Page 16 of Fear the Flames
“Yes,” I answer, squaring my shoulders and leaning back in the chair. “I’ve made a deal with the Commander of Vareveth, Cayden Veles.”
“A deal with the Commander of Vareveth.” Ailliard scrubs his hands over his face before laying them flat on his desk, taking in several breaths. “We can still get out of this. You don’t have to adhere to the terms.”
“I will not be going back on my word,” I state. I made a vow and I intend to keep it, even if Cayden was the only one to witness it.
“Elowen, please see reason,” Ailliard pleads.
“You don’t have to agree with my choices, but you will respect my decision,” I hiss through a clenched jaw.
“You didn’t make a deal. You bartered your soul away,” he shakes his head.
I let out a mocking laugh, “I bartered my soul for a blade many years ago, and I have no regrets.”
“What’s the deal?” The heel of his boot taps nervously against the floor.
I take slight pity on him. Ailliard was the one that broke into my cell and got me out of Imirath. He swaddled my small frame in blankets and rode into the Etril Forest, one of the most dangerous places on the continent due to the freezing temperatures. I can’t imagine how much worse the abuse would have gotten after the dragons burned my mother alive. Not because Garrick loved my mother, Queen Isira, but because I burned his queen in his castle. He’s a man obsessed with power but couldn’t protect her in the one place he’s supposed to have absolute power. Ailliard never forgave Garrick for putting Isira in harm’s way; he used to be close with her. Ailliard lost a sister that night, but I gained freedom through death, and I don’t know what that says about my life.
“Vareveth will provide Aestilian with food. Commander Veles gave me an elixir to enable crop growth in rocky soil, and Vareveth will supply us with crops through the winter,” I say.
“What do they get?” Ailliard asks tightly.
“I will travel to Vareveth with Commander Veles after signing a protection agreement prior to the formal alliance treaty. King Eagor believes my presence in Vareveth will have a positive influence on swaying other kingdoms to align with them. I will also be staying for the war between Imirath and Vareveth.” My eyes cut to Finnian, and he subtly nods in encouragement which helps.
Ailliard’s eyes are glued to the wall next to us. My heart beats in tandem with his foot vigorously tapping against the floor. “I’ve wanted you to give up the idea of revenge since you were a child,” he sighs, sounding defeated.
I grip the sides of my chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. “Instead of chastising me for seeking revenge, perhaps you should lament over why I seek it.” The sound of a cane slapping against my skin echoes in my mind, the sound of chains rattling against the floor while my wrists were shackled, the sharp pangs of hunger that twisted my insides until I cried, the fresh sting of a slap delivered by a fully grown soldier to my seven-year-old face.
The humiliation.
The degradation.
The shame.
It all rushes back to me. I blink my eyes rapidly and drop them to my lap. Finnian shifts in his chair and stretches his hand across the space between us, waiting for me to grasp it. But I shake my head no. I can’t. When those memories resurge, it’s hard to find comfort in physical touch. I feel like the clothes on me are too tight. I feel like everything about me is wrong. Physical touch is something I had to learn to view in a positive light, and I still battle with it sometimes.
“We can organize more raids—” Ailliard tries to change the subject.
“We don’t need more raids; we need a long-term solution,” I cut him off, lifting my eyes from my lap after locking down the memories. “What happens when people here begin to have children and their children leave? What happens if someone decides to send a patrol into the Seren Mountains?” I slowly rise and place my hands on his desk. “What happens if someone learns how to navigate the mist? What happens when winter comes and the snow is too thick to even send raids out? What happens when my people start dying and there’s not a single fucking thing we can do? Do you want to help people bury their loved ones knowing that we could have done something to prevent it?” I stare down my nose at him. My chest is heaving, and my blood is pumping in my ears by the time I finish.
“Elowen,” Ailliard sounds slightly remorseful, but his eyes are still lit with anger. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re going up against. Your father is not a threat to be taken lightly.”
“Neither am I,” I darkly state.
Finnian rises from his chair behind me, “I stand with Elowen in this decision. I’m going to Vareveth with her not only because she’s my best friend, but she’s also my queen. I’m aware your emotions come from a place of caring, as did mine when she first told me, but I suggest the next time you speak to her on this matter, you convey your feelings with more respect.” Finnian places a hand on my shoulder, easing me away from the desk. He continues speaking after I’m standing upright, “Take the day to cool off.”
Finnian gently tugs on my shoulder in an attempt to move me from where I stand rooted in place. I dig my nails into my palms and say my parting words to my uncle, “You can either stand against the tide or let it drag you under. I’ve made my decision, make yours.”
This time, I don’t resist Finnian’s tug. He guides me outside the office and slams the door shut behind us. We walk in silence out of the guard house and over to the target field. Hay bales are lined up, evenly spaced out, with targets tied onto them. I need to focus on something other than the emotions raging inside of me, making me want to run into an open field and scream until my throat is raw. I’m only wearing four knives on my thighs today, but I’ll make them count. Finnian stands at the target next to me and locks an arrow in his bow. I unsheathe my first knife, closing my eyes and centering myself. The familiar weight of my blade reassures me—this skill is something that can never be taken away from me.
Ailliard gave me my first knife on my eleventh birthday; it was my first birthday in Aestilian and the first one I ever celebrated. On that night, I made a vow to myself with only the stars as my witness that I would never be helpless again. The memory of Garrick’s guards screaming at me to tell them how to break my bond with the dragons while they beat me threatens to resurface. They knew I didn’t know how, my father was mad, but they didn’t care. They just liked the power they had over me.
Never again.
I throw my first knife; it sails through the air and sinks into the center of the target. I drop my shaky hand to my thigh and pull the next knife free, squaring my shoulders and staring down the line toward the knife I just threw.
My eyes drift toward the sky, where the treetops sway in the wind. The first time I ever left the castle walls was the night Ailliard took me from my cell. I never knew what sunlight warming my face felt like. I never knew what it felt like to crane my neck back and spill my secrets to the moon. I never knew what it felt like to spread my arms wide and let rain pour onto me. The only time I got a glimpse of the outside world was when I huddled in the corner of my cell, where a crack between stones gave me a sliver of a hint to what lay beyond the castle.
I throw the next knife.
