8. Chapter Eight

The next few days pass in relative numbing repetition. They removed the tie blocking my vision, but it was pointless to blindfold me in the first place. I am sure Aramis just wanted to prove, once more, that he is the one in charge, and I roll my eyes at the thought.

I spent the days riding with him, now stiff and quiet since our previous argument. Nero occasionally rides up and makes some small talk before he takes off to scout the forest before us. If we come upon streams, we take brief breaks to water the horses and allow me to tend to Edmund's wound. He is recovering his strength faster than the average human or creature. It is the Goddess' blessing that he fairs so well as we endure this treacherous pass.

"Tell me more about the Elementals," I ask Aramis as I reach out and slowly run my fingers along our stallion's neck. The movement causes my position to shift, my hips pressing into him. His body tenses behind me at the movement. "I have only met two Elementals in my entire life. It was a man and a woman traveling through Bellevue but I never got a chance to pick their brains," I add, hoping to spark a conversation interesting enough to distract me from this torture of a journey.

"Please indulge my curiosity, your Majesty," I jokingly plea, and tentatively ask. "It appears that most of you have some sort of magical affinity, and you heal quickly?"

What else do I really know about my captors, except that Aramis is the prince of Shadowvale and has the power to manipulate the air around us?

Behind me, Aramis clears his throat. "Fine. Most elementals are born with some small spark of magic, while others have magic burning in their veins like liquid gold," he says with pride in his voice. "It's our magic that separates us from one another." The tenor of his voice is filled with as much joy as it is pride, and the change is welcoming. There's a joyful, curious boy in that hardened man, and I find myself begging an audience with the boy as much as the man commands it.

"Ye'll find those born with stronger power are recruited to train in the palace or royal guard," Nero quips in, giving Aramis a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Just look at the company mo charaid here keeps." With a grin, he creates a blue orb of fire in his palm then blows, sending a hundred blue butterflies of living flame dancing around us. I have seen traveling minstrels perform similar illusions with fire but never with such skill as his. I wonder once more if my assumptions about his true nature are correct. The heat of the fire magic pulses in the air until the creatures disappear in a puff of smoke and ash.

"You'll also find that some of us have more important qualities beyond wasting our magic on cheap parlor tricks," Aramis responds through clenched teeth.

"What other magic do elementals possess?" I inquire, turning to face Nero riding beside us.

"We are long-lived, with memories just as lengthy as–" Nero continues, grinning widely at me.

Aramis clears his throat, cutting his friend off, not entertained by his interruptions. He continues with a lecturing tone, "Most elemental families pass on the same elemental line: earth, wind, water, and fire. However, very rarely is a child born with powers outside their family, or duo wielders. Every person in Shadowvale has a purpose, a role to play to keep the kingdom prosperous."

"Ma mother was a fire elemental, as was her mother an' on and' on as far as our family records indicate," Nero cuts in, stretching his arms behind his head as he leans back on his horse. "The royal family has alway comprised rulers who've been attuned to the air elemental for the last five hundred years. At least the male line has. Aramis's mother–"

"Enough," Aramis orders, this is the second time he interrupts one of his guards at the mention of his mother. His voice is edged with pain in the command. I study him discreetly, learning more about him with that command than he realizes. A swirl of sympathy churns in my stomach, and I begin to suspect that there's a tragedy there. "It's getting dark. Thankfully, we are nearly at the next clearing."

As night falls, we break for camp. This temporary reprieve allows me to analyze my situation as I sneak pieces of meat strips to Lemon. He isn't happy after being confined to my pocket most of the day, but I am worried about what will happen if he is detected. As everyone settles for the night, I place my roll as far from his royal highness as I can, but his eyes burn into my skin long after I've fallen asleep.

***

The next day, I find myself in front of Aramis again, trotting quickly down the path. My body protests with aching pains as each beat of Percy's hooves takes us closer to Shadowvale. I don't know how I am going to survive two to three more days stuck on a horse with Aramis, but I'm even more terrified of what awaits me when we reach Shadowvale. I turn my attention back to the forest, anything to keep my mind from worrying about my fate. A silver leaf tree I have never seen before appears among the surrounding trees. I sit up straight, whipping my head to see over his shoulder.

"What?" He briefly glances behind us.

