by J. E. Klimov
“Ouch,” Isabel muttered into his ear.
“Sorry.”
He tugged her arm and led her back through the golden double doors. Isabel shook her hand free and hugged herself. She dragged her boots against the velvet red carpet, focusing on the rhythmic scuffing sound. More guards stood at the base of each granite column that lined the receiving hall. Leather ground against leather as they craned their necks when Dante and she passed them. Isabel’s heart raced to the point where she thought she was about to pass out. A creak shattered her trance. The entrance had shut; the sunlight no longer warmed her back. Isabel reached for the sai holstered on her belt.
Isabel stopped short of the main foyer. The chandelier that hung from the dome-shaped ceiling cast a spotlight on the thrones. “How are you alive?” Every word was a struggle. “It’s not possible. I saw it. I saw you plummet to your death thanks to that… witch’s power over you.” She swung her arms behind her back and pinched herself, but Dante was still there.
“Isabel, let’s sit down. I’m hungry.” With a snap of his fingers, he said, “Servant? You, over there. Fetch me some bread and butter. Oh, and water.”
A man covered in chainmail clutching a broadsword by his side knitted his brows. “Sir?”
Isabel grew hot with embarrassment. This man is one of the new guards. Not a servant. “What he means is, would you please find us who is newly in charge of the kitchen and relay the orders?
Bowing, the soldier bounded down the eastern corridor. As the clunk of his boots faded, Isabel spun and faced Dante, seething. “You are not to order my men around. He is a guard, and his job is to protect us.”
“From what?” Dante shrugged, casually making his way up the marble steps, soaking in the golden walls. “I like what they’ve done with the place. A little lavish for my taste, but it will do.”
Appalled, Isabel’s shoulders tensed. Irritation replaced confusion at her supposed husband. Something about him seemed off, from the tone of his voice to his overly-confident gait. Finding a gilded mirror, Dante raked his fingers through his hair and stretched. Isabel’s teeth ground as his joints popped. After he adjusted his tunic, she cleared her throat.
“It wasn’t my choice. And the people of Deran had made it to honor us… Well, me.” Staring hard, Isabel searched for a reaction.
Dante sauntered to the thrones. “I believe this one is mine.” When he sat down, Isabel opened her mouth but only a wheeze escaped. His attitude blew her away. Nothing made sense. There was no way Dante could have survived the battle. He was dead.
“How can you sit on the king’s throne so casually?” she blurted.
He shrugged. “It’s my throne, isn’t it?”
When she drew her sai, Dante’s hands shot in front of him. “Woah, there. Take it easy.” Beckoning her with his fingers, he said, “I know how you must feel. Come over and feel my pulse.”
Isabel listened and grabbed one of his wrists. The blood throbbed sluggishly, but it was there. She broke into a cold sweat.
“Tell me everything.” She took a step back, holstered her sai, and tried to stuff her emotions aside.
His eyes narrowed at the pointed three-pronged weapons. “I don’t remember much.”
“That’s a lie,” she volleyed. “Are you really Dante?”
Standing up, he threw his shoulders back. “Of course I am! Just look at me. Who else would I be? No one has the power of transformation except the Zingaris, and you can tell by their eyes. Do my eyes look different to you?” His voice rose, but Isabel remained poised.
A cough interrupted the awkward confrontation. A young woman dressed in a stained, white garment bowed. She held a golden platter with the food Dante had requested. Her eyes were glued on him as she placed it on the table next to the throne and then scurried away. Shrugging, Dante stood and grasped the whole loaf, smeared butter with his hands and took wolfish bites.
Dante peeked up at Isabel. “Hey, you would eat like this too if you’d had little to nothing to eat for weeks.”
After scarfing down the bread, he picked at the grapes off the tray as he made his way back to the throne. Isabel erupted with frustration and hurled a sai. It struck the padded back of the seat.
Dante flinched. “What the hell!” He pried the weapon free and tossed it onto the floor. “You want to kill your husband? The man you swore to love until death separated us?”
