I study the battle-ready postures of my companions: Jestin, known for finishing fights diplomatically; Aidon, his scowl darkening an otherwise perfect face; the Draghtralls, fearless and accustomed to violence; and Nulok, determined, even though he truly dislikes combat. Then I focus on my Arken senses and… he is right. The same eerie silence as before screams all around us. Something isn’t right. Usually, I am the one with no self-control, yet I am not affected.
“We need to tread carefully, My Lady. It is a direct attack on your court.” Riven’s eyes glitch with the effort to fight the spell. Mental attack?
What the heck is it?
“The arselicker is right, listen.” Aidon hurries to me. They all do.
“The mist,” says Bane, drawing his sword from the handle.
I look around, indeed a delicate, almost suffocating mist of power surrounds the camp… Succubus? Faeries?
Riven puts up the mask of a general, gesturing for the rest to take their positions. He and Bane flank us with outstretched wings, ready to absorb any physical attack. Jestin gathers sand,shaping it into a protective barrier around us. Aidon positions himself as close to me as he can, while Nulok moves closer to Jestin, hands ready to wield his power.
“Show yourself,” I command into the night. My voice bounces on the mist, which amplifies it instead of muffling. “Right now!”
In answer, a chirping voice emanates from all directions. “But My Lady, I mean you no harm.”
Goosebumps ripple across my skin.
“I aim to show you their true nature, that’s all, My Queen.” The voice echoes from all directions, like an ominous god. I can’t pinpoint the source of the sound; it seems like the mist itself speaks.
“Show yourself!” I repeat it louder and check the well of my power, preparing to shield myself if necessary.
“As you wish.” The mist groups at the edge of our camp into a cloud, resembling a huge monster.
“I have no desire to harm you, My Queen.” The voice grows stronger as it takes form, booming and resonant, like it could fill the entire world with its presence.
“The spirits are troubled,” the creature says, bowing deeply.
I need to be careful. One wrong word and it can become very ugly.
I look to Riven for any directions and he nods to continue. I don’t know when I began turning to him in uncertainty, but I do. I depend on his judgment because mine is faulty.
“I appreciate your efforts, but it was not needed,” I say.
“It was, My Lady,” it says, gesturing at the males. “You are moving too slowly; they are lying to you.”
“I will question them and deal with it accordingly,” I cut it off before it meddles in my head.
“But My Lady, you can’t enter the forest with a weak party, you won’t survive, and the spirits need you to open the gate.”
It is playing on my emotions. Manipulating me.
“You need to be aware of the lies.”
“Dismiss it,” orders Riven.
I am happy to do that.
“Take your tricks away from my camp, or you will not survive till dawn,” I order, channelling my inner Grams, letting some of my power loose. I barely register my companions’ flinching, but they stay at my side.
“As you wish,” the mist bows and evaporates, taking the loud silence with it.
We wait quietly, long moments dragging by, making sure we’re truly alone this time. We were fools, believing we’d be safe so close to the forest.
“We’ll double the guards. Navatian, you’re first with me.” Riven takes charge. “ My Lady, you need to rest. Rhodria depends on your wit tomorrow.”
Jestin nods and heads off to keep watch while the rest of us settle in. I find my bedroll and lie down, almost comfortably, yet even with the breeze caressing my bare skin and the fire’s gentle crackle, sleep refuses to come.