"I thought I saw a tree with silver leaves." Turning more to face him, I glance at another two silver trees in the distance as we continue to pick up speed. My eyes widen as a broad smile spreads across my face, causing my cheeks to tingle with excitement. My heart beats faster with joy as I take in the vibrant scene before me. The flash of silver is the most interesting thing I've seen for days. I point ahead where a cluster of trees lines the trail. "There! Up ahead! I've never seen anything like it."

"They are silver apple trees. We call them pomme d'argent. They're native to Shadowvale and only grow north of the Argentsang Forest." His eyes take on a faraway look as he makes a quiet sound of pleasure. "They make the best apple pastries you'll ever taste, sweet caramelized apples, wrapped in warm flakey dough."

"That explains why I've never seen them before." My mouth salivates at the thought of warm, sweet pastries.

"As children, Nero and I got in trouble in the kitchens countless times because we'd steal pomme d'argent pastries off the cooling racks." Aramis confides with a soft chuckle. "There's nothing like them." His friendly and generous conversation is unexpected, and it shocks me to my core.

"Aramis, What ar—"

"I nev—". We both stare at each other sheepishly, as we realize we've spoken at the same time. I bite my lip to stave off my entertainment. Aramis looks grave at the thought of being interrupted.

We fall back into silence, nothing but the distant chirping of birds. I watch, feeling the cool air of the forest around me as the apple trees start multiplying, turning the forest into shades of silver. Do the darker shades show age in the trees? The cascade of silvers is stunning. Light reflects off the petals with a rainbow hue. Percy slows down to a brisk walk as the path narrows.

"What is Shadowvale like? None of my books reached that far on the continent. I've only seen it on maps and heard few stories from passing travelers," I ask with interest. Stretching, I reach forward, letting my fingers run through the horse's tangled mane. It's a matted mess, reminding me that my own hair must look atrocious.

"Shadowvale is more than just the castle, if that's what you're asking." Aramis pauses and I hold my breath, wondering if I've asked the wrong question. He shifts behind me. Putting his weight into the stirrups, he pushes to a stand, reaching up. Aramis wraps his hand around a plump silver apple above us and I watch curiously as he snaps it off the branch and hands it to me once he settles back behind me. The brush of his hand against mine sends unexpected sensations through my body, landing in my core. I roll the apple between my hands, marveling at its matte silver surface, dully catching the light.

"Thank you," I murmur, conflicted by my emotions. The thoughtfulness of his actions surprises me.

"You're welcome," he replies with warmth in his voice.

"Is it sweet?"

"They're saccharine," he remarks. "Try it."

I hesitantly bite into the apple, my eyes closing, and a small moan escapes my lips. My mouth floods with extraordinary sweetness; the combined taste of honey, citrus, and pear.

"This is sensational," I sigh, the lingering taste of the silver apple in my mouth. I lean back in delight, my head landing unexpectedly on his chest. I tense, waiting for a reaction from Aramis that never comes before continuing, relishing in this shared moment. "I love apples–and I think I may have just discovered my new favorite kind."

"They are the pride of Shadowvale," Aramis replies, and I can hear a smile in his voice. "Cook always makes the best pastries in the winter when they ripen."

"My mother and I used to pick lavender together in the fall." A tear pricks at the corner of my eyes as the memory surfaces but the wind soon whisks it away. "We'd hang most of it to dry for infusions and poultices, but she would always save extra for us to make lavender shortbread cookies. She used to teach herbology at Nova Esther before I was born–" my voice catches on the last words. She wanted me to follow in her hoof steps when she saw my interest in herbology as a young colt.

"I love shortbread, but I don't think I've ever had lavender shortbread. What is Nova Esther?" He asks as he reaches forward to pat Percy on the neck. His palm brushes against mine, sending a jolt of sensation up my arm and my breath to catch.

"It's the healer's academy in Kallistar. Healers come from all across Craeweth to study there." Except me. My gut clenches at the thought. No, I will get out of this and I will make my way to finish my studies. "Where are your healers trained if they don't go to Nova Esther, in Shadowvale?"

"Those born with the gift of healing magic, or the will to train in the art of healing, apprentice with senior healers," he replies. "It's one of the things I love about Shadowvale. Everyone has a purpose."

"What else do you love so well about your province?" I ask, encouraged by this engaging conversation. But Aramis sighs, a touch of sadness in his voice.

"What?" I ask, frustrated. "What did I say now?"

