Page 47 of Of Blood & Stone

“We’ll be there soon,” she announced, “The guards will fetch you some fresh garments while you get yourself settled. The High One knows Lhaal Forest doesn’t allow for much traveling gear.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

Despite his handsome face, she didn’t miss the bite of sarcasm in his tone, and it set her nerves on edge.

“Itisthoughtful of him. More than you know.”

“Glad we can agree on it.”

She stopped. “Is there a problem?”

He smirked. “Is there? I thought we were in agreement: The High One isverythoughtful.”

“You—” She caught herself, closing her eyes.

She was tired, hungry, and parched. The last thing she needed was to get in an argument with a man—a royal—she’d just met. He was new to her kingdom, and he’d just gotten through Lhaal Forest. Surely he needed rest as well.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled. “Right. We agree.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “Right.”

Heat rising along her neck, she quickly turned and walked past the guards, leading them through the last stretch of pathway and into a large clearing.

Sylzenya’s heart stilled.

Towering trees createded a canopy overhead, fireflies floating just below like twinkling stars. White stone buildings circled the plaza, each structure covered in twisting vines and blooming flowers. Torches lit the night, providing subtle warmth while people walked, laughed, and drank wine.

A memory brought her to a hot summer night long ago. Her father had crafted two nets, and they had spent hours chasing fireflies until they fell into the tall grass, their chests heaving in laughter.

He left her at the temple two days later.

“Praise be to Aretta!” someone shouted from the center of the square.

Sylzenya jumped, backing into one of the guards, their firm hands tightening around her shoulders.

“It’sher,” another shouted, their speech slurred, “the one who will save us from the famine!”

“Great,” a low grumble sounded in her ear, “more drunks.”

She turned to find not one of the guards, but the prince, holding her. His fingers dug into her cloak as his eyes narrowed at the crowd, a look of disgust in his features. A shiver ran up her spine as she flinched out of his grasp.

“It’s called celebrating,” Sylzenya responded, “Most people enjoy it.”

“Not all,” he muttered.

She disregarded him, turning to find the guards staring at her. Bodies rigid, they stood as if they were trees themselves, roots securing their feet to the ground.

Waiting.

“Show us!” another person in the crowd shouted, “Show us Aretta’s power!”

The orodyte around her neck grew heavy.

“Quite the crowd,” the prince said with a sigh, “Anyways, where’s the inn? Food sounds like a good place to start…”

Sylzenya didn’t hear anything else; everyone in the square had stopped their sauntering and drinking to stare at her in anticipation. An opportunity had presented itself to proclaim her destiny as Estea’s security for a fruitful future. She had to make it clear she could take on this burden—had to make it clear so the High One could trust her again.

Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward.

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