Page 57 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
He grabs me around the waist and holds my hand, supporting my weight fully and practically dragging me through the double doors. Another pathetic sob breaks free when I take in the stained glass of the open door on my left, slivers of green palm fronds interlaced with yellow beams coming straight from the sun in the top corner.
A style I recognize.
We move through a wide foyer. One wall is made up of arched windows that run nearly floor to ceiling. There are paintings and pictures adorning the walls in between that seem like they have eyes, assessing me with scorn. I avert my own from them, lowering my gaze instead to the shiny, light hardwood floor with an ornate blue runner. With each inch we move, my body quakes and trembles.
We enter a long hallway with multiple doors. One is open to an empty, darkened sitting room that appears to have recently been in use. A half empty drink sits next to a crystal decanter with amberliquid on a low coffee table. An untidy stack of books and loose papers covers the rest of the surface, sitting abandoned.
“This is the residential portion of the palace?” I ask, the ambiance of the building setting in.
Kraeston gives a soft, kind smile. “One of them.”
And gods, it is as silent as the grave.
“You aren’t taking me to some kind of throne room?” I ask, my voice shaking with effort.
“No, Elly.”
Glancing behind me, Locane is still surrounded by three guards. Everyone else is gone. He’s wearing his stoic mask and doesn’t look in my direction, ignoring me completely. He doesn’t convey that he’s at all confused by what’s transpiring, or the fact that he’s in chains—their soft clinking rattling my shaky head—or the fact that I am not.
We trudge up a stone staircase, each footfall heavier and more forced than the last, like desperate hands are pulling me back, trying to save me from what lies ahead. Our footsteps and the ting of metal armor bounce around us in the too quiet residence. We arrive at a large landing on the second floor and turn down another long hallway.
At the end of the hall stands an imposing set of grand double doors, one slightly ajar, as if it’s eager to suck me in to my Fate. My heart pounds, the sound ringing through my ears and drowning out everything around me. My anxious sweat increases, and a drip runs down the length of my arm. I know in my soul that whatever is waiting for me in that room will be my death. A part of me prays to the Mother and all the gods for that relief.
We are only a few feet from the door when any semblance of my composure I had left leaves me, and my steps slow. I start to turnand go back in the other direction, but Kraeston holds me tight and guides me to the door. He drops my hand to grab the brass handle, but he pauses.
I tremble uncontrollably and give him desperate and pleading eyes. I shake my head, causing a welling drop to break loose, a streak scorching a path down my cheek. Kraeston’s lively eyes hold infinite sorrow; but he nods once and squeezes my waist before pushing the door open.
He pulls me into the room, a large study with high ceilings. A mezzanine runs above us; I think it should be filled with people, looking down to judge me.
But the room is nearly empty, save for two.
There’s a large, dark wood desk in the center of the room, littered with books, paper, half empty glasses, and decanters of alcohol. Sitting behind the desk is Nana in all her ageless glory, the same as any of my memories. Her head snaps up, and she leaps to her feet at the sight of me. “Oh, Ellya,” she runs to me, crying freely, and cradles me in her warm embrace.
But I can’t bring my hazy, burning eyes to Nana. Even as she pushes my hair from my face, wipes at my tears, and kisses my forehead. I can’t tear my gaze from the person standing at the wall of windows, his broad back to me.
When he turns, just slightly, to show me his glorious profile, my knees weaken, the floor reaching up to snag me down where I belong. Nana falls to the ground with me, holding me tight, whispering in my ear through her choked sobs that I’m home; I’m safe.
King Alec Vahnsing of Quinndohs turns to face me fully, utter devastation lining every facet of his beautiful, masculine face.
A face that matches Locane’s in every way.
When Locane had his glamour in place to hide whatever sickness ails him, standing the two in front of each other would be the same as standing one in front of a mirror. The only stark difference in their appearance is the length of their dark hair. Where Locane’s is long, Alec has his shorter, pushed back from his face in a perfectly tousled way.
The magnitude of being face to face with Alec hits me like a shockwave, and the most important of memories washes over me when his warm, dark eyes meet mine. Whatever magic Locane used on my mind is no longer able to hold this memory back, the power of this bond shattering through Locane’s dark shadow to remind me of the first thing the Fates had in store for me.
I’m five years old, playing with Nikhos and Lahndro in the courtyard garden while Father, Angelise, and Nana drink their tea. Angelise rocks the baby and coos. Father married Angelise sometime after my mother died.
“Elly, now you throw it to me! You don’t just keep the ball,” Nikhos calls.
I put the ball behind me and whine back, “But I want to keep it.”
Nikhos looks like he’s about to scold me, but instead he smiles at me and says, “You can keep it, Elly.” He ruffles my hair affectionately. Other than Nana, Nikhos is my favorite person. He always sneaks me extra sweets and reads me faerie stories about pretend princesses.
I abandon the ball, letting it roll away to get lost in the shadows of bushes, not really wanting it anymore, and run to Nana. I eagerly climb on her lap. “Are you hungry, darling girl?” I love it when she calls me that.
Smiling, I nod my head. She grabs a plate of fruit and pulls it towards us, telling me to eat what I like. I dig into the apples, my favorite, while the adults talk about silly things.
“When is he supposed to be here, Milo?” Angelise asks Father, talking quietly. The baby must have finally fallen asleep.
