by M. L. Greye
Emry bit the tip of her tongue, seeming to take in his appearance. He self-consciously glanced down at his brown shirt – the top button undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows – and gray pants tucked into scuffed, muddy black boots. He should have been wearing a coat, but he didn’t feel cold at all. Emry, on the other hand, looked as though she’d been living up in the mountains.
She wore knee-high, fur-lined brown boots, thick black leggings, a wool cream knit tunic that went mid-thigh, a mustard yellow scarf, a wide brown belt slung low around her hips, and a dark blue fur-lined cloak. Her blonde hair was in a long braid, beginning at one side of her head and wrapping around to the other before dropping down her back. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her silver eyes were bright.
“Do Teals not get cold?” She asked.
He let out a short laugh. “Not when we’re running.”
She nodded and then pointed behind her, back the way Declan had come. “I was heading that way.”
They walked the first few steps in silence. The forest was so quiet beneath its cover of snow. Declan glanced upward through the tree branches to the cloud cover. It looked different than what he was used to. Instead of stacked formations of varying shades of gray, this was just one color – pale gray. There was no dimension to it – like a blanket of a single thick cloud, blocking the sunlight.
“I ran into your mother a couple weeks ago.”
“You did?” Declan whipped around, but Emry kept her eyes on the forest in front of them.
“And your father.” She nodded, frowning. “They want me to help them with something.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look very happy about that.”
“I’m worried I’ll disappoint them.” Emry winced. “That I won’t be able to pull it all off.”
“Do they think you can?” He asked slowly.
“I-” She paused. “I think they hope I can.”
Hope. Somehow Declan had forgotten that word existed. He stopped in place. Emry noticed and did the same, turning to him. He frowned. “Do you think you’re able to do it, Emry?”
She held his gaze, her eyes shifting into something like stubbornness … or rebellion.
“I know I’m capable of far more than what I’ve been doing.”
Determination. That was what Declan saw in her eyes.
Emry was determined. A little unsure, but determined all the same. And she was hopeful. It was mixed in there.
Declan had to admit he admired her for it – to have hope in the face of something that frightened her, made her feel inadequate. He found himself longing for it in his own life. For hope.
“If you know you’re capable of being something more, then be who you’re meant to be,” Declan told her.
Emry let out a short laugh. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Life rarely is,” he replied softly. “But sometimes it pays to be brave.”
She bit the tip of her tongue. “Brave like you?”
“What?” He blurted, startled.
“I’ve seen you be brave,” she said. “You didn’t have to save me that night. You could have ran away and never looked back, but instead you risked your life for me.”
He stared at her. “The thought of leaving you behind never even crossed my mind.”
“I know.” She smiled. “That’s what makes you great, Dec. You care more about the safety of the helpless than yourself.”
He frowned. “You consider yourself helpless?”
Her smile twisted, becoming almost smug. “Not anymore.”
Declan opened his eyes to the same gray light he did every morning, except it wasn't morning. It was late afternoon. He shoved himself up and rubbed at his eyes. But then winced at the contact with his freshly healed skin.
Emry. He’d dreamt of Emry again. The beautiful adult Emry. He hadn’t dreamt of her in months. Truthfully, he hadn’t dreamt of much in months. He usually slept soundly from his daily torment at the behest of Kearns. He still wasn’t sure if Kearns was even her first name.
What had his dream Emry said about him again? Something about being brave – about him caring about the helpless. Declan grimaced. If only the real Emry could see him now –squatting in a tent at the base of some mountain in Quirl, making the helpless bleed. Making his friends bleed.
Would he disgust her now? He disgusted himself.
“Declan, are you in there?” Rand called out just as he yanked open the flaps of Declan’s tent.
“And if I say no?” Declan dropped his hands into his lap on top of the fur he’d pulled over himself earlier.
Rand swept inside, letting the flaps drop behind him, and sank onto the ground, swearing. “It’s freezing in here. I forget these tents don’t have stoves.”
