Chapter 17

" M other above!" I curse for what must be the hundredth time in the last hour as my feet slide on the shale, my knee stinging where I banged it against the rock I've been trying to climb. I brush bits of stone from my hands and rub at my sore palms. A shadow falls over me, and I know who it is before they speak from the small tug in my chest.

"Let me help you." Vaeril's low purr rolls over me, and when I glance up, I see he's holding out his hand for me to take. We've exited the forest and entered the foothills of the mountains, but I've been struggling getting up some of the steeper parts. Tor assured me that once we're past this ridge, it gets easier, but I'm not sure I believe him. We're walking this part, and the horses seem to be finding this much easier than I am.

Reaching out, I take Vaeril's proffered hand with a smile. "Thank you." Helping me to my feet, he assists me over the rock I've been struggling to climb as Tor makes his way down, only just realising we've fallen behind again. He's completely in his element here, ascending the rocks with ease.

Naril snorts. "He's your favourite now that the mage has gone, huh?" The muscles in my back go rigid with tension at his snarky comment, and I spin around to face him, my expression dark.

"Naril…" Vaeril warns, watching me warily, obviously feeling my anger through the bond.

"Make one more comment, Naril," I growl, holding up a single finger just in case he needs help counting, baring my teeth. Today is not a good day to tease or wind me up, especially about Grayson.

When we woke up this morning, the joy of our union and new bond had been overshadowed by the fact he had to leave. Of course, I knew this last night, but it had been bittersweet. The atmosphere when we had both left his tent was awkward at best, but Vaeril had surprised me and made an effort to ease things between us all. Tor kept throwing us looks, winking at Grayson before he left, and the confusion on the mage's face had made it difficult for me not to laugh. Over breakfast, we filled Grayson in on everything that had happened with the elven queen, my time with the wood elves, and my visions from the Great Mother.

He's been particularly distressed to learn about my conversation with Prince Rhydian at one of the balls in Arhaven when he told me that when they win the war, they plan to eradicate the magicians, and how the darkness is infecting the land. This just made him more determined to return to the guild to share what he learned with his fellow high mages.

The need to be with my new mate, while not as strong or possessive as with Vaeril, is still making me twitchy. My fae instincts are driving me to be with him, to touch him, to mate him. However, touching Vaeril helps assuage that feeling, making me less irritable, but if Naril keeps winding me up and needling me, I won't be responsible for my actions.

"I would listen, my friend," Tor advises as he reaches us, his eyes running over my tense frame. You don't have to have a sealed bond with me to see the violence in my body language right now.

Making a rude noise, the elf rolls his eyes as he continues to climb, nimbly jumping over the rocks. "I'm not your friend."

Knowing that the farther we get from the elves, the more Naril worries about his brother, I try to give him some slack. The reason I know is because I'm getting more and more concerned about Eldrin. Yet Naril made the decision to come with us, to follow me, so his foul mood is becoming too much, and I won't have him shaming me for connecting with my mates.

"Are you okay?" Tor asks, frowning at my now torn travelling dress as I turn my back on Naril.

"I'm fine, just irritable. I'm sorry." Between Naril and I, we can't be making this a very pleasant trip for them, but he just waves me off.

We continue to work our way up the mountainside, the horses just ahead of us, picking their way up as we follow behind. We make small talk, but otherwise just stay silent, lost within our own thoughts.

Until I stumble again.

"I suppose magic would be helpful right about now, wouldn't it?"

A rage so fierce runs through me that later, when I think back on this, I will be fearful that an emotion so strong and so wrathful came from me. My body goes completely still, my hands ball into fists, and I swear the mountain rumbles beneath me. "Right," I snarl, spinning to face him. Before I know it, I'm somehow right in front of him, his eyes wide with my face inches from his. "I've had enough of your comments," I spit, my teeth bared as I grab the collar of his jacket and throw him to the ground. It briefly flashes through the back of my mind that this is too easy, that I must have caught him off guard to have been able to throw an elf to the mountainside, but my instincts are in control right now. I pin him to the ground, kneeling on his wrists. Realistically, I shouldn't be able to keep him here. I'm lighter than him, and he has centuries of training over me, but my wrist is glowing purple and the air shimmers with the tang of magic, a strange magic unlike anything I've ever felt before.

