Page 50 of A Court of Ash and Midnight
“You already said you know about being named champion in the tournament.” The woman shrugs, not bothering to turnaround this time. “That’s why you’ve been summoned, clearly, and we’re going to the location of the tournament.Corla ArnanVor.”
So, that’s how this was going to go, apparently.
“Thank you for the detailed explanation and hospitable welcome,” I respond, letting every bit of anger and bitterness drip into my tone. “Delighted to be back among family again.”
The woman chuckles again, a sound completely without mirth. “Oh, we’re not your family,girl. And if you’re pleased with our welcome, you’re in for a true treat when we deliver you to those who are.”
A shiver runs across my skin at her words. I don’t bother asking further questions—it’s clear I’m not going to get any information out of her. My instincts had been right all along, all these years of running. There will be no loving reunion. It makes sense, now, why the townspeople of Terlian didn’t know the family who had briefly taken up residence before the tragic fire that claimed their lives. My parents were likely on the run from their family even then.
What I don’t know iswhyexactly.
But that’s a mystery I’ll soon know the answer to, because my time of running is over. Fate has at last caught up to me.
We ride through the rest of the day, and on through the night. The grasslands give way to forests which give way to a rocky wasteland strewn with boulders. My eyes grow heavy as the moon reaches its zenith, but still we ride on. I want to ask if they plan on stopping for a meal or to sleep, but I doubt very much I’ll get an answer, and I won’t provide them with the satisfaction. When we do stop, it’s only to give the horses water and relieve ourselves. I notice a couple of times the riders ahead of me pulling dried jerky from their saddle bags, but when I check mine, I find that they are empty.
When dawn finally breaks, I am half delirious from sleep deprivation, pain, and hunger. We’ve been riding for almost twenty-four hours. The only thing I can be glad of is that my horse is steady and sure-footed; otherwise, I would have fallen off by now. My joints are in a state of pain they haven’t been in for years due to sitting in the same position all this time. The pain is so intense I can’t even see straight.
But as the sun illuminates the landscape around me, I begin to make out fuzzy details. The gray terrain has shifted to a green one, though still as hilly and boulder-strewn as before. Deep chasms cut the land, and sharp peaks jut into the sky above. We cross several narrow wooden bridges that look like death traps before turning into a wide valley with peaks on either side, emerald green as if coated in velvet. Far ahead, I can see a wide expanse of blue at the other end of the valley.
It takes nearly an hour to traverse the length of the valley, and as we approach the end, I can see that the blue is two shades: sky and sea. The valley ends at a massive cliff overlooking an ocean that stretches as far as my eyes can follow. Beyond the cliff’s edge, dozens of small islands break the surface of the water, an archipelago of varying shades of jade green. My mind flits to Daemon, and those sea-green eyes. We never said goodbye. I don’t know why that bothers me so much, given everything else that’s going on, given that I likely won’t live past the next few days.
The idea of never seeing Daemon again leaves a hollow feeling in my chest that echoes with the sound of the distant waves.
But I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on it any longer, because the woman at the head of the pack of riders turns to me for the first time since we spoke outside Shadow’s Keep all those hours ago. She points to a cluster of tents sitting a short distance from the cliff’s edge, red like the cloak she wears.
“You asked about your family? They’re waiting for you there.”
My eyes sweep over the tents, over the banners flying above them, a hawk with flaming wings on a black background. Standing in the entrance of the biggest tent are two figures, a man and a woman.
It takes every ounce of strength and willpower in my body not to fall when I slide off my horse, my body screaming in pain.
But I do not fall.
I straighten, and I turn to face the fate I’d been running from for the last eight years.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As I approachthe tent, I can’t help but notice how closely I resemble the woman who stands there. She is tall, with wavy red curls and freckled skin, gray eyes. Her hair is much longer than mine, extending nearly to her waist. Silver strands sparkle within it. She’s too old to be my mother, and somehow, I know that she is not. It’s not just that I’m certain my mother died in the fire that night. It’s a sense, a deep awareness in my bones, in the core of me.
This woman did not give birth to me, but she is familiar to me. The cold sweep of her eyes. The firm press of her lips, saying so many things without uttering a single word. She wears a long black dress, the fabric simple and elegant with a faint sheen. A massive amulet rests over her heart, and a thin gold diadem encircles her head.
The man does not have the same uncanny likeness in appearance, though he also stirs a distant sense of remembrance. He has silver hair that once was black, and skinthat has seen the sun day after day. His eyes are a deep blue, almost midnight, and they hold the sharpness of a hawk, always looking for prey. He wears deep crimson, the color of old blood, with a heavy cloak trimmed in brown fur, and a matching crown.
When I stop before them, they both look me up and down as if I am some sort of pariah. Then, after a long stretch of moments, the woman makes a gesture for me to enter the tent. The riders who escorted me watch from a safe distance as I duck beneath the red flaps of cloth. I decide to hold my tongue this time… since the female rider who was so unwelcoming has not come inside with us, that means these people don’t know my secret. I’m sure that will only give me an advantage for so long, but maybe someone will finally share useful information if they think I already know it.
“I see you still don’t know how to bow properly,” the man says gruffly from behind me as the flap falls in place and the tent is thrown into shadows.
It’s a large space, probably thirty paces across, and three men high at the apex. A small bronze fire bowl sits in the center, and on the far side, opposite the entrance, two large chairs sit against the back wall. They are wooden with high backs and carved with ornate runes and markings. Simple thrones, hauled from goddess knows so that the heads of House Harkyn could host an audience. Two men stand inside the tent, one to the left of the thrones, and the other on the far-right side, standing on alert by a table laden with platters of fruit and several jugs of red wine.
The man and woman settle themselves into their thrones while I stand before them, and their cold eyes rest on me once again. The woman gestures for the man with the wine, and he approaches with two silver goblets. I can’t help but notice the slight shake in his hands. After the woman takes a sip of the wine, she finally speaks.
“So, what do you have to say for yourself? Don’t just stand here in silence after we’ve searched for you for nearly a decade.”
My head spins, trying to decide the best approach. “You remind me of my mother,” I say. “And I miss her dearly.”
The man scoffs. “Well, her fate was wrought by her own hands. If she hadn’t left, what happened would never have happened.”
“And why do you think she left?” I ask. “You’re saying no one at House Harkyn bears any responsibility for that?”
