by Alex Shobe
I put my hand under his chin and gently lift his face so I can see him. There’s an emotion behind his eyes I can’t quite name, though, it seems so familiar. We stay like this for a moment, savoring each other’s presence, burning through each other’s souls.
“Don’t leave,” I say, although it probably came out as more of a plea.
A small smile plays on his lips. “I won’t,” he whispers.
I smile too and leave a trail of kisses down his face until I meet his mouth again—a reunion that already feels long overdue. My hands caress him as he keeps my body firmly pressed against his. All the apprehension of him I had before vanishes. The negative thoughts dive into the water without so much as a splash to mark their departure. The calmness of the mountain pool contrasts against our ragged breaths.
The way I feel in this moment is a sensation I haven’t felt before. Never have I given myself so freely to someone, to let another’s hands roam my body so intimately. I know better than this. This isn’t what queens do. And yet, rationality deserted me the moment his lips touched mine.
Someone clears their throat.
Colton and I both turn our heads in the direction of the sound. Standing at the mouth of the tunnel, Aiden stands awkwardly with a hand in his pocket and the other at the scruff of his neck.
“Sorry,” Aiden says, “but you’re needed in there, Leona.”
I force out a steady exhale. Colton gently lowers me to the ground, and I flatten my dress back into place. We exchange a glance, one that speaks louder than the words unspoken. I walk away, leaving Colton shirtless and breathless, and join Aiden in the passageway.
“Did not see that coming,” Aiden says once we’re out of earshot. He grins.
My face flushes with heat. “Neither did I.”
We continue down the tunnel in silence, our footsteps echoing in unison. I’m grateful he doesn’t draw more attention to what he interrupted. When we return to the main cavern, the men have gathered into a sea of standing bodies.
“Did Apsyn arrive?” I ask Aiden as we approach.
He shakes his head. “No, not Apsyn. A girl.”
“A girl? Who?”
“We don’t know. No one’s ever seen her before, and you know how that worked out last time. She wants to speak to you specifically.”
We’re getting closer now to the crowd. The men split to allow Aiden and I through. Their faces are all fixed on mine, searching for a response from me. I bite my lip and my breaths come quicker.
When we reach the front of the crowd, many of the men have their weapons drawn. A girl with golden hair stands with her back to me.
“Hello,” I say, stopping a safe distance away from her.
She turns to face me, her hazel eyes narrowed on mine. The shape of her face, the structure of her cheekbones—she seems familiar.
“What’s your name?”
The girl glances around at the faces surrounding her, at the tips of the swords pointed in her direction. Her fingers clutch the string of the bow stretched across her body. She shifts her weight between her feet, and finally, she answers.
“Merethe Tarva,” she says. I flinch at the sound of her surname. “And I’m looking for my mother.”
Leona
I examine the girl’s face as I search for the truth in her features. I circle her, all while my men’s swords are aimed at her. She watches me carefully, rotating so her eyes are always on mine. The fact that she’s heavily surrounded by armed men doesn’t seem to faze her.
I nod at Nicolai, who signals to the men to lower their weapons. The girl lets out a subtle breath of relief as the men begin to disperse to other areas of the cavern. A few stay nearby, still not entirely comfortable with the stranger in our midst. We can’t afford to have another assassin sneak by, but when I look at this girl, I see desperation, not malice.
“Have a seat.” I drop down to the ground to sit and gesture for her to do the same. She pulls her bow over her head and lays it down beside her. “So, you’re saying Gracen Tarva is your mother?” A tinge of guilt pulls at my heart.
Merethe looks me squarely in my eyes. “She is my mother.” I must admit; she does share a lot of Gracen’s features. “She’s your handmaiden, right? Where is she? Did she follow you when you fled the castle?”
I glance at the ground between us for a moment before answering. If she really is Gracen’s daughter, then she deserves to know the truth, no matter how ugly it is. I take a deep breath and pinch the fabric at my knees.
“I’m sorry,” I start, “but the night of the revolt, she was killed by the guards at the castle.”
As soon as I say the words, I regret their truthfulness. Merethe drops her head and stares into her lap. When she raises it again, her eyes turn glossy in the lantern-lit cavern. She breathes in sharply.
I take another deep breath to keep myself from tearing up as well. There is silence between us as I allow Merethe to process my news. She’s come here in search for her mother, only to be told that she’ll never see her again. Her head bows once more, and I watch as teardrops splash against the ground below.
A cold chill runs down my spine. I’ve been where she is. I remember vividly the moment when I was told of the news of my mother’s death. No matter the age, it always stings the same.
I look Merethe over and she seems a couple of years younger than me. There’s still a softness to her face that hasn’t yet disappeared with age. She sniffles then looks up at me, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“She was a kind person,” I say quietly. “She saved me.” Merethe’s lips turn up in a brief smile before fading. “I never knew she had a daughter.”
“We were separated right after she had me. She delivered me at her sister’s home but returned to the castle without me.”
I frown. “Why’s that?”
She shrugs. “My aunt Lizette always said it was safer that way.”
“Where are you from? None of the men from the villages recognize you.”
