Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

MIRELLA

A nger was a fire in my gut on the long walk back to the Embervale. Night had fallen, and the shadows were thicker than ever as we trudged the leaf-strewn path. Screeches, grunts, and the sound of shuffling footsteps followed our progress.

I paid the noises little attention as thoughts of revenge tumbled through my mind.

As before, Andrin and Rane walked ahead of me, neither slowing as we endured the long hours of seething shadow and chattering, disembodied screams. Kassander and his men were a silent, menacing presence at my back.

The air was as stagnant and oppressive as before, and sweat gathered at my nape and built under my collar. The tenderness between my thighs drove my rage higher with every step.

Uncertainty joined it. Andrin had left the Covenant without the Kree. Either my father didn’t have it, or he refused to hand it over. Both scenarios put my future in jeopardy. If Andrin couldn’t use me as a bargaining chip, what use did he have for me? Quite possibly, my life was forfeit.

Fear trembled through me. But another, harder emotion followed. If I had no future, I had nothing to lose. My choices were these: die or die dragging Andrin with me. It wasn’t a difficult decision. And if I could take Rane, too? Maybe I wouldn’t die happy, but I’d settle for satisfied.

By the time we passed under the arch leading to the Embervale’s courtyard, stars studded the sky, and flickering torches danced on the castle’s walls. Leaves floated toward the ground, their edges silvered with moonlight.

Ginhad met us at the base of the steps that led to the main keep, his pale hair gleaming white in the moonlight.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to Andrin. His shoulders sagged as he looked around our bedraggled party. “It…didn’t go well?”

Andrin’s voice was clipped. “Our journey was unfruitful. Where is Othor?”

“His lordship is presiding over tonight’s feast, sire. Will you join him? I’m sure you’re starved.” Ginhad glanced at me. “I’ll send servants to attend?—”

“No,” Andrin said. “Have food and wine brought to my quarters. Did Lady Vivia encounter any difficulty in the Edelfen while I was away?”

“Not that I know of, Your Majesty. She rode out on Thraxos about an hour ago.”

Rane was suddenly alert. “She rode out now ?”

“Unaccompanied?” Andrin asked, his brow creased in obvious concern.

Ginhad swallowed. “Ah, yes, Your Majesty. A-And my lord. I advised her ladyship against patrolling the forest alone. She replied that she wouldn’t be alone because Thraxos would be with her.”

Kassander made a low sound. “Vivia is always trying to prove herself,” he said, his tone edged with both frustration and concern. He motioned toward the two Shadow Eaters standing beside him. “No matter how often we tell her she has nothing to prove, she never seems to listen.”

Andrin’s jaw clenched. “I’ll go look for her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Rane said.

A horse’s whinny cut the air. I spun toward the arch as Vivia thundered through it on the back of Thraxos. The horse’s eyes were wild. Blood gushed from deep gashes in his flank. Droplets sprayed the courtyard’s stones as the animal charged toward us.

In a graceful, controlled movement, Vivia slipped from the horse’s back while he was still in motion. She hit the ground at a run and brought Thraxos to a halt with a firm grip on the reins.

The horse reared, his eyes rolling as he released a terrified scream. A flailing hoof caught Vivia in the space where her breastplate met the piece of armor that covered her shoulder. She spun away with a pained cry.

Chaos exploded. Andrin and Rane ran to subdue the horse. Kassander went to Vivia, who appeared to recover quickly. The castle doors opened, and Othor rushed down the stairs, his staff hefted above the ground.

“Careful, Andrin!” he shouted as Andrin struggled with the horse. The animal reared again. When he crashed to all four hooves, Andrin promptly drew him forward.

The animal settled, his nostrils flaring. The coppery scent of blood soaked the air. Rivulets of it clotted in the ugly wounds on the animal’s side.

“He lost his blindfold,” Vivia said, shaking off Kassander. Hands extended in a cautious gesture, she moved to the horse’s other side and touched his muzzle. “We were overcome at the edge of the forest.”

Andrin looked at her sharply. “Just now?”

“Yes, sire. We were ambushed.” Her tone turned bitter as she stroked the horse’s mane. “The Edelfen wanted Thraxos. It went right for his blindfold, but it was careful not to blind him. And—” Vivia stifled her sentence.

