Page 21 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
Locane is fully unhinged, and I choke on the nauseating terror taking me over.
Without waiting for me to reply, he roughly takes my right hand and slices a deep, jagged line across my palm. Blood immediately pools, and I clench my fist over the stinging wound.
Locane drags me forward, nearly pulling me to the ground with the rough swiftness of his movement. He uncurls my fingers and swipes my hand across an invisible barrier, naked to the eye, like a pane of cold glass beneath my hand. Just as I’m taking in the odd sensation, the barrier fades, and Locane pulls me through thick, cold, humid air. Magic zings as we pass through the reluctant barrier, and my breath catches in my lungs with the unnatural sensation.
A strangled sob escapes as Locane releases me, practically throwing my arm away from him and making me stumble.
My heart hollows in my chest, a cold fist squeezing around it.
“There. Stay within the wards and no one will ever find you,” he says to me with relief in his voice. His face is pale and covered in a sickly sheen of sweat. It’s obvious to me that Locane stretched his magic to the max, draining himself in one jump for us to escape capture.
Locane doubles over, heaves once, and then vomits.
My head whips around as a screeching call pierces the air. A large flock of birds on the other side of the barrier flies screaming from a tree. I study the ominous cloud with growing apprehension as my body begins trembling.
Locane spits and raises his head enough to watch the birds with me. “They can’t get to you now.”
I stand with my mouth open, speechless at his words and actions of the day, trying to recover from the events of the last several minutes.
Despite all Locane’s anxiousness as we drew nearer to the village, when a true threat was chasing him—shooting at him with darts and lassos of flame—he was cool and calm. He spoke with an air of nonchalance shortly before he angrily demanded my hand and cut it open.
Locane begins walking away from the barrier of the wards; I follow, leaving my shuddering fear behind. The scream of fury from the royal guard before we fled rings through me, making me suddenly grateful for the sanctuary Locane offers.
My fear eases minutes later when his house comes into view. I stand staring at it in shock. I glance at Locane and laugh. “Not quite the quaint forest cabin I was expecting.”
I envisioned a small rough log cabin, but the house is large—a true house. A two-story craftsman with smooth hewn wooden siding painted a deep navy blue. There are white wooden ornamental accents and a ruby red front door. A large porch wraps around the house. Multiple trailing plants hang from hooks on the porch, and lavender and hydrangeas decorate either side of the steps leading to the porch.
It’s incredibly cozy and luxurious at the same time.
I smile at him and say sarcastically, “It matches your overall colorful and sunny disposition.”
Locane glares at me and leads me up the porch.
We enter a small vestibule with beautiful hand laid mosaic flooring. A dark stained wood bench sits to the left and an open spot for shoes to the right. The door ahead has a rectangle transom window of stained glass, the bottom kicked out for air flow. I inspect the stained glass closer, taking in the profile of a fox in a field of clovers.
I stare at it in open mouthed wonder. “Gods, that’s stunning.”
“My mother made it,” Locane says.
“Really? That’s impressive.”
“My father’s distinct Quinndohsi traits may shine through, but my mother was from Brhadir. Her parents were artistic glass blowers. She grew up learning the trade and ended up being exceptionally talented herself.”
“I can see that,” I murmur in awe, taking in the details of the beautiful window. “Where is she now?”
“Gone,” he says simply, sadly. I remember him telling me that he didn’t have a family anymore, and I’m hit with a pang of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No matter.” Locane opens the door to a small foyer. There’s a wide staircase with a dark stained banister that curls at the end.At the base of the staircase is an opening to what appears to be a formal sitting room.
Straight ahead is a long hallway, too dark to tell what lies ahead. I look up towards the landing on the second floor and see the shadows of stained glass flicker lamps hanging, brass finishes at the top and bottom
“More of your mothers work?”
“My grandparents’. They made most of their livelihood off their lamps and fixtures.” He turns the key on the wall to control the flicker lamps, allowing a small drop of magic to transfer from him to fuel the lamps. “I’m starving. I know you are as well. I could hear your stomach since we passed through the wards.”
We walk down a hall that ends in a large living area. There’s a door leading to what I assume is a kitchen. Locane lights a couple of flicker lamps, and the soft glow shows a breakfast bar with stools. A wooden, roll-down window has the bar closed off from the kitchen.