Merethe hesitates and toys with the frayed edge of her bodice. “That’s because I’m not from any of the villages. I’m from Heraeda.”
No wonder why no one here knew who she was. Heraeda is home to those with a higher station than the lower social status of a villager. Placed at the center of the country, the city is the country’s largest marketplace.
“Heraeda isn’t that far from Demesne. When was the last time you saw her?”
She drops her head down again. “Never,” she says simply.
I tilt my head. “Never?”
Her eyes meet mine again. “The last time I saw her was when I was born. The only way we kept in contact was through falcons. I don’t even know what she looked like.”
My heart breaks a little at this. Now that I know Merethe’s identity, I see so much of Gracen in her. Their mother-daughter bond was limited to words drafted on parchment.
“We had a routine,” she says. “Once a week, we’d send falcons to one another. In the last message she sent me, she said there was trouble at the castle. Then, when she missed sending a falcon a couple of days ago, I knew something had to be wrong.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. Gracen knew something terrible was coming. I wish she would’ve confided in me sooner. I press my fingers to my temples, easing the ill thoughts out of my mind. What should’ve happened no longer matters. All that matters now is the present and the future.
“And what of your father? Where is he?”
She shrugs again. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that he’s a very powerful man who didn’t want me.” Venom laces her words.
I don’t blame her. Fathers can be the worst. Maybe she was better off never knowing him. Her head drops down causing her wavy strands to fall forward. She pushes the hair away with her fingers. A small mark on the back of her hand catches my attention. Planted at the base of her thumb, an irregular teardrop-shaped discoloration contrasts against her caramel skin. My father had an identical mark.
&nb
sp; Memories from my past come rushing to the surface. There was a brief time in my early years when all I could remember was the heated words between Mother and Father. They always thought I couldn’t hear them—but I did. Their conversations were too complex for my young mind to comprehend, but I always could tell when they were upset with each other.
Their nightly shouting matches always carried down the corridors, my father’s booming voice shaking the walls. Many nights I’d lie awake in bed, listening to his roar against Mother’s soft cries. Eventually, the arguing stopped—but not because their marriage was getting better. Soon, they couldn’t stand to sleep in the same bedchamber together or sit at the same table for supper.
I recall not seeing Father for days at a time. I knew he was still in the castle, but for whatever reason, he kept his distance from Mother and I. For weeks, Mother kept her distance from me as well, though, not in the same way as Father. Mother’s never-ending sadness took a toll on her, causing her to spend day and night in her bedchamber. Gracen was her handmaiden at the time, tasked with ensuring Mother at least ate a proper meal each day.
Gracen took a greater role in tending to me, too. We’d take walks in the courtyard, through the lilac gardens. Occasionally during our strolls, Father would pass us—on his way to some important meeting, I’m sure. And for once, his eyes would soften as he looked at us. No, maybe not at us. At her. Gracen’s posture would shift each time we paused to let him pass.
Months later, as Gracen’s presence dwindled, Mother and Father were eating at the same table, then eventually sleeping in the same bedchamber again. The arguing stopped and we were happy. At least, for a little while.
I press my lips together and hold Merethe’s true lineage close. I glance around and realize that the men who’d been keeping a close eye on her have drifted elsewhere in the cavern. We continue to sit with silence between us for another moment.
“So, how did you find us?”
She clears her throat and looks at me. She took after Father’s green eyes. “When word about what happened reached Heraeda, I left. I was going to go look for my mother at the castle, but that suddenly seemed like a bad idea, considering.” She smiles slightly.
I raise an eyebrow. “So, you found us, how…?”
“Pure luck.”
I narrow my eyes. The entrance to the cavern is well-covered. We nearly missed it when we arrived during the day, yet Merethe was able to find it when the sun had already set. My lips pull to the side.
“Is there any food here?” she asks. “I’m starving.”
I nod behind her to the supply cart. “There’s dried meat and bread. Help yourself.”
She smiles widely and stands, throwing her bow across her body. Her steps are hurried as she walks to the other side of the cavern. Her hair swishes over her back.
She’s my half-sibling, the product of Kol D’Auron and Gracen Tarva, and she doesn’t even know it.
Colton
A new swell of energy courses through my veins. The weight on my shoulders feels a little bit lighter after my moment with Leona. My skin is still tingling. Her words, her touch was exactly what I needed to manage a side alley of my dark path.
I search the cavern for Rhyn Clarrick. According to Kaleo, he’s a physician who arrived with those from Kaeshul. I spot him leaning against a tall rock column that reaches to the ceiling. As I approach, the thin man straightens his posture and puts the cap back on his canteen. I catch the scent of ale, revealing his drink of choice.
“Is your name Rhyn?”
He slips the canteen into a burlap bag at his feet. “That’s what people call me.” His lips curl upward. “What can I do for you?” His shirt hangs loose from his shoulders in a way that suggests he used to be able to fill it out more.
“I was told you’re a physician. Thought maybe I could get your advice on something.”
He slumps against the column again. I wonder for a moment whether he needs the rock for stability. Perhaps seeking advice from him is a mistake.
“You’ve come to the right person,” he says, somehow answering my thoughts. “What’s going on?”
