Maybe he’d hate her, maybe he’d curse the day he’d met her, maybe he’d never want to see her again. But she couldn’t do this, not even to stop a war, without telling him that one last time.
She left the book open, set her quill on the page, then at the door, turned to gaze at his slumbering face one last time.
Veron, prince of Nozva Rozkveta, I, Alessandra Ermacora, princess of Silen, offer you love—she rested a hand on her heart—peace, and a life here, quiet, safe from the Brotherhood, and every enemy I can protect you from… to harness for your ends or ours, as we… as we walk our lives together from this day forward for as long as the Deep allows.
Wiping at her cheeks, she took three deep breaths and slipped out into the hall.
All was quiet, and there was no one about. Everyone had to be sleeping at this hour. She could find her way to the lifespring, and from there, the tunnels were not far. There were clothes at the lifespring, including kuvari leathers, masks, and hoods, which she could use if she managed to sneak them, but from there on, she still needed a way to make it past the kuvari guarding the Gate.
Gavri and Valka were kuvari themselves, so perhaps she could use that to talk her way past.
As she headed out of the palace, no one stopped her. In fact, the few passersby she met greeted her warmly, by the proper form of address. The main part of the city—Central Cavern, as everyone called it—was empty, and she crossed its gleaming blackness toward the lifespring. Through the dark entryway, the lifespring pools glowed a bright teal, and the clothes would be in a small cave off to the side of the pools.
Inside, one of the violet-clad mystics spoke with a woman in one of the pools with her hair braided in a crown about her head.
Yelena.
Backing up, she turned to leave, but Yelena twisted and met her gaze. “You. What are you doing here?”
She straightened. “I could ask you the same.”
Yelena huffed. “I’m practicing the sword. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Convalescing.”
“Those human eyes work after all. And you had the same couple days in the saddle I did.” Yelena looked her over with appraising eyes. “Your robes are all tattered. Rough night?”
She cleared her throat. “You could say that.”
Yelena smirked and swept an arm wide. “Well, then. Come and convalesce, human princess.”
She took a step forward, but… there was no time for this. Was there even any sense in trying to disguise herself in a mask and hood? She’d probably be caught anyway. “I…”
“What? Is my company not good enough for you?” Yelena quirked a brow.
“No, no, it’s not that—”
“What exactly are you up to? What’s in the bag?”
Shifting the knapsack, Aless looked over her shoulder, and the mystic had gone. I need a mask, a hood, and leathers, and I want to save Gavri and Valka and stop a war, she wanted to say, and then… blurted it all out.
Yelena’s brow furrowed and stayed furrowed a long while. Her head bobbed before she drew in a deep breath. “Well, if you need help getting rid of yourself, you’ve come to the right person.”
Chapter 23
Outside the Gate and beyond the Bloom, Aless dropped her knapsack, removed her hood, mask, and borrowed leathers, then began changing into her bustier, chemise, and blue velvet overdress.
“What are you doing?” Yelena hissed in the dark. Confident and gruff, Yelena had led her through the earthmover tunnels disguised as one of her kuvari, and since Yelena wasn’t a citizen of Nozva Rozkveta, no one had even tried to stop her.
“In there”—smoothing her hands over her velvet skirts, Aless tipped her head toward the Gate—“I need a mask and a hood to blend in. Out here, I might be killed on sight. Better they see that I’m human.”
Yelena eyed her from beneath a frown, then took a deep breath. “Are you sure about this?”
“I thought you were pretty keen on getting rid of me?”
Yelena shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “Do as you will. I’ll keep Veron’s bed warm when you die.”
Veron.
Holy Mother’s mercy, just thinking of him right now, about leaving him like that, made her hands tremble, but she fisted them. This was to save him, to save everyone from war and death, and even if she failed and got caught, at least it would force Papà to intervene and stop this.
To do what she needed to do, she’d have to shove down that trembling feeling, the memory of Veron’s passionate face, the sight of him sleeping soundly as she’d left. Shove it down.
