Chapter Six

CHAPTER

SIX

_________

T HE CRACKLING FIRE MIXES WITH THE SOUND OF MY feet pattering against the floor as I pace the living room. I peeked into Finnian's room last night, eager to talk to him, but his snores had already infiltrated the space. He didn't stir when I propped him on his side, bordering him with pillows in case he had drunk too much.

I soaked in a hot bath, but the mixture of Finnian's floorboards and riding have given me the aches of an eighty-year-old. I'm so on edge that I know my outfit would be a mess if I hadn't laid it out the night before—a red shirt paired with a brown waist corset and pants always adorned with knives. The standard attire I wear when it's too cold for dresses.

"I see the pillows!" Finnian exclaims. My heart lodges in my throat when his door cracks open. "Darling, how many times have I told you, though I love you, you don't have to sleep on my—" His footsteps halt when he sees me. "What happened?" I build the courage to turn toward him, but his eyes fixate on the elixir and book I placed on the table. "You went somewhere last night?"

I clasp my clammy hands in front of me. "Just let me explain." He doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at me, just walks across the room to sit on the soft leather couch. "I met the Commander of Vareveth last night," I continue. He covers his face with his hands, and my heart squeezes. "I made a deal with him."

His hands drop away, and he finally looks at me with flushed cheeks. "Elowen, tell me you're toying with me."

He knows I can't. The evidence of my nighttime endeavor is displayed in front of him.

"You and I both know Aestilian can't stay hidden forever. We're already several times larger than I ever imagined. I needed to find a solution for the food shortage, and Cayden offered one." I desperately try to reason with him. I need to talk to Ailliard after this, and it'll be much easier if I have Finnian on my side.

He wrinkles his nose before leaning back, letting out a deep sigh. "Tell me everything. Starting from the moment you left here."

The crease between his brows eases as I rattle off more details. I inform him of what transpired in the attic, meeting Cayden in the forest, joining Vareveth in the war against Imirath, the cult, the amulet, and the book. I tell him everything except the heist. There's no point when I have no answers for his inevitable questions.

I won't lie if he asks me about the dragons, but I'd like to find the right time. We've remained hidden from the world since we met, and I hope to make the transition as smooth as possible if he chooses to rejoin society. His leg bounces and his fingers are peaked in front of his lips. "You deserve a life that doesn't force you to constantly stick your neck out."

I twiddle with the ends of my hair. "I'm not."

"You are."

"You don't have to come to Vareveth, and I understand if you wish to remain here. This is my choice, and I won't hold you to an agreement I made." I'll miss him terribly, but his happiness and safety mean more to me than any alliance ever could. "But I need you to support me when I inform Ailliard."

He looks at me as if I've grown three heads. "Of course I'll support you. I don't disapprove of the alliance; I merely wish you weren't the lost princess Vareveth wants."

"Well, I don't think there are many others hiding in Ravaryn."

"Is this what you truly want, or is it a means to an end?"

The sincerity in his question makes me pause, but my answer is instant. "Yes."

I've always known I'd never find something to light my soul on fire within the safety net I've been captured in. It's not that there hasn't been danger or solace within my hobbies, but I want adventure. I want my dragons in front of me and not just in my mind. No matter how hard I tried or trained, nothing ever filled me with a burning passion. I can't tend to my garden, heal our soldiers, or spy from the shadows forever.

I want to intertwine my fate with my dragons and alter the course of this world.

"All right," he says. "And you truly held a knife to the neck of the Commander of Vareveth?"

"I did."

"That's my girl." He stands up from the couch and pulls me into his chest. "When do we leave?"

"You don't have—"

"It's not up for discussion." He cuts me off, but I don't miss the nerves in his tone. "You know you always have me, witty remarks, arrows in necks, the whole package."

Emotion clogs my throat and I hug him tighter, holding him until I'm able to form a response. "Let's hope Ailliard takes it well."

He sighs while tying a blue cloak around his neck. "He'll adjust."

The kingdom is alive, as it always is when the sun comes up. Shutters are spread open and familiar faces smile down at me while hanging laundry or picking the final herbs of the season from window beds. The amount of progress we made in the past fifteen years still shocks me sometimes. Aestilian was merely a valley my guards deemed well-suited for exile, but now there's much more to it.

It's a small kingdom but a kingdom in its own right. There are houses and shops made of dark wood with peaked roofs, built with iron and resilience by the hands of myself and my people. There is now vibrancy where there was only wilderness, but wildflowers still paint the land in spring.

"Do you have a plan?" Finnian asks.

"I believe the tactic of improvisation is one of my greatest weapons." I lightly shove him after he scoffs. I have a vague, extremely cloudy sort of semblance of a plan, which is to tell Ailliard and brace for the storm. Perhaps I should've filled a trough with coffee and drunk from it like a horse.

Walking the path to the guardhouse doesn't bring me the same kind of peace it used to. The past few months, years even, have been plagued with an overwhelming sense of anxiety brought on by the rising tension within Erebos as well as our growing population and dwindling food supply. I haven't been able to be as mentally present as I used to be. I always do my duty, but too many uncontrollable factors follow me like a shadow.