“What is it?” Rane asked.

Anxiety etched Vivia’s features. “The shadows pursued us into the meadow. It was like nothing held them back.”

Andrin released Thraxos’s reins, then barked a series of rapid-fire orders. “Vivia, take Thraxos to the stable. Othor will accompany you and heal the damage. Kassander, you and your men are with Rane and me.” He swung toward Ginhad. “Take Mirella inside and find her something to eat.”

Rane caught Andrin’s eye. At Andrin’s nod, Rane shifted swiftly into a crow and flew from the courtyard.

Andrin signaled to Kassander and the Shadow Eaters, who twisted into their were forms and ran or galloped toward the arch. Andrin followed, his strides eating up the ground. As he passed under the arch, he shifted into an elk and sprinted from the courtyard.

The sudden silence was deafening. Slowly, I turned to find Vivia examining Thraxos’s injuries. Her black cloak reached to her ankles. She wore her hair in a single fat braid that left her neck bare. Abruptly, I realized I’d never seen her without a scarf or high collar.

Now I knew why.

Thick, puffy scars marred her throat, their jagged edges twisting across what had once been intricate sigils. If the symbols had ever resembled vines or animals, they were unrecognizable now, the designs distorted by shiny, pale tissue.

As if she felt my eyes on her, Vivia stiffened and then spun around. She lifted a hand to her throat, then seemed to catch herself and jerked it down.

“Go on,” she said tightly. “Get an eyeful.”

My face heated. Othor observed me with a cool expression. Ginhad offered Vivia a slightly frazzled smile.

“Let me help you get Thraxos to the stable, my lady. He needs attention.”

Vivia acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do my scars repulse you?” she asked me.

“No,” I said evenly. The injury must have nearly killed her. It looked like something had tried to rip her throat out.

She took a threatening step toward me, her blue eyes shooting sparks. “I don’t need pity from a human.”

Thraxos gave a low groan. He dropped his head, stumbling on suddenly shaking legs. Bright red blood pumped from the gashes on his flank.

Vivia whirled. “Thraxos!”

I moved without thinking, rushing to her side and laying hands above the wounds.

“What are you doing?” Vivia snarled. “Don’t touch him!”

Heat sparked under my hands. Black visions flooded my mind, formless shapes spinning in a whirlwind that sent dizziness crashing through me. I clenched my teeth against the onslaught, my hands pressed to Thraxos’s side.

The spinning vortex seethed, expanding and then rushing toward me. My heart raced, and panic sank sharp claws into my chest as the shadows crowded me.

Trapped. I was trapped. Lightning flashed behind my closed eyelids. The panic intensified. I couldn’t get out. I had to… I needed to run. My heart raced, and wind whipped through my mane.

The meadow stretched ahead. The Embervale rose behind it. I had to run. Shadows licked at my heels. Fire streaked down my side.

No. Pressing my palms more firmly against Thraxos’s flank, I forced another image into my mind. In the vision, he galloped through a sunlight field, muscle rippling under a sleek, healthy coat.

Gold flared, painting the insides of my eyelids. Agony streaked down my side, and I breathed through it as energy spiraled within me, a tower of it climbing…climbing. My palms burned. The tower streaked down my arms.

I opened my eyes as light flashed under my hands. Thraxos snorted, a shiver racing over his flank. His wounds closed, sealing shut with no trace of a scar.

Fire wrapped from my collarbone to the base of my spine. Swallowing a whimper, I lowered my hands and stepped back. Thraxos’s sides expanded, and he snorted a horsey sigh. Swishing his tail, he swung his head toward me and gently butted my shoulder, releasing a gust of warm, oat-scented air that fluttered the hair at my temples.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

Vivia gaped at the horse. After a moment, she lifted a trembling hand and stroked over the dried blood that marked where the gashes had healed. Then she turned wide eyes to me.

“You healed him.”

Wariness drifted through me. People could be weird about their horses. And Vivia hated my guts. “He was hurting. I hated to see him suffer.”

Vivia stared at me a moment longer. Then she moved swiftly, clasping my shoulders and resting her forehead against mine.

I stiffened. My heart thumped as my vision narrowed to the blurry bridge of her nose. For one wild second, I thought she might kiss me.