She shook out her hair into an unbound curly mess, cleared her throat, and nodded to Yelena. “I’m sure he’d rather a harpy kept his bed warm than you, but thanks.”
Yelena crossed her arms and shot her a sheepish grimace. “I’ll wait here until dawn. If you’re not back by then, I’m going back in there to tell everyone you’re probably dead.”
Yelena’s words were harsh, but her help had been invaluable.
“Thank you, Yelena. Really.”
Yelena gave her a final nod.
This is it. She turned south and headed toward the Brotherhood encampment.
The forest was dark and quiet, with the rare animal call interrupting the silence. The only light came from the faint glow of the Bloom vines and flowers, and the little star-like twinkles of the pixies fluttering in the night air.
After walking for a while, the quiet and the dark hadn’t abated—she should’ve found the Brotherhood encampment already, shouldn’t she? The Gate she’d exited from wasn’t the same one as the Gate she and Veron had arrived by.
A pixie flew alongside her, and she sighed. “I don’t suppose you can help me find Gavri and Valka? Two dark-elves in a human camp?”
The pixie flitted about, darting erratically, then took off toward the side.
Is a pixie actually helping me? It was ridiculous, really, but if she was lost, then following a pixie wasn’t any more ridiculous than milling about in the wrong direction.
Her skirts clenched in her hands, she followed the pixie’s dimming glow, and soon, sparse firelight flickered between the trees and the undergrowth, and a sea of tents.
She suppressed a gasp, hiding behind an oak.
You really did help me? She eyed the pixie, who hovered next to her behind another trunk.
Thank you, she mouthed, keeping a wary eye on the camp.
It was quiet, with very few Brotherhood soldiers—or anyone—about, but considering the hundreds of tents, that could easily change with one alarm. Most on the outskirts were little tents, with the bigger ones toward the center of camp.
A few sentries walked a circuit, which would have been no problem if she’d been Yelena or Veron. But right now, even one was one too many. There was no possibility of walking in unnoticed here by blending in. They’d be waiting for someone to try a rescue from the trees here.
But toward the back of the camp, there was movement to and from a well-lit area, and she stalked through the undergrowth, keeping behind trees as best she could, to get a closer look.
Makeshift bars dotted the back end of the camp, along with some tents where soldiers entered and exited, smiling and laughing.
The camp followers.
If there was any chance of getting to the center of the camp, this was it. It would have to be from there.
As a chorus of crickets chirped, she crept as near as she dared in the forest’s concealment, fluffing her hair and pinching her cheeks, rumpling her gown, even dirtying its hem a little.
The pixie flitted closer, landing on her shoulder.
“Your light’s going to give us away,” she whispered, and the pixie’s light dimmed down to almost nothing, a barely audible little chime coming from it. Speech?
With the light, the pixie looked like a tiny winged person the size of a butterfly, a pink-haired woman wrapped in a leaf. An utterly adorable little pink-haired woman.
Her chest fluttered, and if this were any time and pl
ace other than sneaking outside a Brotherhood camp, she might have squealed with delight.
The pixie darted into her unbound hair, clinging on with the slightest tug. Unexpected, but somehow, this wouldn’t be as terrifying when there was someone with her.
She watched the movements of the camp, with two tents close to the edge completely dark, with no movements in or out. A lone man strolled down a lane and then ducked into a nearby, lantern-lit tent.
Be brave.
With a deep breath, she strode out of the forest confidently, with only the clothes on her back and a pixie in her hair. No one was about, and she only needed a minute or so to cross the clearing between the trees and the camp.
Just a little more.
If she ran, that would draw attention. At least walking, she might seem like a prostitute returning from relieving herself. Her heart pounded as she neared the first tent, and voices laughed from nearby.
Just a little more. A little more.
She peeked into the first tent—a woman was sleeping—and a belt buckle fastened and coins clinked nearly just as she peeked into the second.
Empty.