"I shouldn't be talking to you… like this, Sybil," he whispers in my ear, careful his men cannot hear us. "You are my prisoner. And I know none of the evidence seems to suggest that you are working with the rebels, but no matter how much I'd like to know more about you, about your life... I can't." His tone is softer than usual, but I still bristle at his words.

"All I want is to have a peaceful conversation to pass the time," I snarkily reply. "We've been on the road forever. I haven't slept in a proper bed, taken a hot bath, or eaten a hot meal at a table since Bolide eve!" Why does this always happen? I groan internally. We make an inch of progress with little satisfaction, and then Aramis always recoils from any trust we build.

Silence meets me.

"If you don't want to hold a conversation with me, perhaps have me ride with one of the other guards–"

"No," Aramis says, his arms stiffen, pressing my back further against his chest, setting off a whirl of emotions. "You will ride with no male except me."

"Do you not trust them?" I inquire.

"I trust them with my life," he replies without hesitation.

"But?" The unspoken words hang between us. He doesn't trust me. I close my eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the stallion's hooves rhythmically cantering down the path.

Silence stretches between us before he sighs behind me, one of his arms releasing the reins to slide in front of me. My heart and breath speed at the close contact of the gentle weight of his forearm pressed against my waist.

"You don't trust me." I state flatly, and my heart aches, more than I'd have ever thought it could, at the words of a stranger.

"I don't trust any shifters," Aramis says contemptuously, and before I can respond, he adds with a whisper, "I am sorry." Taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, I stay silent.

The gravity of my situation crashes on me with uncomparable might. These last few days had seemed to be the answer to my prayers for a life full of adventure and purpose. Like one of the heroes in my books, I stood up to my captors, tried to escape, fought a chimera and showed the grumpy Prince that even a damsel in distress can be a pain in his arse. But there was never going to be a happy ending waiting for me at the end of this journey. No matter how many times I crack Aramis's tough exterior, he is still my captor, and he will deliver me to the king and queen, just like he's been ordered to.

"I get it," I reply softly. "You know Aramis, I might be the one that was kidnapped from her home, but I have a feeling you are a prisoner just as much as I am." He tenses behind me but I do not dare turn around to read his expression. "I am not a fool, Prince. I know I have lost all my chances at escape. I will face the King and Queen of Shadowvale and prove to them that I am innocent. Goddess knows that if there's anything the time shared with your lot has taught me, it's that I have to stand up for myself. I am done being shackled by fear." I straighten my back, suddenly more confident as I have spoken those words into existence.

"You are brave, Sybil," he says after a moment, and I notice he has stopped calling me prisoner, or shifter…

I sit in stunned silence, unsure how to respond to his sudden comment. Brave? I scoff internally at myself. If I was brave, I would have packed my bags for Nova Esther years ago and be neck deep in my studies at this point. But, I am not the girl I was five or even ten years ago.

Aramis straightens behind me, his grip loosening on the reins before us. "Queen Tricella is not my favorite person. She married my father shortly after the death of my mother." He pauses, releasing a deep exhale before continuing. "Shortly after she was crowned queen consort, the rebel attacks started to become more violent. Be wary of her. She is power hungry and vicious. The Queen also has a court seer. He is just as bad as she is, don't trust any of them. His visions are supposed to help us catch the shifters before they attack the villages, but every time he gives us directions, we're always too late and innocent people are already dead. Nero and I have been studying the shifter rebel attacks that have happened in Shadowvale for the past 100 years. We have studied their modus operandi, tried to find diplomatic ways to end the bloodshed, but I keep thinking there is something we are missing… something lurking in the shadows that we are yet to discover. According to some indiscretion, there might even be different groups of rebels. Some acting more violently than others. The last towns we were sent to, the destruction felt… different–"

"Why are you telling me this?" Cold fear coils in my gut. How am I supposed to appeal to monarchs of a kingdom who have been attacked repeatedly by shifters for over a century?

Aramis leans forward, his voice barely a whispered caress against my ear, "I have made it evident that I do not love shifters. But I am not a cruel male. I do not delight in the torture of innocents. I might not be able to free you, but I can help you reach the dais in the throne room knowing who you are fighting against."

His sudden change in demeanor shocks my system, but I will take any advantage I can get to plead my case to his kingdom. And maintain this fragile change in our relationship. I whisper, "Tell me more."