“That’s what I’m having a hard time understanding, Dante.”
With a sigh, he grabbed an apple. Shining it on his sleeve, he stared intently at his reflection on its smooth surface. “I woke up somewhere in Chailara Hills. I remember the sun. It hovered in the middle of sky, burning my skin. I was woozy. Weak. All I craved was water, but all that surrounded me were sparse birch trees, dying grass, and boulders.”
“And how did you end up there?”
Dante bit the apple and chewed thoughtfully. “A stranger.” Chunks of fruit flew from his mouth.
“Who? A man? A Tuuli?” Her voice rose sharply.
“Please, let me finish. Some young man appeared and claimed to have pulled me from the rubble and nursed me back to health. He said the Deranian army left the site without searching for me.” He shot an accusing look at the soldier closest to him. “He looked human. Not a Tuuli. He took the time to feed and heal me. Not sure how, but I felt like I was brand new in no time. However, right when I felt ready to return home…” He rubbed his hand against the velvet armrest. “…he disappeared. I didn’t have the opportunity to thank him.”
Isabel shifted her weight and crossed her arms. She studied his expressionless face and frowned, unconvinced. For someone to free-fall into an abyss, one would think there was no chance of survival unless he was resurrected from the dead. Isabel shuddered and shook her head. Healers hadn’t existed in years; her mother had made sure of that, so that theory seemed impossible. Isabel broke from her reverie and stared at Dante. He picked his teeth, snuggled against the cushy seat, and closed his eyes.
She clenched and unclenched her fists. The realization that she could no longer seek advice from her mother or father stung. Her armlet warmed her skin in response, as if reminding her she wasn’t alone. So, she inhaled deeply and told herself she wasn’t going to unravel this mystery in one day. Until then, Isabel had to stay alert while pretending everything was normal.
“Well, if he shows up, let me know. I’d like to thank him,” Isabel said. Each word fell from her lips like a slow leak. “I’m going to retire for the night.” She made her way to the staircase that wound around the throne room. With each step she took, Isabel prayed like crazy that her suspicions were wrong. Her hands slipped on the handrail.
“I will be up shortly, dear.”
Isabel stilled. A frost cast upon her soul.
CHAPTER
7
“You’re such a fool.” Ami wrapped a bandage around Bence’s upper arm. She yanked it tight and smiled bitterly. After packing up her supplies in a burlap sack, she nodded toward the building. “You’re lucky we are well stocked with anti-infectives.”
Bence bit his tongue to endure the sting of the ointment. He tried focusing on the smell of burning wood, buzzing insects, and wide open sky.
“I will not tolerate such a ruckus at my father’s inn. Typical foreigner─you’re all so barbaric.”
“Excuse me? Barbaric?” When the words escaped, Bence slumped his shoulders. She may not be right about everyone, but she was right about him. He was nothing but a killing machine, but Ami didn’t know that.
Ami tied a knot and gave it an extra tug. He grunted. “That man you nearly killed may be large and a bit rough around the edges, but he’d never hurt a fly.”
“I’d beg to differ.” The stars twinkled above, but were dwarfed by Adin and Deva. The two moons were close to superimposing one another. “I better get going. You wouldn’t want me here anyway.”
Ami remained silent, her eyes fixated on his chest. Her brows scrunched as if deep in thought.
“You still interested in this thing?” When Bence pulled the ring out, an idea struck him. “I couldn’t give this to you because… this is the royal crest of Deran. I’m related to the royal family.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, yeah? How so? Word says they were invaded by some legendary enemy. For all I know, you could be one of them.” Getting up, Ami strode toward her spear, picked up a rag, and shined it vigorously.
After she was done, Bence beckoned for the rag. He scrubbed the dried blood from his dagger. “I’m a cousin.”
Ami yanked the stained cloth away. Wringing the soiled linen in her hands, her eyes glazed over. “Why would a relative to the king and queen be in Camilla?”
“None of your business,” he blurted. “I’m going to get going. Sorry for disturbing your precious peace.”