Naril struggles against me, but I don't move an inch. Tor's laughter echoes around the mountains, making me smile. It's a feral, vicious kind of smile, and it makes Naril look nervous. Good . He turns his head and looks over at Vaeril for help.

"Don't look at me," Vaeril replies, and his tone catches my attention. When I glance over, I see that he's walking towards us, running his eyes over me with a possessive smile. "My strong mate," he purrs, sparking desire within me and pushing some of that rage down, giving me more control over my actions once again.

"I did warn you," Tor calls, and it's obvious he's finding this whole thing amusing.

"Look at me," I growl, shaking the elf beneath me. He winces, but I'm sure it's just because I'm embarrassing him. I couldn't have actually hurt him, I'm not strong enough. Am I? Pushing that thought away, I lower my face so I'm almost nose to nose with Naril. "Why are you here?" Each word is said through clenched teeth.

Confusion crosses his face. "What do you mean?"

I don't blame him, we've had this conversation before, but apparently, we need to have it again. "Why?" I demand, but I'm losing my anger now as hurt takes its place. Trying to grab hold of that rage, I focus on every foul thing he's ever said to me because it's easier to get through this if I'm angry. If I let my emotions take control, then I'll fall apart. "Why did you promise to follow me if you're going to berate me at every step?"

"Because I'm jealous," he shouts, making me sit back in surprise, my anger suddenly vanishing. Naril sits up and shuffles back a bit, watching me with a sheepish expression. It's not a look I've ever seen on his face before, and it's enough to take me aback. "I'm sorry, Clarissa." If I wasn't already sitting down, these words would have knocked me on my backside. I assumed he was worried about Eldrin and that was why he'd been getting progressively snappier, and perhaps that had contributed to it, but jealousy… That's when it hits me. Vaeril was missing for over a hundred years, then when Naril finally gets him back, I come along as his mate.

"Vaeril will always be your friend, I will never take him from you," I promise sincerely, as I press my palms to my chest.

Naril smiles half-heartedly and waves a hand at me. "Not him, you can have him."

Thoroughly confused, I glance over at Vaeril to see if he has any idea what his friend is talking about, but he appears just as perplexed as I do. Tor is just watching with an amused expression. "Then who?" Naril stares at me like he thinks I'm the stupidest person alive. A couple of seconds pass until a thought flashes into my mind. No. That can't be right , I chide myself, but the slight nod from Naril tells me I'm right. "Grayson?" I shout. Vaeril splutters something in elvish behind me, and Tor starts bellowing in laughter again. Ignoring them both, I lean forward so I can hear him better. "You're jealous of the magician? But you hate magicians!"

"I know!" He throws his hands up in the air in a ‘what can you do' gesture. "It's a confusing dilemma." I notice that he avoids looking at Vaeril as he speaks, and I know he's feeling a certain amount of shame at having feelings for someone he's supposed to hate. That I can understand. I guess there really is a fine line between love and hate. "Something about having all that power between your thighs…it's making me cranky." He tries to lighten the mood, and I smile at his attempt.

"If it makes you feel any better, I know several magicians I can introduce you to," I start, his eyes lighting up, but I pause as I remember the war our races are engaging in. "I mean, they may want to kill you, but…" I shrug, recalling what Grayson said about the magicians pulling their mages from the front lines. Perhaps change is on the horizon.

"I like a challenge." His eyes are bright, and I can't hold back my laugh, imagining the magicians I know while Naril stalks them like prey.

"Are you two okay now? Can we continue?" Tor asks, his tattooed arms folded across his chest as he smirks down at us. Glancing at the elf, we both laugh and push to our feet. We can't afford to sit around for long, we still have a long journey ahead of us, but I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me as we climb.

It takes days to get through the mountains, and although it's much colder up here and hard work navigating the uneven terrain, it's breathtakingly beautiful. Some areas we have to get off the horses and walk alongside them, carefully picking through rocks, but mostly we're able to ride, pitching our tents each evening. I sleep alone each night, despite the hot looks I receive from both Vaeril and Tor.

We've been riding for several hours, the sun is high in the sky, and I'm watching a golden hawk that's been following us for the last hour or so. It's a beautiful bird, the sun glinting off the distinctive gold colouring at the edges of its feathers as it uses the thermals to glide alongside us.