“I don’t remember inviting you inside,” Declan retorted.
“I saw your duel with Genne,” Rand replied, crossing his legs in front of him. “You were brilliant. Wrapping her in her own thorns – quick thinking.”
He stared at him. “I don’t think Genne found it amusing.”
The Gray cocked his head to the side. “I’m sure she’s disappointed she hasn’t won back another tent, but she can’t be mad at you for what you did.”
Declan loosed a bitter bark of laughter. “I put her in the infirmary.”
“Yes, where it’s warm and she won’t have to do anything for two days.” Rand chuckled, his own a low, dark sound. “You’re still thinking like a free man, Declan. We’re Stolen. We endure what we’re given and find ways to cheat in what comforts we can. I doubt Genne’s too upset she gets a couple nights in a warm bed she’s not forced to share with someone else.”
“You won’t miss her?” Declan raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “I’ll find some fresh-faced to amuse me in the meantime.”
Declan almost cringed. Almost.
Rand was … many things. But in this camp of torture and misery and exposure to the elements – who was Declan to fault Rand for his choices? Declan had made more than enough mistakes to keep himself busy – more than enough guilt to dwell on.
To be a Stolen was to be broken. They all dealt with it in their own way. This camp was a cesspool. Declan hated it even more than he hated Kearns.
His stomach suddenly rumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten yet that day. He glanced at Rand. “You hungry?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Emry was jolted awake as her carriage bounced over a dip in the road. Across from her on a stuffed bench of deep purple velvet – the twin to the one Emry sat on – Fanny was gazing out the carriage window. Emry blinked blearily and rubbed the inner corners of her eyes with one hand.
“Your hair is blonde, dearest princess,” Fanny said without turning.
It was? Emry drew up the end of her braid into her line of sight. Sure enough, it was blonde. She must had done it in her sleep. Every once in a while that happened, depending on her dream.
Dream. She’d dreamt of Declan. All the time she’d been spending thinking of his parents lately was apparently starting to wear on her. What had the dream been about again? Something about his parents – fearing to disappoint them. And she’d called him Dec … She liked the sound of that.
“We are nearing your family’s townhome.” Fanny shifted her attention from the window to Emry and smiled. “If I might be so bold … If you do not wish to be seen with blonde hair, now might be the best time to switch it back to black, dearest princess.”
They were almost there? Emry tossed a glance out the nearest window, surprised they were already to Wexric – the largest city in Kruth. It really wouldn’t take long for them to reach her family’s place. As a Jewel, Emry had a townhome in the seat of the nobility in every region. Essentially the largest city in each region.
“Thank you for the suggestion, Fanny.” As she returned her hair to normal, she asked, “How long was I asleep?”
“As I fell asleep before you did, I can’t say,” Fanny replied. “But I do
n’t think it could have been more than two hours, dearest princess.”
Emry nearly rolled her eyes at Fanny’s incessant formality. “It’s just us, Fanny. Please call me by my name.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Forgive me if I fail to do so.”
She didn’t have the chance to respond. Her carriage had come to a stop. The door was opened by a footman and gray late afternoon light filled the interior. Fanny slipped out unceremoniously, as was expected. Emry sighed, finding herself tired despite having just woken from a nap.
The footman held out his hand, and Emry pushed back the thick fur she and Fanny had strewn across their laps. Pulling her cloak closer around her, Emry took the footman’s hand and let him pull her out into the icy air.
It was like getting hit in the gut. No, more like being stabbed in the lungs. This Kruth winter air was brutal and bitter and frigid. Emry took a breath and found herself coughing as it seared down her throat. She’d been out in the open for less than ten seconds and already she was shivering. She frowned up at her family’s Wexric residence.