She darted inside and drew the tent flap closed as booted footsteps emerged from the one next to her.
Holy Mother’s mercy.
She gulped in breaths, trying to slow her racing heart, and looked around the dark tent. The stench of the bedroll was enough to make her gag. Wine, queen’s lace, the bitter herbs…
A moment to gather her composure. She’d go to the center of camp, and if anyone stopped her, she’d say General Belmonte had requested her services. At best, she’d be left to go where she pleased, and at worst, she’d be taken to him—and of everyone here, Tarquin was still her best chance at not getting hurt, at the very least for fear of Papà’s wrath.
She grabbed a bottle of red wine—holding something would at least make her feel better and give her trembling hands something to do—and then counted to three before emerging.
No one was outside, but as she headed toward the center, a few soldiers walked past, paying her no mind aside from the rare whistle and kissing sounds.
Thank the Mother.
An otherworldly scream came from the outer ring of the center, unlike anything she’d ever heard. That couldn’t be Tarquin or any of the Brotherhood. Were any other Immortali being kept prisoner?
It’s our best chance.
She headed toward it, and the line of tents here was utterly quiet, and the stench—
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she peeked past tent flaps, finding posts, ropes, chains, and bloodied rags.
Holy Mother’s mercy, had they killed—
No. She shook her head. They wouldn’t have killed their only leverage against Queen Zara; the Brotherhood was hateful and violent, but Tarquin was not stupid, and underestimating his intelligence instead of accounting for it would only lead to failure.
A grunt came from the large tent ahead.
Everything inside of her wanted to freeze to the spot, but if the person emerged, that would only look suspicious.
A man in a white tabard with a clasped red hands insignia left the tent, smirking, his flinty eyes settling on her as his smirk abdicated in favor of a frown. “What are you doing here, whore?”
The harsh tone was accusatory, but as he approached, he looked her over, and the furrows lining his face faded.
Her heart pounding, she plastered a seductive smile on her face, relaxing her posture as she put a hand on her hip and gave the bottle of wine a shake. “It must get very lonely out here. I thought maybe you could use some company.”
The smirk returned as his palm landed on her waist and traveled upward. “I wouldn’t think a face like yours would need to work so hard.”
Holy Mother help me. “Just trying to do my part.”
He reached for her chin—
The pixie dashed out of her hair and past him—
He whirled, and she swung the bottle of wine toward his head. It connected, shattering glass and spilling wine as he tumbled to the grass.
Her heart in her throat, she grabbed him by the tabard and struggled to drag him into the tent he’d emerged from while he groaned.
It had been too quiet, the contact too loud, and someone would’ve—someone had to be coming—
“Aless,” Gavri hissed, tied to a post across from another dark-elf woman—Valka? They were dirty, their leathers tattered, faces bruised and bloody. “What’re you—?”
She ran to Gavri, scrabbling for the ropes binding her wrists, and frantically cut at them with the broken bottle. They weren’t—it wasn’t—not sharp enough, not fast en—
That otherworldly scream pierced the air again.
“Behind you,” Gavri snarled.
She spun as the man grabbed for her, and both Gavri and Valka yanked at their bonds. The pixie darting at his face, he pulled her ankle and tumbled her to the ground, dragging her beneath him.
“You—” he snarled, but a foot crashed into his face, sending him flying off her.
Gavri snatched the broken bottle from her hands and buried it in the man’s neck, spitting at him. She took his short sword and cut Valka free, who stomped on his head.
The otherworldly screaming resumed.
“What is that?” Aless breathed, laboring to her feet as Gavri stripped bits of the man’s gear and his weapons.
“They have a unicorn here,” Gavri said, tossing her a sheathed hunting knife.
She tried to catch it, but it fell to the ground. A unicorn? Was it the one from outside Stroppiata? They had it here? She picked up the knife and tucked it into her boot, and the pixie fluttered past her face and landed on her shoulder.
“Thank you, Tiny,” she whispered.