"Clarissa," Tor calls, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious as he pulls his horse up beside mine. I glance over and my smile drops. Something tightens inside me when I see his expression. "We'll be arriving at the meeting place soon."

"The meeting place?" I question, confused at the emphasis he puts on ‘meeting place,' like it's a title rather than a place to meet.

Taking pity on me, he smiles slightly, but it's tight. "It's where all the tribes gather to discuss business. Our leader, a group of her advisers, and her followers live there and maintain our sacred stone, where our religious rules are kept," he explains, his gaze going distant for a moment as he talks of his people. "They are the only tribe that doesn't wander like the rest of us, but they have a greater purpose." Taking a deep breath, he glances over at me again, but he looks worried, like he's not sure how I'm going to take what he's going to say next.

"Remember how I said that I took a magical oath?" He is almost pleading for understanding, so I nod my head, showing that I remember, but he's making me nervous. "Just know I couldn't tell you what you're about to learn, no matter how much I wanted to. Besides, until we arrive, I'm not even a hundred percent sure that I'm right about my suspicions anyway." He believes that about as much as I do.

Leaning back in my saddle, I run my eyes over him, taking in the change in his appearance. The whole journey, Tor has been his usual confident, charming self, but now he seems edgy and distant. "You're making me nervous, Tor."

Growling low in his throat, he runs a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze as he faces forward. "If I'm right, then you're about to find your family." Why doesn't he seem happy about that? This has been something he's been encouraging me to do, saying I should follow him to his people, that I would be welcome here. So why does he seem so different now?

"I don't understand." Staring at his profile, I grit my teeth when he refuses to look at me. I know he can feel my eyes on him because his jaw tightens as I watch. Clenching my hands around the reins, I breathe out slowly to stop myself from throwing something at him. Vaeril and Naril are riding just behind us, and I can feel their curious gazes on us, but they stay just far enough back that they're not actively involved in the conversation. I glance over my shoulder, and Naril quickly looks away, pretending he wasn't listening in, but my mate just tilts his head slightly to one side as if asking a question. Are you okay? I don't hear the words, but I feel them in that place where the bonds reside. That's what I like about Vaeril. He doesn't sugar-coat anything, no false smiles or honeyed words.

My lips twitch up into an imitation of a smile, and I nod my head slightly, turning back to the tribesman, who's now watching me with a frown.

I sigh, and my expression settles into a frown of my own. "Why are you acting so…different?"

Making a noise of frustration, he rubs one of his tattooed hands over his face. This is really un-Tor-like behaviour, so whatever is bugging him must be something big. Sitting upright in his saddle, he pulls at the reins, slowing his horse to a stop before holding up his hand to signal those behind us to do the same. The smell of smoke is in the air now, and if I listen closely, I can hear the sound of people, so we must be nearby. I haven't seen anyone, but we entered a valley a little while ago and have been following a freshwater spring. I have to admit this would be a good place to establish a permanent base. It's sheltered, hidden, and has a good water source, and I've seen evidence of plenty of animals around.

Vaeril and Naril bring their horses over so we are all gathered together, and as one, we turn to Tor, awaiting instruction. After all, he's the expert here. His eyes run over our group, but when they land on me, that's where they stay. "When we arrive, I will have to act in a different way than how you know me, and I apologise for that in advance." He winces as he speaks. To a certain extent, I understand. I've seen the same happen with Vaeril. People change when they're around their peers, but this is a completely different environment for me. In Arhaven, they used to whisper about the mountain tribes and their customs and brutal ways. I have no idea how much of that was rumour or truth, but I suppose I'm about to find out. Tor's eyes flit over my face as if sensing my anxiety. "I worry that once you learn the truth, you won't want to be bonded to me."

The way he phrases it gives me the impression he's not talking about their customs, but whatever ‘truth' about my family he thinks he knows. "Now I'm really nervous," I joke with a chuckle, but it falls flat, sounding forced. Tor seems to appreciate the effort, though, as he gives me a half smile.

"Tor, should we be concerned?" Vaeril inquires from my other side.

The question seems to offend the tribesman as he sits up in his saddle, looking even bigger than usual, his frown turning severe. "No, you will all be welcomed as honoured guests."

