Page 44 of Tales of Fire and Embers
“Up until three weeks ago, I also thought Ansgar to be dead. That is until Fear Gorta came to me and offered me this proof that Ansgar is alive. He is in the Fire Kingdom.” As soon as I said the words both their faces turned as white as paper, but I disregarded the million questions they had, deciding it was not the best time to think about how Ansgar was faring there. Part of me already knew that he must not be in great shape considering he was forced to live in an enemy kingdom. “Rhylan and I made a deal that he would take me to the Fire Kingdom to see Ansgar, but I asked for proof that your prince is alive and received this.”
They stared at the locks of hair, then at me, then at each other in complete silence.
“Only the Queen would know how to read this,” Matthyaz responded.
“Which is why I need to see her,” I pushed.
Faelar replied, “You will be executed on sight, you cannot go there.”
I wanted to say that I didn't care, that this was worth the sacrifice, and I would gladly risk it, but thought better of it. I did not fool myself with dreams of bravery and always took pride in my realism. If I died, who would go into the Fire Kingdom? I was convinced Rhylan wouldn't take any of them, so they needed me alive. Maybe there was some room for negotiation.
“There must be a solution to all this, Faelar,” I pleaded to the friendship we once shared, to the memories I hoped she still possessed of the smiles and good times we had together. Even though now, the hardness on her cheek made her a completely different person, I hoped that my friend, the sweet girl I'd come to meet still lurked somewhere inside.
“You can call the barren one.” It was Rhylan who voiced the idea, despite our surprise. “He is only a few territories away, he can appear within minutes,” he offered. How he knew all this was something we would be left to wonder and an answer he clearly did not plan on sharing.
“You do not give me orders,” Matthyaz’s voice sounded rasp, slicing hatred in its path, eyes piercing Rhylan’s like a million blades ready to attack. The old fae kept his mouth shut, something unusual for him and I could not avoid thinking he did it for my benefit. Because he wanted to help me and offer me the hope I needed, to verify the truth of his promises.
“Maybe summoning Prince Vikram is not the worst idea in the world,” it was Faelar who said it, making the armed faeries turn their heads slowly towards their leader, disbelief marked in their action.
“I will not risk bringing a member of the royal family in the presence of Fear Gorta!” Matthyaz raised his tone, making us all shake along with his words.
“Of course not, he was just leaving,” I heard myself say, without even throwing a gaze in Rhylan’s direction. In the next instant, I felt him move behind me, my words causing distressing shifts in his posture.
“I am not leaving you alone with them,” his words sounded sharp and determined, his body now moving towards me in an attempt to protect but I raised my hand and placed it on his chest, over the wound now barely visible through the cut across his shirt, stopping him from advancing further.
The familiarity surprised not only the faeries around, but me along with it. In these three weeks, Rhylan and I became close, we created some kind of relationship, and even though I could not pinpoint the sentiment connecting my end of the link, I knew I had the power to make him listen. I had power over the most ancient fae known to man.
“Vikram is the one who guided me through the kingdom that time youhelpedme pass,” I pierced the words, making him understand that he had absolutely no right of decision in this case, that he owed me for his past actions. “We get along, so I will be fine by his side,” I insisted, pushing slowly in his chest. I felt his heart beat faster over my palm andsensed nervousness flushing through his body.
Rhylan was terrified to leave me alone with Ansgar’s cousin, terrified that something would happen to me. Because he cared for me or because it ruined his plan, I did not know. I could not think past the present, past the hope that Ansgar might truly be alive somewhere and that I would see him soon.
“Turn around slowly and look closer at the trees, there are forty-one faeries hidden in the barks and branches. All armed.” He shifted closer to me, enough to whisper the words in my ear, but I only heard half of what he said, my brain much too focused on the trail his warm breath left on my neck. I did not understand why it caused me to feel this intensely, made me focus so much on the tiny drop of sweat falling from the shell of his ear onto his neck and down on his skin. He stood so close to me that I could lick it if I wanted to, and damn, that thought really wanted to make its way on my priority list.
“I’ll be fine, Rhylan, you can go now.” I forced myself to wake up from the trance his closeness provoked in me and stepped back, distancing myself from his scent, from his presence, from that wonderful perfume emanating from a single drop of sweat. He smelled of wildflowers and pepper, and oh my god, I wanted to bask in his aroma.
“Anwen…” his warning sounded more like a plea rather than the usual smirking of a request, yet his desperation to leave me alone pushed through his usual calm demeanour.
“Dark one, I will not say it again, nor will I waste more of our time with you. Prince Vikram will not be summoned in your presence, and should you not leave immediately, this conversation will reach an abrupt ending,” Ansgar cousin pressed with an evident loss of patience which forced me to look at Rhylan with the biggest pleading and desperate eyes I had probably made in my life.
“I’ll pick you up at midnight, princess,” he forced the words through gritted teeth, making a display of how much he hated leaving me there. Before he vanished, he turned to Matthyaz. Within the two steps he had to make to reach the new keeper, Rhylan’s composure shifted into what I saw, for the first time, as the Fear Gorta. Dark smoke discharged through his body and the surroundings and his eyes had shifted from adamant to scorching crimson, as though his orbits had been replaced with embers. Even the visible tattoos on his forearms turned a dark shade of scarlet and I knew then, that no matter how many weapons or forces they used, it would have no effect on Rhylan. I finally saw him in his true form, the immortal being who could last through centuries, the one who could break empires if he wanted to, and I realised, that the calm and understanding fae I had come to know and live with, was something that existed for my benefit, and no other being had ever been a part of it.
“If I see a hair out of place when I collect her, I will burn down everything you care about. I will make you witness it and howl in pain while your loved ones bleed to death and once I am done with you, I will bathe in their remains.” He did not say the words like a promise, more like a guarantee and by the quivering look on Matthyaz’s face, Rhylan could easily do that and more with a simple flick of his finger.
He then turned to me and grabbed my hand in his, a gesture meant not to soothe my nerves, but to make it clear for everyone that I was under his protection and the threat he had made to the keeper applied to everyone who dared think about touching me. “Midnight,” Rhylan whispered and quickly lifted my hand to kiss it, his adamant eyes locking with mine.
In the next second, Fear Gorta vanished, leaving my hand limp in the air and my chest beating harder.
Chapter Sixteen
“What the fuck happened here?” A different voice, more commanding, sounded from the other side of the iron box I had been shoved in.
During the encounter with the male from the leader’s table, something had snapped inside of me, the thirst for blood doubling up and engorging every state of my body, forcing me to push beyond the limit I had reached many kills back. With it, I lost focus, my concentration and strategy fading in the presence of the male — probably a general by his fighting stance — who used every trick and tactic in the book to put a halt to my mission, stopping my advancement with a blow to my other knee, which forced my legs to give out and with it, all the territory I had gained.
The next memory was of the box my body had been shoved in, barely wide enough to allow my wounded legs to stretch but not tall enough to let me stand or take a step in either direction. Not that I wanted to, every time I came close to one of the sides of the box, iron scorched my skin, provoking burning injuries I was unable to heal because of the high amount of the metal surrounding me.
The leader hadn’t shown mercy, as I so stupidly believed initially, but had sentenced me to a slow and painful death instead, forced to spend the remainder of my time killing myself slowly in this iron coffin.
I did not have long to wait, probably a few more hours or less than a day. Both my legs bled profusely, pus formed at the back of my knee, and several iron injuries marked my skin and would infect in no time if they hadn't already.