I shift my stance. With a look over my shoulder, I check to see if anyone else is standing near. “Ever since the arena, I don’t sleep much anymore. And when I do, nightmares haunt me.” Rhyn watches me carefully. “How do I make it stop?”
He crosses his arms. They look like fragile sticks against his body. “Well, before I answer that, let me ask you this. How many people have you killed?”
My body tenses at his bluntness. I scratch at the hair on my jaw. “I—I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do. How many?”
Anger builds in my core. He stands before me, his mouth pressing up into a sneer, his yellowed eyes scanning me over, his arms still crossed. “I don’t know,” I repeat, more firmly.
He snaps his fingers. “You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself. Now, how many people did you kill?”
I ball my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. This is the only way I can keep myself from striking this so-called doctor. “Nevermind,” I say, turning to leave. “Forget it.”
“Until you can admit to yourself what you did,” he says behind me, “you’ll never be able to move past it.”
I whirl around with heat in my eyes. “Forty-seven!” My voice echoes in the cavern and everyone stops to look at me. I ignore them. “Okay? Forty-seven.”
Rhyn clicks his tongue and smiles. I still want to punch him, but I resist the urge. “There you go… See? That wasn’t so hard. First step is done.”
My face is stuck in a scowl, but I walk back over to him. “Why does it matter?”
He folds his frail hands in front of him. “It matters because you know how many. Obviously, their deaths affected you enough that you remember each one.”
The tension in my forehead relaxes. This is true. I haven’t let my mind dwell on it much, but I can recall the face of every life I’ve ended. And each one haunts my thoughts. I remember how each one was killed and exactly how I felt each time the light drained from their eyes.
“What’d you say your name was?” he asks.
I release my fists and let the anger fade. “Colton Rybolt.”
“Well, Colton Rybolt,” he says with a smile, “I’m going to tell you what I tell all the other survivors—because you are survivors. Stop blaming yourself for things outside of your control.”
I roll my eyes. “Easier said than done.”
“True. It is. But that’s where it becomes your responsibility to be greater than your inner demons. Don’t let them rise to the surface. If you keep holding onto the guilt, it’s going to consume you.” He tilts his head and gives me a sidelong look. “If it hasn’t already.”
I glance toward the other side of the cavern. Past the crowds, I find Leona sitting with Aiden. She’s smiling, her hair contained into a single braid that drapes over her shoulder. I look back at Rhyn.
“So, I accept what I’ve done, I stop running from it, and then what?” I hadn’t noticed, but the canteen is back in his hands. He holds it out to me, offering it. I shake my head.
“Then,” he says and takes another sip, “you grieve their loss and move on. And make each day a little bit better than the last. Rinse and repeat.”
I pull my lips to the side. “That’s it?”
“Yep. Not what you were expecting?”
I run a hand through my hair, pushing it away from my eyes, and shrug. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect.”
His thin frame sways beside the column. He rolls his head, his neck popping in the movement. He stoops down to put away the canteen and retrieves a small parchment notebook. “You familiar with herbs?” His hand digs around in the bag until he pulls out a quill and bottle of ink.
I peer over the top edge of the notebook as he scribbles some words. “Some.”
Noticing my rubbernecking, he steps closer to me. “Skullcap”—he draws a rough sketch of t
he herb on the parchment—“has lots of tiny purple petals stacked on top of each other. It’s good for insomnia.” He catches me squinting at the drawing, then laughs. “I never claimed to be an artist, mind you. Now, valerian, it looks like a cloud. Use it for sleep as well.” His hand flies across the parchment, noting down the herbs. “And last, but not least, there’s wort. It’s got five yellow petals—not to be confused with a primrose, though.”
“What’s it used for?”
He tears the parchment free from the book and hands it to me. “Mood booster.”
I glance down at the notes, at the physician’s sloppy handwriting and crude sketches. I remember seeing wort growing near the foot of the mountain.
“Thank you,” I say, tucking the note in my pocket.
He gives me a kind smile, one that reaches his eyes. The thin skin of his face wrinkles. I turn to walk away, breathing a little easier at the promise of my herb checklist.
The Apsyn fighters have arrived, bringing our total to about three-hundred and thirty men. The cavern is getting cramped, but we make it work. I stand with Leona, Aiden, and the self-appointed village leaders as the other men kneel around us in a half-circle.
“Now that we’re all here,” Leona says—her voice echoes throughout the cavern so that even the furthest man can hear her—“we should go over the plan of action.” She glances at Aiden before returning her gaze to the crowd. “We’ll likely only have one chance at this, so we need to be smart. I refuse to allow any more lives to be taken at the hands of the uprising.” The crowd murmurs their approval. “So, instead of the previous plan we came up with in Maburh,” she nods to Kaleo, whose eyebrows have raised in dislike, “we have another alternative, one that I believe will increase the chances of all of us surviving this.”
The crowd mutters again, this time a layer of doubt hanging in the air like fog. I glance around at the diverse faces. The distinctions in the villages are shown in each person’s skin tone, the hue of their clothing, the style of their weapon. We’re all so different, yet we’re more alike than we realize.