"Let's get this over with then." I'm not sure I can stand the suspense of not knowing for much longer. Knowing there are answers waiting for me just on the other side of the rocky ridge before us is making me feel sick with nerves. Excited. I'm excited, right? I try to convince myself, but the twisting in my gut tells me otherwise. Why am I suddenly filled with dread?

In silence, we all turn our horses and start following the path once more. Tor is in the lead with me behind him. Vaeril follows me with Naril protecting our backs. We ride for about fifteen minutes before the first horn sounds. It's loud, and I nearly topple from my horse as the deep, keening noise echoes from the rocks around us. It soon stops, and Tor doesn't seem bothered by it, but as we continue, another one sounds. It's eerie, like some giant creature calling for its lost mate, and it makes the hair stand up on my arms.

Feeling eyes on me, I glance around and see that Tor is watching me with a slight smile. "The watchers are signalling that someone is approaching," he explains, as the noise starts up again, closer this time.

I swivel my head around quickly, as if I can catch sight of whoever is making the noise, when I hear Tor's quiet chuckle. "I can't see anyone."

"They are hidden in the rock." He gestures to the wall of rock around us, which is full of crevices and ridges, perfect for hiding in.

"It's a loud noise for someone who is so well hidden," Naril calls out dryly from the back of our convoy, and he makes a fair point. Why be hidden if you're going to give away your position by making such a loud sound?

Tor grins now, but it's not a nice smile. "If we were unwanted, they would've used a different signal." I get the impression that if we were unwanted, that this signal would be rough and unpleasant. "We are expected, and she wants everyone to know we are arriving."

We all fall silent again as Tor faces forward, his tone not inviting conversation. I assume the ‘she' he mentioned is the leader of the tribes. When he spoke of her before, I always got the impression he admired her, since he worked closely with her, but now I'm not so sure.

The cliffs on either side of the valley are narrowing down now, and just ahead, I can see what looks like a crude archway of stone. The rock towers so high above us that it's blocking out the sunlight, and I can't fully blame the cold for the shiver that racks my body, as there's an eeriness about this place. My horse looks about nervously, so I lean forward and stroke her neck calmingly, cooing softly. Her ears flick back, and I know she's listening to me as she seems to settle.

Reaching the archway, I watch with bated breath as Tor enters on horseback, the darkness of the arch seemingly engulfing him. It's just a trick of the light , I assure myself. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Vaeril studying me with an intense expression, and I know that if I said I wanted to go back, he would turn his horse around right now. Beyond him, Naril is somehow able to look both bored and alert at the same time.

Looking back at the ominous archway, I take a deep breath as my horse walks under the rock. Everything goes dark, but almost immediately, light returns as the cliffs open into a large clearing. Large, circular tents made from animal hides are dotted around the space, and as we follow a well-worn trail through the center of the clearing, I see tall, carved stones lining the way. The meeting place is much larger than I expected it to be, but then I suppose when it's required for all of the tribes to come together, an enormous space would be needed. The tents are all spaced out and go on for as far as the eye can see, except I don't see many tribespeople. There are a few who stop when they see us, making a symbol with their hands before following us towards the center of the clearing.

Tor is sitting tall in his saddle in front of us, and when he turns his head, his face is hard, and I'm suddenly glad he warned me that he would have to act differently here. A couple of people call out in a language I don't recognise, and Tor greets them with a nod of his head or by raising his right hand in the air, his fist clenched, a gesture which they return with a triumphant cry. I refrain from looking over my shoulder to see if Vaeril is as confused as I am, and I'm grateful when he sends me a reassuring purr down the bond. It's an odd sensation to try and describe, but it warms me from the inside and makes me feel stronger somehow. Sitting taller, I keep my gaze forward as we continue our journey.

The terrain of the cliff on our right is changing, and we seem to be going uphill slightly. Reaching a plateau, we come to a stop, and my eyes widen at what lies before me, a gasp escaping my lips. The tents are much grander here, and this is obviously some sort of meeting point. Large chairs and wooden benches are placed in a circle around a bonfire. A ring of tall stones is strategically placed outside of the fire, each one intricately carved, but that's not what has me gasping. Just beyond the stones, the cliffside drops away, creating a vista point overlooking the rest of the mountains and showing the most beautiful view. I can see why this area was chosen for their meeting point and sacred stones. It's enclosed, safe, beautiful, and it feels…magical.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?"

