But this act is for the best woman to walk the face of this earth.
I take a deep breath, reaching for the strap to pull myself up, and then hoist myself onto the back of the massive beast.
Once firmly seated, I feel worse. My stomach drops to my ass but I know that this must be done.
I use the trick I learned in Dragonsreach to anchor myself appropriately in the saddle, adjusting the position of my cleaver in the strap around my waist, and then take a deep breath.
When I kick my legs, Seraph moves. Her wings spread wide, and she requires little prep before she launches herself into the air. I let out a startled cry.
The rush of air over my skin is painful, too cold, and overwhelming all at once, but I try my best to ignore the fear and panic climbing inside of me and surrender myself to the open sky.
Chapter 6
ARLET
The carriage ride is surprisingly smooth compared to the carts I rode in during my time as a slave. Especially after how unreliable my legs felt stepping off the boat earlier, I am grateful not to feel every bump as my stomach twists over the memory of the death and blood in the port. Will any of this get easier? It is bad enough looking out the window now, feeling the endless, low-level churning in my gut and burning in my ankle.
Not enough to make me call out to stop the carriage, but definitely enough to not ever relax. Especially not with the anticipation of what is to come next.
After his initial attempts at conversation, Thorne drifts off, as if the walk from the boat and the travel have exhausted him. But I notice a strange stillness, as if he isn’t really asleep.
I study his movements, feeling all at once exhilarated and uneasy at being close to a traitor. Conjuring memories from the past, I see him around Enduvida. I remember him in the council meeting when the Elf King announced his intention to marry me in order to stave his hand and prevent a war.
I see him eating and laughing with Estela, the queen he seemed to respect. I remember him near the children. At my Ascension ceremony. I see him everywhere in the cave—barred from nothing andno one, despite the misgivings of those who mistrusted him because of the Sisterhood he represents.
Or,represented, I suppose.
Was Mrath also a part of the betrayal that he has spun? Or is she just another casualty in his long line of deceit?
I can imagine her cutting off his head and wearing his ears on a necklace she’d proudly display to any and all who would look upon her.
That would do him well.
Another memory surges, of him and Ulla, the healer from back home. She’s a ferocious kind of gentle. The kind who is gentle because she decides to be, despite being perfectly capable of fighting and defending. There were whispers about her and Thorne. Estela, my best friend, suspected something between them would blossom.
I imagine that Ulla had felt conflicted because she was tired of lovers, and she had decided to wait until a matehood appeared in her future. She was not as eager to chase matehood as I was, but something about Thorne brightened her countenance. I felt sympathy for her—elves and Enduares are not able to mate because of ancient animosity between their gods.
Despite all that…he seemed taken with her. Softer around her. I wonder if I could forgive his betrayal if I could see her reaction to his true character? Or was every emotion I perceived on that end also a lie, like his friendship?
Liars and betrayers would do the world better if they were eliminated. I was not sure if their penchant for lying or deceiving would change over time.
And then I remember what he said to me.Traitors and friends.
I had lied to Arion by allowing him to believe I was still a virgin—that I could easily bear children. I had betrayed Mrath by giving the elves a tracker that could find the artifact.
Thorne and I are two sides of one stone.
And I absolutely hate that.
As the elk continue to race across the forest, and the light begins to seep from the brilliant late morning to the dimming afternoon, Istay awake and alert. Guilt and worry eat at me, worming holes through my conscience like some aged cheese.
“I can feel your eyes, my dear,” his voice sounds, startling me from my thoughts.
I glare at him, considering a reply. But nothing comes forward in my mind that would satisfy my hope to give him only cold, calculated words to match his cold, calculated actions.
His eyes blink open, meeting my gaze. “Ready to talk?”
A response finally tumbles out of my mouth. “Why kill the man? Surely it would’ve been enough to just leave it at cutting off his hand and then moving on? They didn’t need your declarations. They didn’t need to know who I was.”
