“No!” I snarl. I am trying to hold it back, to aim it anywhere but at the Fae in attendance.
The guards freeze as I extend a hand for them to halt. With my other hand, I gesture towards the corridor, wielding the magic along a safe path.
Portal.
Portal.
Portal—home.
The power obeys. Thank Gorok. And relief floods my body.
“Seleste, please wait!” The plea in Filip’s voice shatters the last piece of my heart and I almost turn back.
Ignoring it still, I jump into the blue rectangular portal, bracing for the creak of chairs. The whispers of busybodies in the tavern and the too-loud bardic music almost fill my senses.
But no.
It’s way too bright. Too hot.
I squint, trying to adjust.
What I see stops my heart for the thousandth time today.
Blazing sun and endless desert.
Santorili.
Before I can process how absolutely inconvenient this is, a sharp prick pierces my ankle. Glancing down prompts my stomach to drop. Despite the heat, goosebumps riddle my skin.Around me is a twisted nest of the most poisonous vines in Rhodria.
???
Why does it seem I always say the wrong things? I alwaysdothe wrong things. Has a century of drilled etiquette drained straight into a chamber pot?
How can I even be upset that I stupidly let myself get poisoned by one of the deadliest vines on the continent? And like this?
Can’t I just be shot in the knee with an arrow instead? Or stabbed in the back? Something less painful?
At least those bastards died.
Nature’s a vicious bitch, equipping these vines with the power to kill anything they prick, but when they choose violence, they wither.
I draw a breath, but the air offers no reprieve. Blisters already bubble on my skin, and the sun has probably ruined my sight for good.
Dinner with Uncle Filip was at noon and the sun’s already dipping low.
And all because of that one fucking word. Home.
It feels like when I ran from Jestin six months ago—after he offered me himself… my power decided that meant he was offering me a home too. My damn power must’ve glitched and twisted the destination. Or maybe I’m just that bad at portalling.
Where are his scouts, anyway? Shouldn’t they have spotted me by now?
I don’t even have a messenger orb. I didn’t think I’d need one when I was packing for Filip’s. He was just supposed to certify the account in my name at the Tricity Bank.
I have a vault the size of a small village, but I can’t exactly stroll in and grab a lifetime’s worth of gold. Bureaucracy doesn’t work like that.
Not when my vault is in Hanovel, and I’m a persona non grata there. Doesn’t matter how much Uncle Filip wants it otherwise.
I cry out as another wave of pain sears through me. A thick slice of fear coats my skin like a second layer. If the ghouls or Chief Gerald ever decide to torture me, I’ll spill every secret I have. That’s how much I loathe pain.