The voice catches me by surprise, and it's one I've never heard before, but for some reason, I feel like it's a voice I've known my whole life. It's familiar, yet belongs to a stranger. Turning from the view, I realise with surprise that I've drifted away from the others. I hadn't realised I'd moved away from them. Looking for the source of the voice, I see a woman standing by the entrance of one of the large tents facing the standing stones. A jolt of something goes through me as our eyes meet, and I instantly know who she is.

"High Chief," Tor greets, quickly dismounting from his horse before crossing his arm over his chest and bowing slightly. He hurries over to my side and offers me his arm. I don't need his help to get off my horse, but because I don't know the customs here, and the woman who's obviously the chief is watching me closely, I take his arm and climb down from my saddle. Once on solid ground, I take in the woman before me and can tell she's doing exactly the same—sizing me up. "Clarissa, this is High Chief Revna."

She's wearing an outfit similar to the men's, with a leather breastplate fitted over her chest and hide pants. She's muscled but slim like me, and she has the pale skin and dark hair of the tribespeople. This woman looks like she's had many hardships in her life. Scars litter her skin, and as I look closer, her tattoos seem to wrap around them like frames, honouring her struggles as victories rather than hiding them as impurities. In her braided hair, she wears a headdress of feathers and ribbon, marking her status. Like every other tribesperson I've met, she looks intimidating, especially as she stares down at me, her dark eyes boring into mine.

Realising I should be bowing or something, I dip my head in a show of respect, and when I look back up, her eyes are sparkling with amusement and the corner of her mouth is twitching up into a smile.

"High Chief," Tor calls again, gesturing to my elven companions, and I don't miss the flicker of annoyance in her eyes before she schools her expression into one of neutral interest. "This is High Elf Lord Vaeril, Clarissa's mate, and High Elf Lord Naril, her companion and protector." As tribesman introduces them, they dismount and join me with Vaeril close at my side. I can feel how difficult this is for my mate through the bond, his instincts on high alert with all these people gathering to watch us. They might not mean us any harm, but the mountain tribes are an intimidating bunch.

"Mate and protector. Interesting," the chief drawls, her tone dry as her eyes run over them, and I get the impression she's less than impressed that they're here. So much for Tor's promise of ‘welcome honoured guests.' Quickly dismissing the elves, she moves her attention back to me, her eyes brightening with an emotion I'm unable to place before it vanishes as she takes a step towards me. "Welcome home, Clarissa," she starts, finally smiling. Her body language changes, and her face lights up. I get the feeling she doesn't smile often, but when she does, it's genuine. "As Torsten said, I am the elected high chief of the mountain tribesmen, but I am more than that." She pauses, and I swear I see her hands tremble for a second before she balls them into fists and crosses her arms over her chest, except that can't be right. This strong woman couldn't possibly be nervous or scared. "Do you know who I am to you?"

"You're my aunt," I answer with certainty, and I've never been surer of anything in my life. Looking at this woman is like looking at myself in thirty years' time. While I may be slighter in build, I have the same dark hair and eyes, and the same pale skin, all the things that made me stand out in Arhaven. My more delicate frame and high cheek bones must be from my father's fae side, but the similarities between me and the woman in front of me is undeniable.

The leader of the mountain tribes is my aunt. Glancing across at Tor, I arch an eyebrow, silently telling him we'll be having words later. He at least has the decency to wince slightly at my look before straightening when Revna glances over at him. When he said that my aunt was with his tribe, I assumed she was being protected by them. Had it crossed my mind that she was one of them? No. I'd not given much thought to what she would be like or held much hope that any of this would actually be true.

"How is this possible?" Vaeril looks as confused as I feel, Naril more so as he looks between me and the chief. More tribespeople have joined us now, making the large clearing suddenly feel smaller as they watch me. The group is made up of four males and two females, all of varying ages, a couple of whom grin over at Tor and start as if to greet him, but they stop when they see me.

"Is that her?" one of the males whispers reverently. He looks to be about Tor's age and has shorter hair than the others, wearing it in a mohawk instead of the longer braided style they seem to favour.

One of the females punches his shoulder and gestures towards me. "Look at her, of course it is."

