So she embraced the madness and forced it to work for her so she could survive and forge a semblance of a life.
“For not being a princess, you’re sure acting like one.” I grab another berry. “Getting your sex slave to hand feed you, an evil queen after your head, and semi-comatose? If you get some wildlife to start doing your bidding, I’m never going to let you live this down.”
My voice tapers off, genuine fear barely kept in check. But if Cambria’s taught me anything, it’s how to shove my feelings into a tiny box and chuck them into a corner to be forgotten. She makes switching personas seem as easy as changing your clothes, like it doesn’t kill a little piece of your soul every time you have to laugh and pretend everything will be fine, knowing better.
If that mental dam ever really burst, I don’t think anyone would survive it, especially her. I’m all for coping mechanisms, but that brief crack in her mask when she was drugged just shows a taste of what’s buried. At this point, we’re not even patching the fissures; we’re slapping stickers on them and crossing our fingers.
Carefully, I lift her head and slide out from under her, easing her back to lie on the ground. “I’m going to go top off our water, alright?”
Scooping up the beveled stone I spent a solid day grinding into the world’s ugliest bowl, I head towards the river. The path is becoming too familiar for my liking, not wanting to start looking at this place like home. But since it is despite my frequent objections, I pick up pretty quickly that something’s off as I approach the river.
So as not to draw attention to the fact that I’ve caught on, I stay low, crouching down to dip the bowl in the water. Turning my head, I fake a sneeze in an excuse to look to one side.
There’s nothing, so when I stand, I pivot the other direction, but that stretch of forest is empty as well. Holding the bowl in one hand, I tuck my other in my pocket, flicking off the safety, but not withdrawing the gun yet.
A twig snaps and I whirl around, dropping the stone and pulling my weapon, but I’m smart enough not to start firing at shadows. With only two shots, I have to make them count.
Head back to the cave, or away from it? We’d be cornered, and I’d be leading him right to her. Though I can’t just leave her defenseless.
Shit.
Taking a few hesitant steps, I wait for something, anything to happen. But nothing does, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m simply jumpy and delirious. I’m just starting to lower my gun when I hear a scuff of rocks and whip my head to the right, seeing a brief, shimmering outline.
Without giving myself the chance to talk myself out of it, I fire both shots in rapid succession until the gun clicks empty. I’ve played enough juggernaut modes in my favorite games to recognize the subtle signs of cloaking, and any fae lurking in the forest invisible isn’t up to anything good. One could argue they were hiding, but if so, they’d have been moving farther away, not creeping closer.
One of the shots hit her in the chest, and she starts shimmering as she comes into view. Pale hair falls halfway down her back and her golden eyes widen in shock.
Oh fuck, what have I done?
My guilt shrivels up as she bares her teeth, whipping a knife to embed in my shoulder as she falls. Gasping, she clutches at her chest, clawing at the wound like if she can just pull out the bullet, she’ll be alright. The blood coats her chest quickly, staining the blonde strands of hair beneath her. And all the while, as her chest rattles, trying to suck air into her lungs, and her nails tear grooves into her flesh as she attempts to dig the bullet out, she glares at me with enough disdain to make me freeze.
“Filthy heathen,” she hisses, golden eyes embodying the sun’s wrath. “You don’t belong here.” Her breath comes out in a rattle. “Deserve to die with the traitor.”
Her fury fuels her to hang on longer than I imagine as I’m stuck rooted to the spot, hands trembling. I watch her die, a far slower process than I ever imagined, as she scoots back, leaving a path in the dirt we both know is futile, and hate myself more than I can say for not regretting it, would do it again without hesitation despite the way the image burns into my retinas.
This place corrupts everything it touches. How can I barely blink at murdering someone? Escaping that hellhole was one thing, but any fae that looks at me twice? Aren’t I better than this?
I promised myself I’d be better for her, but look at me. I’m no different than the people trying to kill us anymore.
Waiting until the light’s completely left her eyes, I rip the knife from my shoulder, white knuckling the hilt as I creep closer to check for a pulse, expecting her eyes to fly open like something out of a horror film. Not so much as a flutter against her skin, so I step back, gazing down and waiting to feel...something. Anything that makes me feel like less of a monster.
When it’s clear I’ll just be standing here until the end of time, I head back to check on Cambria. I keep the gun gripped tightly in one hand, figuring I can use it as a threat or at least a blunt object, and the dagger in the other. Might not do much against someone with magical abilities, but could at least leave me a little less defenseless, give me an extra second to try and come up with a plan.
“Holy hell,” I whisper on a breath, breaking into a jog and then a run.
Cambria’s leaning against the entrance to the cave, shaky and pale, but conscious. “And here I thought you left me for dead,” she jokes half-heartedly, but it doesn’t reach the muted silver of her eyes.
I wrap my arms around her enthusiastically, but promptly release my death grip as she yelps and hisses in pain. “Shit, sorry, I just,” I trail off, nothing I can think of coming even close to encompassing my relief.
As the days dragged on, though I knew she’d wake up eventually, I was afraid to put a time table on my hopes. She was just,is,a mess of ravaged flesh straining to stay together. Every slash across her skin is either a polished groove of scar tissue from the ring’s abuse, or scabbed over. Her clothes are in filthy tatters, her skin practically translucent. And her eyes...
No mischief alights their usual swirling silver. They’re as dull as the rest of her, even her hair a muted tone, matted with dirt since I didn’t want to risk moving her more than necessary after that first day.
She leans into me and I wrap my arm around her for support, but follow her lead so I don’t hurt her again. “We need to run?” she asks, her breathing labored.
Grimacing, I nod, filling her in. “The shots might draw someone else this way, so we should get moving.” Nodding, she takes a sharp intake of breath before pushing herself into motion, limping. “I can carry you,” I hastily offer, but she shakes her head. “Save that for when I keel over or we need to make a hasty exit. But better off saving your energy to fight if it comes down to it.”
Reluctantly, I agree that she’s thinking clearly and I’m letting my concern overshadow logic, but that doesn’t make me hate it any less. We follow the forest lined path down from the cave towards the river, because if I can get us there, it’ll be easier for Cambria to move and help push us along. No matter how gentle the current, it will take the weight off her leg. Swimming sounds like a smarter move in our present condition.