But she simply…held me, her hands gentle on my shoulders and her forehead cool against mine. After a few bewildering seconds, she released me and stepped back.

“Thank you,” she murmured, deference in her blue eyes. I was still working up a response when she took Thraxos’s reins and led him from the courtyard.

As the horse’s soft clip-clops faded, Ginhad smiled at me. “You’ve been holding out on me, Mirella. This whole time, you could have been healing my hangovers. Instead, you let me suffer.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll learn how cause and effect works,” I said.

“I know how it works.” He swept a hand down his body. “Men bring me drinks ‘cause I look like this.” He chuckled.

Othor was quiet, his placid expression fixed in place.

Ginhad sobered. “Um…” He focused on me. “The king said I should find you something to eat.”

“Not just yet,” Othor said, crossing to me in a rustle of robes. He rested the tip of his staff on the ground, his blue stare penetrating as he studied me. “I’d like to show you something. If you’re willing.”

My heart sped up again. He wasn’t demanding. So why did it feel like I couldn’t refuse?

Othor turned to Ginhad. “Have the kitchen send a meal to the king’s chamber. I’ll escort Lady Mirella upstairs in a moment.”

Ginhad hesitated.

“She’s a healer,” Othor added, turning back to me. “Would you like to see your elven ancestry?”

Curiosity sparked in my chest. Andrin had been dismissive of my connection to Ishulum. My father had locked all evidence of my mother’s life away. Here was an opportunity to learn something about where I came from. I might not get another one.

“Yes,” I heard myself say. “I’d like that.”

Othor dismissed Ginhad, then led me through the maze of terraces. Leaves drifted past us, some fading as they brushed my hair and gown. Othor’s staff clicked quietly against the stone pavers as he touched the tip to the ground with every other step. The moon was a heavy disk in the sky, which twinkled with stars.

“Vivia honored you,” Othor said.

I swung my gaze toward him. “She did?”

He nodded, his long robes brushing my skirts. “The Shadow Eater’s embrace. They don’t make themselves vulnerable very often.” Othor stared at a point in the distance, his expression thoughtful. “Vivia’s were was a lynx. She lost her beast in the Edelfen. The severing of the bond should have killed her, but Andrin and I brought her back. Thraxos is precious to her. In healing him, you’ve earned a friend in Vivia.”

Vivia as a friend? I couldn’t picture it. But I’d seen what Thraxos endured in the Edelfen. Some of the ice around my heart thawed as I realized why she covered his eyes when she rode.

“Could she bond with Thraxos?” I asked.

Othor shook his head. “The bond happens once in a lifetime. Our weres become one with us. And for most in Autumn, they die with us. Vivia is a rare exception.” His blue eyes met mine briefly. “She suffered a great deal when she lost her were . Pain can be a burden. When a person carries a lot of it, instinct can drive them to push that weight onto others.”

The thaw around my heart stopped. Vivia’s story was moving, but a painful past didn’t justify the way she’d treated me. I didn’t know Othor well enough to argue with him, however, so I held my tongue.

Shadows huddled on either side of the path, rousing memories of the Edelfen. I glanced at Othor. “If Vivia and the others can eat shadows, why don’t they remove all of them?”

Othor shook his head. “You and I need water to live, but too much of it can kill. The Shadow Eaters can only consume so much before they’re overwhelmed. They fight a losing battle.”

The path narrowed. When a tall, vine-covered wall loomed ahead of us, I slowed. “This is the King’s Grove.”

Othor stopped in a rustle of robes. “Did Andrin bring you here?”

I couldn’t lie. Not when I’d already admitted I recognized the grove. “Just once.” Confusion gripped me. “You said you would show me my ancestry.”

He raised a brow. “You were expecting a book?”

I opened my mouth—then shut it. Had I expected a book? “Yes,” I said, “but I probably should have known it wouldn’t be that straightforward.”

Othor laughed, and the expression transformed his face, making him more youthful and handsome. He gestured toward the grove’s gated arch. “It’s anything but straightforward. But I think you’ll find it a lot more interesting than ink and parchment.”

We entered the King’s Grove, ending up at the base of the lofty Edeloak with its oversized leaves. Visions of the box and the skeleton hand paraded through my head, and I suppressed a shiver.