Chief Revna watches them with a raised eyebrow and shakes her head before returning her attention back to me. "Let's go inside where you can rest and we can discuss everything." She gestures to the large tent she exited from originally. "I'm sure it has been a long journey for you." She gives me a slight smile again before disappearing through the flaps of the tent.

Staring after her, I take a deep breath. A hand touches my back, startling me, but when I glance over, I see it's Vaeril. I give him a tight smile, answering his silent question with a nod. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. If I say it enough times, it makes it true, right?

Seemingly as one, we begin to walk towards the tent, but I stop, realising we just left our horses. Vaeril pauses, but I wave him on. "I just want to get something from my bag." He frowns, but the two elves make their way to the tent. A couple of tribespeople are sorting our horses for us, but I didn't want to leave my wayfinder in my bag. It's not that I don't trust them, but it's one of my only possessions, and I cherish it. Thankfully, they haven't taken my horse away yet, so I'm able to reach up and rummage through my bag until I find the small wrapped package. Smiling, I slide it into my pocket and stroke my horse's neck. "Thank you for carrying me here." Naril used to make fun of me for talking to my horse, but I know she listened to me, and right now, as she blinks her large eyes at me, I know she's acknowledging my gratitude.

Turning, I go to make my way to the tent and see that Tor has joined some of the males who are gathered to the side. They obviously know each other and are greeting him fondly with smiles and claps on the back, which he returns, laughing at something one of them says. A smile appears on my lips as I watch him. It's nice to see him with his own people. Not that Tor would ever say otherwise, but it must have been hard for him to be away from them, surrounded by strangers who are always watching and analysing his every move. Just like it has been for you your entire life , my mind whispers, but I push those thoughts away.

I pass just behind them, not wanting to interrupt him when he hasn't seen his peers for such a long time, so I walk by quietly, reaching out to push past the hide entrance of the tent.

"Congratulations, Torsten."

Something about the voice makes me pause. I know I shouldn't be listening in, but my gut is insisting I need to hear this. "You found the lost child and brought her back to us when no one else could."

The lost child? Does he mean me? Lifting my head, I look over to Tor to see he's watching me, his eyes locked onto mine. The man at his side doesn't seem to register the horrified expression Tor is wearing. He claps Tor on the back. "You will be hailed a hero in our tales. You will be made Chief of the Eternal Brothers for sure."

"What?" I say before I can stop myself. The amount of hurt and pain in that one little word shouldn't be possible, but somehow, there it is. Did he do all of this just so he could become chief of his tribe? Part of my mind is trying to argue with me that we don't know the full story, that we don't know who this ‘lost child' is, that we should get the facts first, but pain wins out.

The look of guilt on his face also doesn't help the situation as he starts towards me, reaching out as if to grab my shoulder. "Clarissa—"

I'm saved from having to make the decision of staying or fleeing by Chief Revna, who exits the tent and gives me an expectant look, which quickly turns into a frown as she takes in my expression. Sensing the tension between Tor and me, her frown deepens, and she glares pointedly at Tor but mercifully doesn't ask what's going on, merely gesturing for me to enter the tent. "Clarissa, come." Her tone doesn't leave room for argument, but I'm grateful for the excuse to escape.

"Clarissa," Tor calls out again, but I don't turn around, not really seeing the inside of the tent as I make my way to Vaeril's side. Tor and Revna don't follow immediately, and a small part of me worries that I've gotten him into trouble, but I have bigger worries right now. Finally taking in my surroundings, I see that Naril and Vaeril are seated in luxurious seats in a secluded, partitioned off part of the tent. There are several of these chairs, a couple of which are already taken by some of the tribesmen from outside who are speaking amongst themselves. They fall silent as I join them, all sitting forward as I take a seat between Vaeril and Naril, grateful they thought to leave a place for me there.

The atmosphere in the tent seems to shift, and when I look up, I see that the chief has entered and is making her way over, as Tor and the rest of the tribesmen who were still outside join us. Tor sees me sitting between the two elves, and there's a flash of pain in his eyes before he nods and goes to take a seat next to Revna. I don't want to admit how much that hurts me, but it feels like a divide has been put between us— us and them .