The guardhouse is the largest building in Aestilian, followed by the orphanage, and is always being expanded, which is made apparent through the mismatched wood. The imperfection makes it feel more like a home, which Aestilian is for many people, but perhaps not for me. It feels wrong to want more, but ambition shouldn't be frowned upon. It should be encouraged.

I'm a few steps into the building when I hear a loud thump, followed by a curse. I spin on my heels to face my best friend, who's now rubbing a hand on his reddened forehead. "How do you manage to hit your head every time we come here?"

"I don't hit it every time," Finnian argues. I scoff and roll my eyes because he does, on the same beam every time. "Some of us grew after turning sixteen."

I laugh softly and stay the course to Ailliard's office. I'd rather not feed Finnian's ego; it's nearly as tall as him, and I reach just below his chin. My knuckles graze the door when a raspy voice speaks through the wood. "I could hear the two of you from the second you walked into the building."

"How does he always do that?" Finnian whispers.

"Maybe he's a wizard, or maybe he heard your head smack into a doorway." I push the door open and slip inside before Finnian can make a retort.

Ailliard turns away from the window and gestures for us to take a seat in front of his desk. He may be a blood relative, but the resemblance between us is slim to none. He shaved off his blond hair a few years ago, and a gray beard cut close to his face makes his sky-blue eyes stand out. My hair is the darkest shade of brown and falls to my lower back in loose ringlets, and my light brown eyes that appear amber in the sun are the fire to his ice.

The desk takes up most of the room, but cabinets filled with guard reports, financial records, population records, crop records, and more line the walls. The office is organized chaos, but we know how to navigate it.

"How was the raid?" Finnian asks, probably knowing I need a minute to gather myself.

"We've had better." Ailliard sighs, taking a seat and resting his elbows on the wood. "How was the midnight ride?"

Either of us could answer the question, but I know it's directed at me. Ailliard stopped reprimanding me for venturing outside Aestilian a few years ago. Not because he enjoys the idea of me leaving but because he knows he can't stop me.

"It was"—I take a moment to weigh my next word—"informative."

"Informative?" Ailliard's brows shoot up, deepening the wrinkles on his forehead. "Please, enlighten me."

I grip the teardrop-shaped moonstone pendant I always wear, moving it back and forth on the gold chain. "Did you get the guard report I left on your desk?"

"The one about Vareveth soldiers crossing the Fintan?"

"That would be the one," Finnian answers for me.

"Finnian and I went to the tavern they were at to spy on them." My nerves may be causing an earthquake inside my bones, but my even tone reveals nothing.

"Spy on them?" Ailliard echoes. "Elowen, you are aware of the tensions between Vareveth and Imirath, yes? Do you even think?" My anxiety slowly morphs into irritation when patronization enters his tone.

"No, actually. I just sit places and look pretty." Finnian snorts and his shoulders shake in silent laughter. Ailliard opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my hand up to silence him. "It's because of the tensions that I wanted to find out why they're here."

His nostrils flare. "Did you?"

"Yes." I square my shoulders and straighten my spine. "I've made a deal with Commander Cayden Veles of Vareveth."

"A deal with a demon," Ailliard mutters, scrubbing his hands over his face before laying them flat on his desk. "We can still get out of this. You don't have to adhere to the terms."

"I will not be going back on my word." And I will not forsake my dragons by remaining within the borders when I have the chance to free them.

"Elowen, why can't you be content with what you have? Your ambition will get you killed. Make peace with your past and be done with it."

I clench my jaw. "You don't have to agree with my choices, but you will respect my decision."

"You didn't make a deal. You bartered away your soul."

The notion makes me laugh. "I bartered my soul for a blade many years ago, and I have no regrets."

"What are the terms?"

I take slight pity on him as his heel taps against the floor. He broke me out of my cell, swaddled my small frame in blankets, and rode into the Etril Forest. The freezing temperatures make it one of the most dangerous places on the continent. The abuse would've been unimaginable after the dragons burned my mother. Not because my father loved her, but because he failed to protect his queen in their castle. Ailliard never forgave Garrick for putting Isira in that position. He doesn't speak of her, but I know he loved his sister dearly.

"Vareveth will provide Aestilian with food. Commander Veles gave me an elixir that enables crop growth in rocky soil, and Vareveth will supply us through the winter."

"What do they get?" he asks tightly.

"I will travel to Vareveth with Commander Veles after signing a protection agreement prior to the formal alliance treaty. King Eagor believes my presence in Vareveth will convince other kingdoms to align with them, and I will remain in Vareveth throughout the war." My eyes cut to Finnian, and he subtly nods in encouragement.

Ailliard's eyes are glued to the wall next to us. My heart beats in tandem with his foot vigorously tapping against the floor. "There is no marriage clause?"

"No, uncle."

His eyes flash to mine again. "I do not want you involved with that man. Nobody knows where he comes from, and his reputation is ruthless."