Bence strode past the wooden gates with his empty satchel sitting on his shoulder. As his fingertips grazed the latch, he replayed the scene over and over. The solid rock that formed in his stomach suggested that he could’ve been nicer. After shaking his thoughts away, Bence took a mental tally of his equipment. Even with just a dagger and staff, it was sufficient enough to survive the journey through the woods. Tall, thick evergreen trees lined the forest. Gnarled roots rose over the ground while branches hung low. Squinting, Bence could see no more than a few feet ahead of him at a time. He drew his dagger and hacked away some branches. Stepping over a wave of roots, he picked up a muffled cry behind him.
“Wait. Wait!”
Turning around, Bence smirked. “Changed your mind so soon?”
She pursed her lips and swept her bangs aside. “This could be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made but… please stay.” She was a petite woman with a cougar’s fight within. Her dewy skin shined under the moonlight, and her unblinking eyes unnerved him.
“You miss me already?” His cheek stung as Ami’s hand made contact with it.
With a huff, she picked up the hem of her flowing, taupe skirt from the road and hustled toward the inn. Her top barely clung to her shoulders, with the fabric draping down the length of her back. A red and black tattoo of the very flower the inn was named after was imprinted between her shoulder blades. He couldn’t quite pin down her personality, and intrigue pulled him forward.
When Bence arrived at Bleeding Heart Inn, the door creaked as Ami slid it open. Glaring, she jerked her head at an empty table.
He blinked incredulously. “What? You can’t still be upset at my comment.”
Ami jammed her hands against her hips. “Shut up and sit down. I’ll have some turnip stew prepared.”
She vanished through the double doors behind the bar. Bence took a seat and scanned the room. Heads turned in his direction, but they quickly faced the other way when he met their gazes head on. That’s right. They better fear me. The chatter soon drowned out his thoughts, leaving Bence to stare down at his hands. He would kill for a piece of meat. Turnip stew barely sounded satiating.
A bowl slid onto the table. Hot liquid sloshed around chunks of white-somethings. Bence pinched his nose. “What is this?”
“It’s our house specialty. And if you know what’s good for ya, you would eat it gratefully,” Ami said curtly.
Grabbing a wooden spoon, Bence picked around the contents. Between the chunks of turnip were slices of carrots and mashed peas. “There’s no meat.”
“Meat is hard to come by,” she responded, wiping the table obsessively.
“This dish is too… colorful.”
“Just take a damn sip.” Ami raised her hands in the air and sighed. Her bangles slid down to her elbows. Her tresses cascaded off her shoulders as she shook her head. “You are the most insufferable man I’ve ever met.”
“Like you’d care.” Bence tightened his grip on the spoon. He dipped the utensil and fished out a turnip. Steam curled into the air as an herbal fragrance filled his lungs. As he inched it towards his lips, Ami’s eyes widened. He took a sip. The hot liquid burnt his tongue, and he hissed in response. “I hate it!”
“You didn’t taste it, idiot! It just burnt your tongue because you have no common sense to cool it first.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m going to prepare your room. You can eat this stew or starve, I don’t care. I did my part.”
Ami disappeared behind a curtain at the right end of the tavern. Snickers broke out in the room.
“Why don’t you all keep to your business or I’ll slit every one of your throats!” Bence exclaimed.
Everyone fell silent and busied themselves. Grunting in approval, Bence focused on his vegetarian meal. With a groan, he tried it again. Slurping helped cool the liquid. The turnip melted in his mouth. It was well seasoned with salt and rosemary. It’s not so bad. Sip after sip, Bence found himself downing the entire bowl.
Once Bence finished, he relished the warmth that filled his body. His eyelids became heavy. Standing up, he looked around. Is anyone expecting payment?
“You must be the newcomer Ami mentioned.” A middle-aged woman approached him. She wore an apron that was once a crisp white, but now covered in stains of various colors. Bence figured she was the chef. Her dark hair was tied in a neat bun. She smiled. “Go along now. I’ll clean up. Head past the doorway and the fourth door to the right is yours. It should be unlocked.”