Calling it a townhouse always felt like an understatement to Emry. It was more like a mini-mansion connected to another structure just like it on one side – its right side as Emry was facing it. The townhouse was made of stacked stone with a black metal roof and black front door to match. It had about twenty windows in front and just as many in the back, facing its small garden and stables. The windows were all framed in black. The structure was three stories high and had about six steps up to the front door. This was where Emry had stayed during her last trip to Kruth. It really was a charming place. Just right now, beneath the snow and steel gray sky, it seemed sad, drooping.
Fanny was overseeing the unloading of Emry’s suitcases from the carriage. Emry flashed her a smile before heading up the front steps. The eight-foot tall door was open with the butler standing beside it in welcome. Elk – Emry recalled his name as she neared. An unusual name perhaps for a butler, but Emry quite liked the older Kruth man. He was on the brink of elderly. His slicked back hair that had once been pale blond was silver. As was typical for Kruths, he’d clearly once been very handsome. Even now, he was easy on the eyes, despite his wrinkles.
As Emry neared him, Elk bent at the waist in a bow. “Welcome home.”
It was the same greeting at whichever home she visited. Emry smiled in response, though. She couldn’t explain it, but from Elk it actually seemed sincere. “Thank you, Elk,” she said as she passed the threshold.
It was so much warmer inside. An Orange must had been called to warm the house for her arrival. Elk moved to take Emry’s blue cloak as she slipped it off her shoulders. “You be hungry, lovey?”
And that was why Emry liked Elk so much. He didn’t feel the need to call her the ever-annoying dearest princess. Instead, he referred to her as lovey – a Kruth term of endearment for a young girl, such as a granddaughter.
“I am,” Emry replied. “Could you send a tea tray up to my room? Enough for both me and my maid, please.” Fanny had to be starving.
Elk nodded. “With pleasure, lovey. Will you be staying in the same room, or be trying a new view?”
“No, my room from last time was perfect. I see no reason to change.” Emry probably would have liked to switch – she tended to enjoy variety. However, when she’d chosen her room the last trip, Elk had mentioned her grandfather had hated that room for the sole reason he preferred rooms that viewed the street rather than the garden. That fact alone sold her on it – purely out of spite.
“That be grand.” Elk winked as if in a conspiratorial way, as if he knew why she preferred that particular room.
It made Emry laugh in surprise. “Thank you, Elk.”
“Anything for you, lovey.” He hung her cloak over one arm and retrieved a folded piece of paper from his vest pocket with his free hand. “A note for you arrived not but an hour ago.”
She took it from his outstretched hand. The paper had been sealed shut by a bit of pressed wax on one side. No crest. Just a flat circle. Yet, Emry suspected she knew its sender and what the note contained. “Thank you, Elk,” she repeated as Fanny swept through the front door, instructing the footmen where to bring the suitcases they carried.
Emry decided to give them some space. With the note in hand, she headed into the front parlor off to the left of the foyer.
Once inside, she shut the double doors behind her. The parlor was painted a rich, dark blue with a small, empty fireplace framed in the same stone as the town house. Its simple mantle was the same grayed wood as the floors. A white rug with sage green ivy leaves covered most of the floor, as well as cream-colored sofas and chairs with side tables. A low-lying table sat in the middle of it all – painted in the same sage as in the rug.
Sinking down into one of the chairs, Emry broke the letter’s seal. As she’d expected, it was in code. Encrypted in what she and Levric had discussed back in Breccan. It wasn’t incredibly clever, but it was efficient enough. It was a code she and Cit had come up with years ago along with Piran.
Starting on the first word past the opening address, she took the first letter of the first word, then the second letter of the second word, then the third letter of the third word, and so on until the count of five, when it reset. The trickiest part was to make the note sound coherent so that if anyone stumbled upon it, they would assume its contents were nothing out of the ordinary. For instance, this particular note was all about a new flavor of tea that Emry should sample. It was actually very well done. Emry was impressed by how mundane Levric had managed to make it sound.