There's silence as Revna watches me, almost like she can't quite believe I'm here, and honestly, I can't either. I've been pinching my arm for the past minute and my skin is burning from the abuse I'm putting it through. Vaeril gently leans over and places his hand on my arm, stilling my movements and hiding my nerves, but of course the chief notices it, she notices everything.

"I'm sure you have many questions," she begins, her eyes flicking up from Vaeril's hand on my arm up to meet my eyes again. It's an innocent enough statement, and she's right, I do, but I notice that's what it is—a statement, not a question. She's not inviting me to ask questions, but right now, I don't care, I've waited long enough.

"I want to know about my family." Looking around the space, I try to see similarities of myself in those gathered here, but I just see imposing figures and tattoos in a language I don't understand. Turning my attention back to Revna, I lean forward, my hair falling over my shoulder and spilling across my face. Frustrated, I brush the strands back, revealing my goddess mark in the process. "If you're my aunt, who were you related to?"

There's a pause as she eyes my mark, her eyes sparkling for a moment before she raises them to meet mine once more. "Your mother."

Tor hinted as much in previous meetings, and this just confirmed my suspicions. "So, my mother was from the mountain tribes?"

"Yes, you were born here too, although not specifically in this tribe, but our home tribe, the Golden Hawks," she explains, and a couple of the older tribespeople nod, one of whom is writing everything that is being said on a scroll, documenting our conversation.

"Me?" I'm not sure why I'm so surprised to learn that I was born in the mountains. My mother was, and that didn't come as a surprise. I learned I was part elf, and I am on a personal mission from the Great Mother herself, so nothing should surprise me anymore. However, something about what she says regarding my birth rings true, and I remember seeing a golden hawk flying overhead as we were arriving, like it was leading me home.

"Seeing as you have elvish companions, I assume you know of your elvish heritage? That your father was half-elf?" Revna queries from her seat, steepling her fingers together in front of her. I nod, and she returns my gesture with one of her own. "I don't know much of your father, I only met him a handful of times, but he seemed kind, which is the only reason I didn't kill him for making my sister pregnant out of wedlock." I lean back in my seat at her fierce expression, feeling surprised. Had I expected their relationship to be a fairy tale, where they fell in love and got married? I already knew it didn't end in a happily ever after.

"We take pregnancy out of marriage seriously here," she warns, her eyes flicking to Vaeril who instantly bristles at my side. I have the urge to giggle, but I instantly push it down, now is not the time for that. "My sister was never happy here, she was always exploring and leaving the tribe. When she returned with a half-elf, your father, claiming that she loved him and was to be married, she was banished from our tribe." There's a hint of regret in my aunt's voice, and I remember Tor telling me that he and the new leader of the tribespeople were trying to change things. Perhaps if she had been in charge when my mother was here, things might have been different.

Shifting in her seat, Revna's eyes run over my face. "I didn't see her for years after that. Then, one day, she returned, pregnant with you and in labour. She told me you were special, that it was vital you survived and knew the ways of the tribes. I helped her deliver you. You never cried once." She pauses, her eyes glazed over as if caught up in the memory. "You were the most beautiful baby." Her eyes clear before locking on me, and she smiles. Just as I'm about to return the smile, hers drops. "Then she disappeared with you. Over the years, she would reappear with you, stay a couple of days, and then go again. That's when we started to realise you were different, and that's also when we realised our prophecies and tellings from the gods were about you."

Everything is silent, except for the scratching of the quill as the tribesman notes down our exchange, as I absorb what I've just learned. Where did we go when we weren't with the tribes, and why don't I remember my time with them?

"What happened to them?" If it was anyone else, I would need to explain that I'm asking about my parents, but she knows. She knows exactly why I've come here.

But she answers my question with another question. "What do you remember?"

Frowning, I grip my skirts slightly, hoping she's not going to mess around with me by talking in circles. Vaeril and Naril shift slightly in their seats, feeling my frustration. "I have been a slave in Arhaven since the age of eight, I have no memories prior to that." My frustration makes me snappier than I meant to be, but I'm surprised by their reactions.

Curses fill the space, and a large male at Revna's side shakes his head. He looks a little older than her, possibly in his mid-fifties, with grey hairs speckling his dark beard. Tattoos cover almost every inch of his body. "Tor reported back something similar, but to hear that you were under our noses this whole time…"

A cold chill runs down my back, and I suddenly have the feeling I don't want to know the answer. "What do you mean?" My voice doesn't sound like it belongs to me any longer.

