Page 15 of A Dagger in the Ivy

I can’t stay here. I need to get back inside the Garrison. Holding my breath, I take a step and stop. The wolf stays where it is. Another step. And another. But the animal remains in the shadows of the trees. I swallow hard, wondering if I’m pushing my luck. Twelve steps in, I’m convinced that if I do not run, if I keep my pace slow, the wolf will not attack. That belief is the only thing keeping me from passing out with fear.

My feet are battered, caked with freezing mud from my journey back to the Garrison, but I arrive in one piece. I cannot go through the guarded entrance, but I’ve lived here long enough to know where the secret passages are. Before stepping inside, I do my best to remove the grime from my soles so as not to leave muddy footprints on the floor. No one must know that I’ve wandered in my sleep. I can’t let anyone find out, lest they wonder if the madness has claimed me.

When my father was alive, he used to tell me not to worry. He said that because I was half-fae and half-human, my powers were probably taking longer to manifest. He assured me that they would develop before I reached the breaching age. But he died before I reached that age, and now I’m well beyond it, so my optimism to inherit my uncle’s and mother’s power of telepathy or perhaps my grandmother’s power of illusion or my great-grandfather’s rare fire-wielding powers has all but left me.

Instead, I may be fated to succumb to madness.

The people of the realm won’t allow me to remain in the regiment, not to mention command it, if my mind is unstable. As for being queen, a mad ruler is frowned upon—and more often usurped. My brother was clever enough to avoid being labeled as such, and when the sickness left him bedridden, my uncle made sure to claim it as a physical illness tohide the truth from the realm.

Drawing my nightgown tighter around me, I set off toward my room, my senses on high alert for any sign that someone might see me. Each step is a struggle, a silent battle waged in the depths of my soul. But as I reach the door to my room without being seen, a sense of relief washes over me—a fleeting respite from the shadows that haunt my every waking moment.

Safe in my room, I let out a long breath, and my muscles relax a bit. Not completely, though. We leave for Hedera in the morning, and I’m nowhere near ready.

CHapter

Eight

The journey to Ivystone Citadel in the capital of Hedera takes just short of two days by carriage. I’d get there quicker if I were to ride Thora the entire way, cutting through fields and hills instead of sticking to the country roads, but my uncle insisted that arriving by horseback and smelling like a stablehand is not befitting of a princess about to meet her betrothed prince. None of my arguments won him over. But at least I get to share the journey with Nadya.

And at least I won the disagreement about my apparel. The gown Uncle Kormak suggested I wear was itchy and suffocating, and it would hardly have fit in the carriage. I told him that if he demanded I wear it, I simply wouldn’t be coming. Since wearing a Delasurvian regiment uniform would be completely out of the question, we’ve agreed on an elegant yet simple light-blue dress, designed for comfort and ease of movement. The round neckline is modest yet feminine and relaxed, and the short, slightly puffed sleeves add a touch of charm. The bodice is softly ruched, creating a flattering silhouette that flows effortlessly into a long, flowing skirt. The fabric is lightweight and silky, allowing it to drape beautifully while maintaining an airy feel, but it’s opaque enoughto conceal the dagger sheathed at my thigh.

But what really won me over was the fact that this dress used to belong to my mother.

Nadya and I have a carriage all to ourselves, so we can stretch out and not feel cramped. My uncle’s carriage follows ours, as he is serving as my chaperone until I’m properly delivered to my new residence at Ivystone Citadel. I find it ridiculous that I need someone to accompany me when I am the one who leads my squad on missions without anyone watching over me. Our carriage interior is plush and luxurious, with velvet cushions lining the seats and ornate curtains drawn to shield us from the outside world. Despite the opulence, I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness as we leave Delasurvia behind. The familiar sights of the Garrison and the castle fade into the distance, and I find myself longing for the comfort and security of home.

“Should we play a game?” Nadya’s presence beside me offers some solace, her lively chatter filling the silence as we journey toward Ivystone. But even her infectious energy can’t dispel the heaviness in my heart. She sets down the book she’s reading and leans toward me. “I’ve learned some new ones.”

“Perhaps later.” I offer her a small smile. “My heart just isn’t in it at the moment.”

Nadya’s expression is filled with concern. “It will be all right, you know?”

“I know.” I turn away from the landscape that rolls by outside, facing her fully. I force a smile, though it feels strained. “Just feeling a bit nostalgic, I suppose. Leaving Delasurvia behind is harder than I thought.”

Nadya nods understandingly, reaching out to squeeze my hand in a gesture of comfort. “I know it’s difficult, but think of it as a new adventure. Who knows what awaits us in Ivystone? We said goodbye to the familiarity of the Garrison, but we can welcome all the new experiences and acquaintances the Land of Ivy has to offer.”

“Speaking of goodbyes and acquaintances, I couldn’t help but notice your little rendezvous, slipping into your room with one of thesoldiers last night.” I raise an eyebrow suggestively. “Who was it? Mylo? No, they weren’t big enough to be Mylo. Or maybe Aila? I’ve seen how you watch her cross a room.”

Nadya’s cheeks flush pink, and she gives me a playful glare. “I don’t kiss and tell, Celeste,” she replies coyly, a smirk playing on her lips. She smooths out her pale-pink dress, the satin caressing her lovely curves.

“As long as it wasn’t Isaac,” I tease. “You deserve better than him.”

We share a laugh, the tension easing slightly as we settle into the rhythm of the journey. Despite the bittersweet farewell to Delasurvia, I know that with Nadya by my side, whatever lies ahead in Ivystone will be an adventure worth embracing.

Nadya picks up her book and fans through the pages to find her place. She reads for a few minutes, but then her brow suddenly furrows. “Wait, that rendezvous was in the middle of the night. Could you not sleep?”

I can’t let her know I was sleepwalking again. She’s caught me twice throughout the years, but I was lucky enough to escape her notice the other times. Giving her a half-shrug, I say, “It was nerves. Had me tossing and turning all night.”

She places her book on her lap and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry. If it happens again, let me know. I’ve found a tea that helps me sleep; you could give it a try.”

It’s not the sleep I’m worried about, but the wandering. And the reoccurring nightmare. But I don’t want her to be concerned, so I simply smile. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

Hedera is truly the Land of Ivy. My memory of the place is not fine-tuned in my mind, but I feel as though the place has prospered greatly since I last set foot here. Vines of green cling to every structure in sight. The green is complemented by lavender hues from wisteria, dark-purple blossoms of morning glories, and bright magenta drapings of bougainvillea. The towns we travel through on our journey to theIvystone Citadel unfold like picturesque canvases. Cobbled streets wind through the towns, lined with quaint shops adorned with ivy-laced façades. Gas streetlamps stand sentry on every corner. I can already imagine the warm glow they cast at dusk, creating a romantic ambiance over the charming villages. The scent of blooming flowers intermingles with the crisp air, carried by the gentle breeze that sweeps through the ivy-covered archways.

The architecture of the buildings mirrors the eclectic transition of the times. Half-timbered structures, reminiscent of the Age of Dragons, share space with more modern homes adorned with bay windows and intricate wrought-iron railings. The ivy, which gracefully climbs the walls of these buildings, has probably been around since the beginning of time.

In the town square of Ivystone, a bustling marketplace buzzes with life. Stalls showcase a variety of goods, from fresh produce to handcrafted wares. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingles with the scent of nature, creating an intoxicating blend that defines the heart of the community. Nestled at the base of the hill, it radiates an atmosphere of energetic activity and small-town charm.

Nadya gapes at the town, clearly awestruck. “I love it already.”

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