Othor stood beside me, his head tipped back as he stared at the tree. “The Edeloak is older than the Covenant. Every king of Autumn has stood beneath its branches.” He lifted a hand, and a soft, golden light suffused his palm. “The leaves tell us things if we care to listen.”

Power filled the air, and I held my breath as the tree began to glow. It started at the bottom and spread upward, climbing the trunk and then spreading over the hundreds of branches.

A warm breeze stirred my hair. As the light swelled, the King’s Grove glowed like it was midday. Gold raced down branches like a river rushing into tributaries. One by one, the tree’s leaves lit up, reds and oranges blazing like they’d been dipped in gold.

Then, faces appeared in the leaves. My breath caught, awe spreading through me. The Edeloak wasn’t just a tree. It was a family tree, each leaf adorned with an elf’s portrait. They were beautiful as all elves were, their noble features frozen in everlasting youth. Male and female, some wore crowns while others had woven vines and flowers into their hair.

Othor waved his hand. Suddenly, one network of branches shone more brightly than the others. A leaf near the top displayed a man with flowing copper hair and a stern expression.

“Emlyr Verdalis,” Othor murmured, “healer and High Priest of the Edelfen. He signed the Covenant and helped create Ishulum.”

The golden light traveled downward from Emlyr’s leaf, the blaze stinging my eyes as it sizzled to dozens of leaves. Other faces appeared as the light continued to travel, branching and forming new connections. The spectacle continued until, finally, after dozens of splits, the column of light illuminated a leaf on one of the Edeloak’s lowest branches.

My own face stared back at me. Emotion stirred in my chest, disbelief mingling with wonder and something fragile and tentative. I didn’t recognize it at first. But that was because I’d never felt it until that moment.

Belonging.

“You are part of Autumn,” Othor said at my shoulder. “Your blood connects you to Ishulum.” He pointed to a patch of brown grass at the bottom of the tree. Dead, brittle-looking leaves huddled on the ground, conjuring memories of Andrin sweating as he revealed the Edeloak’s rot.

“The land is unwell,” Othor said gravely. “No living thing can survive without a heart, and Autumn is no exception.” With a sharp flick of his hand, the family tree vanished. The golden light snuffed out, plunging the King’s Grove into shadow.

I turned, blinking as my eyes adjusted. Othor’s face was a pale oval in the gloom.

“Your father created the sickness that plagues this kingdom,” he said. “But you can heal it.”

“Me?” Understanding dawned, and I shook my head. “My gift works best on animals. And my magic has limits. I can’t revive the dying. And as much as I might want to, I can’t replace a heart.”

Running footsteps made Othor turn. Ginhad rushed toward us, his silver hair doing its best to escape its ribbon. “Apologies for the interruption, but the king and Lord Rane have returned. Andrin is injured.”

Othor was moving before Ginhad finished his sentence. “See to Lady Mirella,” he called over his shoulder.

As he disappeared around the fountain, I hurried to Ginhad. “How bad is it?”

“Some blood. A lot of cursing.”

I gathered my skirts. As we rushed up the path, a flash of silver on the ground stopped me. It was the knife Rane had taken from me the night he dragged me across the Covenant. The same blade I’d thrust into his stomach.

“What is it?” Ginhad asked as I bent. His eyes widened when they fell on the knife. “Oh.”

“It’s mine,” I said, fingering the design on the hilt. “But I have no idea how it ended up in the grove.” After a second, I held it out to him. “Here.”

He stared at the blade. Then he looked at me with clear green eyes. “If it’s yours, you should keep it.”

“But…” I swallowed, my throat bobbing against the collar. “I’m a prisoner here.”

“Not to me.”

My heart flipped over. I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear.

He squeezed me back. “Just promise you won’t stab me.”

Laughing, I released him. “I won’t. Not even if you forget to bring me food.”

“It was one time!” He took my arm and pulled me up the path. As we made our way from the King’s Grove, he glanced at the knife and spoke under his breath. “Better put that thing away. Also, I’d really love it if you refrained from stabbing other people, too. The king would probably figure out I let you keep the knife, and he’d?—”

“Turn you into a throw rug?” I asked, slipping the knife in my pocket.

Ginhad grunted, moving us along more quickly as we neared the courtyard. “I was thinking more like using my entrails to make a necklace. But, sure, we can stick with throw rug.”