"The cruel reality of it is you probably would have seen each other many times before," Revna murmurs, only making my confusion worse. Dread lines my stomach. Why won't they just tell me? Why is she dancing around the subject? I already know my mother is dead, it can't get any worse than that, right? Why won't they just tell me? "Whatever foul magic was used on the two of you…we will find out what it was and try to reverse it to reclaim your memories," she continues, but at this point, I don't care about why I don't remember, I've had many theories over the years.

"What do you mean?" They've awoken that other part of me, the part I try to keep hidden, the dark, angry piece of me who was never allowed to be heard as a slave. Every time I felt angry or mad, or when something unjust happened, I put it away and let the anger simmer.

Well, right now, I've had enough.

Pushing up from my seat, I ball my hands into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms, and I'm sure I've broken the skin, but I don't care. A wave of something ripples from my body, and I swear the ground rumbles beneath us, but I know I must be imagining it. My wrist glows as I glare at the leader of the mountain tribes, my aunt. "Will someone explain what is going on and stop talking in circles?" Everyone is watching me with wide eyes, most of which are focused on my wrist, some even a little fearfully, all except Revna, who looks pleased. Have I just passed some sort of test? Anger stirs in my blood again as I open my mouth.

"Your mother, my sister, was the Queen of Arhaven."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. "No." Stumbling back, I fall into my chair, horrified by her words but knowing their truth.

"The king saw her on one of her trips to Arhaven and instantly desired her," Revna explains, ignoring the shaking of my head. "He killed her husband, your father, ripped the memories from you and her with dark magic, put you into slavery, and married her." There is no kindness in her voice, no delicacy in how she informs me how my father was murdered and my family was torn apart, but her eyes grieve. They grieve for the life I should have had with her in the mountains.

"No," I whisper, remembering the evening where the two of us met in the dark courtyard. My mother. It felt like we had known each other, and she warned me. Did she know? Did some part of her know deep down that I was her daughter?

Why didn't the king just have me killed? Why put me into slavery? Was it some sick power trip, knowing that his wife's child from a previous marriage, who she doesn't remember, is a slave? Did he know it was me when I was blessed by the Great Mother? Or was I just another nameless slave at that point? He always kept an eye on me, but I thought that was because Jacob had an interest in an ex-slave.

Jacob. Jacob is my half-brother… No, that can't be right, he's older than me, or at least around the same age as me, and the other princes are older than him. So unless my mother had been seeing the king while she had still been married to my father… Could that explain why she kept disappearing for long periods of time like Revna said? And how did he manage to wipe our memories?

I know more about who I am, yet I feel more lost than I ever have before.

Something moves in front of me, and as I focus back on the present, I see that Revna is now standing just a few paces from me. "We tried to find you. We have been trying to find you for years," she assures me, and I see her hand flicker at her side like she wants to reach out and grasp mine. Her voice is low, so I know she's talking just to me. "When he took my sister…I tried so hard to get you back." A tremor of emotion enters her voice, her dark eyes looking into mine in earnest. "Do you believe me?"

Yes , I want to answer, and I'm about to when a tribesman runs into the tent, out of breath, and quickly makes a symbol over his chest. "Chief," he says, but Revna is already moving, following him out of the tent with several of the other tribesmen on her heels. Frowning, I look at Vaeril, who is also now standing, staring into the distance with an odd look on his face. Naril is also wearing a strange expression, which makes me nervous.

"Clarissa," Tor calls, and I spin to see him standing just behind me. He looks like he's expecting me to punch him, which I'm half tempted to do with everything he kept from me, but I know he wasn't able to tell me. However, I remember the comment I overheard before I entered the tent, and my body stiffens.

"You were searching for me, you'll be made chief," I state, waiting for him to contradict me, to tell me that I'm wrong, that I misunderstood. Except he doesn't, he winces. I hate it when he winces.

"Possibly, but—" he starts, but that's when Revna storms back into the tent. She looks furious, her eyes glowing, and I can hear the sound of running feet against stone.

"Everyone, get to your stations!" she orders, before her eyes land on me. There's a sadness within her gaze that fills me with dread. "We're under attack!"