly.

  She broke the peaceful silence. “Do you feel healed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how are you awake? Your mother Altered your mind so you couldn’t wake up until you were healed.”

  His gaze bore into her. “I heard you, Layla. You said you needed me, so I came back.”

  “For me?” Her voice hitched.

  “Always.”

  Energy—different from the kind she experienced with Wil and Nash before—coursed through her. From Wil’s sudden recovery or from his words, she couldn’t say. She’d missed him so much. Together, she believed they could accomplish anything, starting with Nash’s rescue. Her mind whirled to make plans when another thought hit her.

  “Oh my!” Her eyes widened. “I need to tell everyone you’ve woken up. They’ll want to celebrate your return.”

  As she stood to leave, Wil tightened his hold on her hand. Layla turned to find him still watching her. She patted his hand twice and started to let go again, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “Wait.”

  A wave of concern washed over her. “Are you hurting? Do you need something?”

  “I just don’t want you to go yet. Once everyone else finds out I’m awake…” He glanced away before roaming a burning gaze over her face. “I just like lying here with you and want to do it for just a few more minutes.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him about Nash, about the urgency of forming a plan and starting for the Outlands, but changed her mind. The rising flush on his pale face and his hopeful grin stopped her. Reaching out, Layla stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and nuzzled farther into her touch.

  The sound of her own heartbeat reverberated in her ears while a tingle, slow and warm, rippled through her body. Her breathing, regular just moments before, grew ragged. She focused on his lips. They’d only kissed twice—once in her mind during an Alteration and once in reaction to their binding, so they’d never truly kissed.

  Though their situation in the tunnels had been a direct result of the binding, she remembered the gentle pressure of his lips on hers, and the flood of sensation when his hand lingered on her leg.

  Layla trembled with anticipation as she leaned in toward him. When their lips met, her whole body exploded. Pleasure swirled around inside her stomach, spreading to every facet of her body.

  “Layla,” he moaned her name against her mouth.

  For that moment, only Wil existed. She blocked out the whole world. He unhooked their hands, lifted his arm, and stroked the side of her face, igniting a fresh ripple of desire. Without even thinking about his injury, without thinking about anything, she straddled him, her lips never leaving his.

  Wil let out a surprised yet delighted sound. She responded by deepening their kiss. His hand moved from her face, down her shoulder, and along her side until it came to rest on her back. The shirt she’d been wearing the day before had come untucked, leaving a small section of skin exposed. As if drawn to it by some magnetic force, Wil’s fingers grazed her uncovered flesh. She quivered under his touch. Emboldened, he slid his hand further up her back. She groaned, unable to contain the emotions swirling within her.

>   When the door flew open, Layla leapt off Wil as if she’d been burned. Her whole face blazed.

  “I’m sorry.” Volton Mars reeled backward toward the door. “I didn’t mean to…Wil!”

  He crossed the room, robes flowing, tears streaming down his face.

  “I was so worried. I didn’t know if I’d done enough.”

  With a gentleness Layla had come to associate with the Volton, the older man pulled Wil into a jubilant hug, more careful to avoid his wounds than she had been. The prince laughed and clasped Mars on the back with his good arm, though his gaze never left Layla’s face. Desire smoldered in them, calling out and drawing her back in.

  “I’ll go tell everyone else the good news while you check Wil out.” Layla moved toward the door, careful to hide her flaming face behind a veil of black hair.

  She couldn’t stay a moment longer. Embarrassment over her wanton behavior and guilt over Nash sent her fleeing the room like she’d actually caught on fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wil

  Wil sat back in his chair, watching the reaction to his pronouncement. His mother’s face contorted into a mixture of anger and concern. Beside her, Rex sat down, his mouth stuck in a surprised o. Vespa let out a small squeak, shook her head, and clutched Grant’s hand, while the Volton paled. After the initial shock, the room erupted. Only Layla and Samson appeared unruffled.

  “You can’t!” His mother slammed her hand down on the table. “I forbid you to travel to the Outlanders and meet with their queen. She already captured one child of mine, and I’ll not give her a chance at another. You, Layla, and Vespa are too important to this kingdom…and to me.”

  Volton Mars touched the queen on the shoulder before turning to Wil. “You aren’t completely healed.”

  “Mother, you cannot forbid it. I am the king, so the decision is mine.”

  “King or not, you are still my son.” His mother’s lips pressed together into a hard line.

  “And Volton,” Wil continued despite his mother’s interruption, “I feel fine. I’m a little weak, sure, but I’m fine.”