She dug her fingers into her braided hair at the back of her head as she silently worked through Levric’s coded message. He was in Wexric. There was a tavern near the heart of town that he was staying in. He wished her to meet him there tonight, at the Stamping Angel. He’d be waiting for her there around midnight. If she couldn’t manage to slip away tonight, he’d do the same the evening after.
Emry chuckled to herself. There was no need for Levric to fret. She’d be there tonight. She was sure she could manage it just fine.
All she had to do was visit the stables and strike up a conversation with a stable boy about local taverns to find Levric’s location. Then, she’d eat, freshen up, settle into her room, and once Fanny left her for the night, Emry would slip out as nothing but swirling shadows.
:::::
Outside of the tavern, Emry solidified just beyond where the light from the nearby street lamppost touched. She could see its painted sign swinging above its front door in the bitter wind. The air stung her nose and face as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her. Her breath puffed out in front of her. She hoped the inside of Levric’s Stamping Angel was sweltering. All this fresh Kruth air was going to make her sick.
She shivered and made her way through the snow that sheeted the stone paved street. The tavern was set beneath an enormous pine tree. Its scent hit Emry as she neared the front door. She inhaled deeply, and instantly regretted it as she coughed from the cold air again. The door swung open as two tall blonde women exited. They held it open for Emry to pass through. She quickly thanked them and ducked inside.
It was a typical Kruth tavern. There was an open bar off to one side with tables beyond and a large fireplace with a roaring fire. That fire was what Emry probably liked most about this place. It was warm.
But she saw no sign of Levric. She swept her eyes across the room. Twice. She had to be in the right place. She’d triple checked the note, and she seriously doubted there were two taverns named Stamping Angel in Wexric. She scanned the room again. This time, her gaze went from table to table until finally she found Levric. By accident, or maybe because he now wanted her to find him. She’d been looking at the group two tables away when he’d subtly lifted his mug to his mouth, drawing her eye. Either way, Emry was glad to see him.
Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she made her way between the tables to join him. Without a word, she dropped
onto the bench across from him.
“Hello, Emry.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward.
“Hello, Ric.”
He stared at her and Emry grinned. “I figured since I’m to go by another name, it might be good for you to do the same.”
“Except my name isn’t one most people would recognize,” Levric said dryly.
She shrugged and set her hands in her lap. In all honesty, she’d only wanted to see his reaction at calling him Ric. It'd been a very long ride across Enlennd, and the thought of calling him Ric had entertained her every so often. She’d never actually meant to call him it in real life. But tonight, coming here – she was nervous. She’d blurted Ric when she’d meant to use his full name.
Levric rubbed the side of his mug with one hand, watching her silently. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m here.”
“I’m glad you made it safely.” Levric nodded.
“To Kruth.” Emry grimaced. “Not Glavenryl.”
“You would have had to make it here eventually,” he replied, his tone suggesting it wasn’t a big deal. As if their plans back in Breccan hadn’t been ruined. She bit the tip of her tongue and glanced down at her hands.
“You’re concerned.” His voice brought her gaze back up. “Why?”
“Why?” She let out a short laugh. Her mind drifted back to her dream about Declan. To what her dream self had admitted to him. She took a deep breath. “We’re trying to change the course of history. It’s a lofty goal and already we’ve hit a snag. I was supposed to go to Glavenryl. To start my uniting there. But I’m in Kruth for at least a month and need to make the most of it. So, what should I try to accomplish while I’m here?”
She realized she’d started to ramble a little, but she was more than just concerned. She was scared. It was one thing to plot and talk schemes through; it was another thing entirely to put those words into actions.
And Emry was terrified – of failing, of disappointing, of breaking promises … of being a useless queen. Emry glared at Levric’s steaming mug and rubbed at her sternum with one hand. What had possessed her to think she’d be able to change a single thing? Her father shut her out of political affairs for probably good reason. She was inexperienced and incompetent.
