Page 58 of Enslaved

To my great relief, the wyvern chooses a direction and begins to fly. It seems like forever, but eventually a faint line of green appears on the horizon. There’s still a world out there beyond this wasteland. A world that must be faced, a reality that must be met with fortitude.

But for now, as the wyvern’s wings fall into a steady rhythm, I allow myself the luxury of simply being. Here. With her. Of feeling her small and trembling in my arms. Every now and then, a splash of water tickles my cheek. Does she weep? Has her exhaustion driven her to such extremes? She must be devastated, after all her striving, for her quest to meet such a barrier. If only I could comfort her; if only I were the kind of man she would turn to for comfort. Then I would make her tremble indeed. Tremble and quake and cry out in ecstasy, all her hopes and sorrows, all her fears and losses forgotten in a moment of pure bliss.

A dream. A fantasy.

Perhaps she does not hate me anymore, though the gods know I’ve given her little reason not to. Perhaps we have even formed an uneasy sort of alliance, found a footing of mutual respect.

But if she knew who I really am—if she knew what I’ve done and what I’ve kept from her all this time—her hatred would be unending.

The wyvern’s wings beat a steady rhythm, speeding us on our way.

As we go, my heart slowly settles to a more regular rhythm. After all, it wasn’t so very terrible, was it? Maybe I’d let myself believe something I shouldn’t. Maybe I’d misunderstood what he was saying. Let myself fall into a little dream of make-believe, imagining something between us that was never there. But it’s not as though I’d bared my whole heart and soul to the Prince!

It was a kiss. A simple peck on the cheek. Nothing more. What did it matter in the long run? If he can shrug it off so easily, why can’t I?

And I will. I swear by all the seven gods, I will.

But for the moment a few stupid tears slip through my lashes, trail along my cheeks, and flit away into the empty sky. I can only hope none of them betray me by splashing on the Prince. The last thing I need is for him to know I’m weeping like some soppy maiden from a ballad.

It isn’t until we’ve crossed the boundaries of the desert and begun the long flight back to the Between Gate that the Prince breaks the awful silence between us. “So you have a plan for searching out High King Illithorin’s heirs, do you?” he says in that easy, uncaring tone that’s like a knife to my heart.

I nod. I do have an idea. A very simple idea. But just then, I don’t have the strength to voice it.

The Prince, to his credit, doesn’t push me. He grunts and allows silence to fall once more. So the hours slip by with agonizing slowness, punctuated only by the beat of the wyvern’s wings. At last, the Prince spies the gate below us. We descend in a slow, lazy spiral, landing in the same clearing as before. It feels like a hundred years have passed since we set out from this place. I slip from the wyvern’s back, refusing the Prince’s offered hand for assistance. He doesn’t look at me but pats the wyvern’s neck then marches into the forest, leading the way to the gate. I follow, trying not to look at him, trying not to read something, some meaning, some hint as to his feelings in the set of his shoulders and the back of his head.

How could I have been so mistaken? How could I have misread everything that took place between us?

I really thought he would kiss me. I really thought . . .

We come to the crumbling old gate. The Prince circles it to find a decrepit dial with only a few faint marks still visible on its face. “Where to?” he asks, casting me a brief, idle glance.

I draw a breath. The wordVespreis there on my lips. Suddenly I want to let all this come to an end. This journey has only led me deeper and deeper into these layers of bargains, each more impossible than the last. I want to return to everyday life, to fall back into the old patterns of avoiding the Prince and him avoiding me. To let that distance between us go back to what it was even just a few days ago.

To forget any of this ever happened.

Instead, I answer crisply: “To Aurelis.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His gaze flickers as he draws a long breath through his nostrils. Then, without a word, he turns the dial. The air beneath the gate art shimmers.

I walk straight through without another word and emerge on the other side into the gentle golden light of dawn.

Thaddeus Creakle is at the front desk when I step back through the doors of Aurelis Library. He looks up idly from behind his square spectacle frames only for his face to wrinkle in a delighted smile. “Miss Darlington! You have returned!” He closes the ledger before him and comes around the desk, holding out his hands to me.

George Nobblin, loading a trolley nearby, shoots an unpleasant look my way. I ignore him and clasp Thaddeus’s hands warmly. “Mister Creakle, I’m so happy to see you. I hope you are well?”

“Ah, as well as can be expected.” The old man shrugs then takes a proper look at me, his expression melting into one of baffled concern. “You seem to have been . . . busy.”

It’s the nicest possible way to reference the absolute disaster of my appearance. I’m covered in dirt, my hair thick with salt and all fly-away about my face. I’ve never looked such a mess in all my life. “Busy.” I nod, smiling wanly. “Yes indeed, Mister Creakle. I have.”

Then the old librarian’s gaze shifts from me to the Prince, who stands leaning against the doorway. “Your Highness,” he says, dropping my hands and offering a stiff bow. “It is an honor as always. May I be of service?”

“That depends. Can you talk my Obligate out of this next fool’s scheme of hers?”

Is it my imagination, or is the Prince avoiding my gaze? I steel my spine, determined not to indulge in such thoughts. “Never mind him, Mister Creakle,” I say brightly. “I do have a rather urgent question for you however.”

“Oh?” Thaddeus’s brow puckers. “Is it about that young man, that new Obligate from a month ago? Let me see, what was his name—”

“No, no, this isn’t about Daniel Gale. I am searching for information on the great houses of Eledria. Specifically genealogies.” I hesitate before adding, “More specifically, the genealogy of the High King, Illithorin.”

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