"We're allies." Cayden's accomplishments have been whispered throughout the continent like legends you tell children to make them behave. On one occasion, before an ambush that a scout saw coming, he split a battalion of his soldiers, keeping one hidden in the forest and forcing Imirath to fight on two fronts. He turned a trap into a massacre. "But is it truly so incredulous to deem someone worthy because they rose in rank based on merit rather than their bloodline? He may be deceitful, but I'd rather share an enemy with a fiend I know. His depravity could be an asset."

Ailliard's lip curls in disgust. "You're better than this, Elowen. I've wanted you to give up the idea of revenge since you were a child."

I grip the sides of my chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. "Instead of chastising me for seeking revenge, perhaps you should lament over why I seek it."

The sound of a cane striking my skin echoes in my mind, the sound of chains rattling against the floor while my wrists were shackled, the sharp pangs of hunger that twisted my insides until I cried, the fresh sting of a slap delivered by a fully grown soldier to my seven-year-old face. My dragons shoved into tiny cages and carried away from me while I begged and fought until my nails bled, their pained shrieks that weren't yet roars still haunt me.

The humiliation.

The degradation.

The shame.

It all rushes back to me. I blink my eyes rapidly and drop my gaze to my lap. Finnian shifts in his chair and stretches his hand across the space between us, waiting for me to grasp it. But I can't. When those memories surface, finding comfort in physical touch is hard. I feel like my clothes are too tight. I feel like everything about me is wrong. Physical touch is something I had to learn to view in a positive light, and I still battle with it sometimes.

"We can organize more raids—" Ailliard tries to change the subject.

"We don't need more raids! We need a long-term solution." I cut him off, lifting my eyes after locking down the memories. "What happens when people here begin to have children and their children leave? What happens if someone sends a patrol into the Seren Mountains?" I slowly rise and place my hands on his desk. "What happens if someone learns how to navigate the mist? What happens when winter comes, and the snow is too thick to send out raids? What happens when my people start dying, and there's not a single fucking thing we can do? Do you want to bury their loved ones knowing that we could have done something to prevent it?" My blood is pumping in my ears by the time I finish.

"I just want to make sure you know what you're going up against. Your father is not a threat to be taken lightly." Ailliard sounds slightly remorseful, but his eyes are still lit with anger.

"Neither am I," I darkly state.

Finnian rises from his chair behind me. "I stand with Elowen in this decision. I'm going to Vareveth with her not only because she's my best friend, but she's also my queen. I'm aware your reaction comes from a place of caring, as did mine when she first told me, but I suggest you convey your feelings with more respect." Finnian places a hand on my shoulder, easing me away from the desk. "Take the day to cool off."

Finnian gently tugs on my shoulder, but I stay rooted in place like an old tree weathering a storm. "You can either stand against the tide or let it drag you under. I've made my decision, uncle; make yours."

Finnian guides me from the office and slams the door shut. We walk silently from the guardhouse to the field filled with targets painted on hay bales. I need to focus on something other than the emotions raging inside me, making me want to run and scream until my throat is raw. Finnian stands at the target next to me, nocking an arrow in his bow as I unsheathe a knife. The familiar weight of my blade is reassuring because this is a skill no one can take away.

Ailliard gave me my first knife on my eleventh birthday. That night, I vowed to myself, with only the stars as my witness, that I would never be helpless again. The memory of Garrick's guards beating me and demanding I break the bond threatens to resurface.

Never again.

My knife sails through the air and sinks into the center of the target. I drop my shaky hand to my thigh and pull the next free, squaring my shoulders and staring down the line toward the blade I just threw.

I don't remember much of the world before my imprisonment at the age of four and forgot what it felt like for the sun to warm your cheeks or to marvel at how tall trees can grow. The world is a magical place when you're not surrounded by those who corrupt the peace and solace.

My second knife lands an inch above the first.

My life has been dedicated to honing my skills in the hopes of freeing my dragons and taking my revenge. It has required grit and determination, but even when I was surrounded by a hurricane of chaos, my blades were the eye of the storm. I want to be exceptional or nothing, and it's a curse I bestowed upon myself, I suppose.

When I think about what I truly want, it's never a crown. It's my dragons. I made a deal with a demon, and I'd do it again, no matter what comes from it. There is no healing for me without freeing them, and I will never forsake them for safety.

Each day that passes is another sunset grinding a shard of my heart to dust, ready for the wind to carry it back to Imirath. My existence is haunted by my dragons. I'm destined to walk through a graveyard of hope.

The third knife lands an inch under the first.

I will survive this war just as I've survived everything else.

I throw the last knife, finishing off the perfect line I created. My hands have stopped shaking, my breathing is even, and I don't feel the need to scream even though I'm still upset.

From the corner of my eye, I see Finnian walking toward me. "Thank you for standing by me."

"I hate how he speaks to you when he's upset," Finnian says.

"I know," I mutter.

"It's not right." I glance at him, and he must see the mixed emotions in my eyes. "It's not," he reaffirms.

I nod, pressing my lips together while facing my target again. I inhale a steady breath. "Ailliard has a flaw in his logic."

"Which are you referring to?"

"The entire time, he kept worrying about Imirath coming for me." I observe the perfect line of knives. "But Imirath has no idea what's coming for them."