Words bottlenecked at his throat. Something tugged in his chest to say something, but Bence simply nodded and strolled toward his room. When he swung the door open, a steaming tub stood in one corner and a simple futon lay in the other. The room was bare, other than a rickety desk and a few dusty books. Bence shed his clothing and squeezed in the tub that was two sizes too small.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His journey thus far had just been as unstable as his life as an Aeonian, but he couldn’t afford to lose focus. He had to travel north and find a ship that would sail to Irelle. His goal wasn’t too far away. And when I get there… I… Bence hummed. He couldn’t finish his thought. Instead, he stared at his necklace. The Deranian ring, Isabel’s ring, lay on his chest. Twirling it in between his fingers, he searched for any signs of life.
He stared at the phoenix carving until the water turned cold. In a stupor, he grabbed the worn towel and dried himself. He ambled toward the futon and collapsed into the fluffy sheets. The pillow conformed to his face perfectly. She’s probably forgotten about me by now.
A rich melody wafted in the air. He sat up and glared at the window. Slipping his trousers on, Bence ripped the door open, stomped down the hallway and exited the inn. All the torches had been extinguished, allowing the night to swallow Bleeding Heart in pure darkness. Tracing his fingers along the wall, Bence circled around the building. He halted around the corner when he heard singing.
“Fear not, little one, I’m here now. The shadows are gone; the sun has risen. I’ll show you the way, and you will realize the purpose you’ve been given.”
Someone swayed back and forth to the rhythm. A small bonfire flickered. The melody came from a flute-like instrument through what seemed to be on the other side of the kitchen walls.
“Bring peace to the dead so that they don’t haunt you. Be free, little one, for the sins of your father have been washed away─”
Bence cleared his throat. The figure rotated slowly on the bench, revealing a blushing Ami. Her hands flew to her face.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long. Can you quit the music?” He shifted weight from one leg to another, trying to force words out. “It bothers me.”
She tugged at her collar. “Is my voice that terrible? I was always told I was a little pitchy.”
He fidgeted, punishing himself for his big mouth. “No. It’s not you. That… flute thing.”
“Oh,” Ami said. “It’s my mother’s. She plays it every night that father is gone. You have sharp ears. No one has made any complaints about it before.”
Bence bit his tongue and gripped the back of his neck with his hand. “Um. I still need it to
stop.”
“Of c-course.” Her eyes shimmered in the faint light.
The contents in Bence’s stomach sloshed around as if he were back on his boat. This unfamiliar sense of guilt made him more nauseous as the seconds ticked by. Ami’s voice was actually mellifluous, but he locked that thought away.
“Never mind. Forget it.” He crossed his arms and squeezed his shoulders. As he turned, Ami spoke up.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Staring down at his bare chest, he shook his head.
“But your body language disagrees. Why aren’t you properly dressed? Come, sit by the fire for a bit.”
All Bence wanted was to keep to himself, but her voice drew him in. “Fine.” He plopped down next to her and shoved his hands toward the flames. The wood crackled as he tried to think of something to say. Something nice for a change. Mustering a spark of courage, he said, “You’re quite skilled with that spear, Ami.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’ve watched my father practice the art of combat ever since I was little. I used to steal his spears and practice on my own at night. When I saved up enough money from working, I bought my own spear from a connection in another village. I even have a name for her.”
Bence’s brow rose. “A name for an inanimate object?”
“It’s Hero. She has saved me many times from wild animals in the forest.” Her voice filled with awe.
“Let me guess. You weren’t allowed to travel in the forest alone?”
She shot him a dirty look. “Maybe.”
A small chuckle escaped his lips. Then, in a high pitch voice he said, “And you probably had to hide Hero from your mommy and daddy.”
Ami elbowed Bence in the ribs. “Enough about Hero! What about you? You want to go to Irelle, right?”
“Right.” He withdrew his hands from the fire and crossed him arms once more, back aquiver.
“Why?”
He blinked rapidly. “You really love to poke into people’s businesses.”