“Come on,” Gavri said, nodding toward the tent flap. “That commotion won’t have gone unheard.”
Valka nodded, holding up the broken and bloodied wine bottle, and swept aside the flap. “No one’s here yet,” she said. “We make for the trees.”
Gavri followed.
“What about the unicorn?” Aless whispered as it continued its screaming. What would the Brotherhood do to it? Torture it? Sell it? Kill it?
“No time,” Gavri said.
No time? Something tightened in her chest, her breaths coming in short, quivering gasps.
“I’ll follow you soon,” she told Gavri, and then headed toward the screaming.
“Aless,” Gavri hissed after her.
“Go,” she whispered in reply. “I’m human. I’ll be fine.”
Eyes wild, Gavri stood frozen, but Valka grabbed her wrist and dragged her away as Aless cut through the lines of tents.
They had to leave. As dark-elves, they’d be identified and attacked in a second. But she’d gotten across the camp without incident. Human, well disguised, she stood a chance.
There was a chaos of shouting and boots thumping behind her, but she ignored it. Brotherhood soldiers yelling about Gavri and Valka’s escape, and bellowing orders to chase into the forest.
The unicorn’s screams quieted and quieted, faded to exhausted squeals and shrieks, and the clop of hooves was near.
A large, open tent contained a mass of sage-tinted chains, all binding the unicorn so brutally it could scarcely move. Red welts, old and extensive, marred its once-immaculate coat beneath the chains, staining it bloody, and the whites of its eyes showed as it regarded her warily. It was smaller than the one she’d seen on the way to Stroppiata, with a shorter horn, and even in the dimness, dazzling green eyes.
Holy Mother’s mercy, how could anyone do this to an innocent being? Bind it, torture it, and for what? Why even keep the Immortals? As trophies, as prizes? To study them? Just for malice’s sake?
Checking the surrounding area, she found it empty, and darted to the unicorn shuddering in chains. Where to even begin?
“I’m going to help you,” she whispered, and Tiny flew out of her hair again to a post behind the unicorn, where it disturbed a key rin
g on a hook.
Voices came from behind the tent.
She ducked inside, squeezing between the unicorn and the tent’s canvas, but the voices continued—two soldiers discussing the hunt for Gavri and Valka, wondering whether they’d hidden among the tents.
No! They couldn’t find her—they couldn’t. Not when she was so close to actually succeeding in her plan. Tiny fluttered back to her, taking refuge in her curls.
She sidled in the narrow space toward the post. If they did find her, then at the very least she could free this unicorn. It quieted, too, standing utterly still as she slowly reached for the keys.
Once she had them in hand, she followed the chains until she found the lock at her side, and opened it with a barely audible click.
The voices stopped for a moment. Had they gone?
The unicorn pulled against the chains, clinking them, and the noise only worsened as it yanked into the lane between the tents, dragging the chains out with it.
An ache formed in the back of her throat, and the trembling in her limbs spread to cold fingers twisting and wringing the velvet skirt, wet with wine.
Yelling and booted steps converged, and she huddled against the tent, hiding behind the canvas next to the entryway, shaking, reaching for the knife in her boot. But if the Brotherhood knew she was there, that knife wouldn’t save her. Running wouldn’t save her. Screaming wouldn’t save her.
But she could save Gavri and Valka. Divert the Brotherhood’s attention—
“Get them,” came an order.
“Sir!”
With a swallow, she straightened, forced her arms to her sides, and raised her chin, taking deep breaths. There was only one thing that could save Gavri and Valka now. Raising her voice.
“My name is Princess Alessandra Ermacora of Silen,” she called out, firming her voice with every ounce of royal arrogance she could muster. “And I demand to speak to General Tarquin Belmonte at once.”
Everything outside the tent went silent.
Holy Mother’s mercy, would they charge in here, tie her up, drag her to him? Nothing and no one moved, only the sound of several men breathing indicating their presence outside.
You are a princess of Silen. Be brave.
No Man Can Tame Page 24
