Page 44 of The Curse of a Kingdom
How the young fae knew about her broken heart was a mystery Nava wasn’t sure she’d ever find the answer to. She appreciated her immensely.
“He is off riding today,” Leela said as she worked on Nava’s hair, untangling the mess of curls that had matted over while she’d slept.
“The prince?” Nava’s voice cracked.
“There are rumors circulating the castle that he flew you here yesterday. That there was a fight in the garden between him and your fiancé.”
Nava’s lips slacked when she realized that Leela thought her sorrow today was due to a romantic upheaval. Not the fact that she’d lost her father. She cleared her throat before she went down the same path. “If they fought, they didn’t do it over me.”
“Why are you so sad then?” Her eyes shone behind thick black lashes. “I’m an excellent listener, my lady. I know I talk a lot, but I promise whatever it is, it won’t leave this room.”
Nava tightened her lips. If only she trusted her. But her mother had taught her to believe in herself and her family. Her eyes ached from the lack of moisture, and she blinked rapidly, trying to bring some back. “It’s—it is heartbreak, but not the romantic sort.” Nava took a deep breath and pressed her palms against the dressing table’s top, letting the coolness of the wood ground her. “On my way here, I lost something very dear to me. Something I won’t ever get back—” Nava swallowed the ache in her throat. “I’m not ready to speak about it.”
Leela stared but nodded. “I will bring my lady some grape wine for this evening.”
Nava’s lips turned. “Now that’s what I was hoping to hear you say.”
The fae left not long after. Nava looked at her reflection in the quiet morning. She had been a potion maker since she was a teen. Her blood sang when she sat on her stool to ground herbs and play with metals and oils. She loved helping people, but it was more than that. Being able to create had given her purpose.
Now, all the memories of potions were gone—most of them, anyway. And even if she remembered making them, the techniques were murky, as if someone had punched holes in the recipe.
It was all gone, all she’d fought to learn for the last decade of her life. Her career.
She allowed herself to bask in her pity party for a while longer. But eventually, she reminded herself she was not one to wallow for long. Forrest women didn’t let problems take over. She wasn’t no one. The gods had given her a task: to protect the world from the demon realm. Her magic was wonderful and alive, even though someone had tried to snuff it.
To think she’d always assumed that when Arkimedes would give her a piece of jewelry, it would be an engagement ring—not a magic-sucking bracelet.
Nava stood from her chair, resolution settling in her stomach. Ari always told her something was holding her back, but it wasn’t something. It was someone. Herself.
She would leave this castle and get to that forest to see her Beekeeper at whatever cost. He called for her, night after night. The bees crawled the walls of her room, blending against the warm tones of the stone, a reminder that she was still very much a creature meant to protect.
Nava stood and dashed to her armoire, rummaging until she found her old clothes. Brown pants and a white shirt. She pulled on her well-loved boots; they fit her like a glove, the leather worn and caked with mud.
It was time.
* * *
After what happened, Nava wasn’t ready to attempt transportation all the way to the forest. She had to tackle it differently. First to the garden, and then to the forest from there. Easier said than done, but hunger for the result gave her resolution a well-needed push.
She looked at the expanse of the garden. This would be a long distance to go, and she was going there half-blind. Her connection to Ari, and his need for her, would guide her there. Sort of.
“Stop being a chicken.” Her knuckles whitened with her tightening hold against the banisters. “You’ve got this. You are a badass Beekeeper.”
Apparently a crazy one at that.
She closed her eyes and held her breath, focusing on the mental image of the garden and the meadow between the palace’s grounds and wilderness. Her insects crawled over her skin, answering her calls.
Nava reached down into the bond, trying to sense where Ari was, feeling the tug across her bond, calling for her, as she wished to be there. Letting out her breath, she transferred away. Down the terrace, hugging the rock walls of the palace. However, she veered back inside again. To the lower floors and inside an open window.
No . . . No . . . No.
Walls of large wooden bookcases that extended to the ceiling caged her in, with volumes upon volumes of aged manuscripts, ancient if the musty scent was anything to go by. She materialized in the darkness of the vast room.
Nava held herself behind the cabinet, the wood smooth under the pads of her fingers. It smelled like leather, beeswax, and old paper. Why the hell had she ended up here? It was the complete opposite of an open garden filled with plants.
She eyed the tones of books warily, remembering all the hours she’d spent hunched over some like this in the manor before she’d met Arkimedes. Forced to read hundreds of pages of boring history lessons and ancient politics that didn’t help anyone.
Nava was much more of an outdoorsy sort of learner. She absorbed new information from experience; she craved the feel of nature’s air against her skin.
