Page 51 of King Elijah (The Zemiran Chronicles 2)

Twenty-One

WHEN ELIJAH OPENEDhis eyes, an icy draft was moving through the tent. The magical fire above him was gone, and it felt as if more time had passed than when he last used the pendant. The sudden, painful pounding in his head caused him to wince. He lifted his hand and ran his finger over his forehead, feeling the thick warmth of liquid along his scalp. Elijah then brought his fingers together, rubbing them slowly—blood.

He turned quickly, seeing the empty blanket beside him, ash scattered over the bottom of the tent, and a shredded, burnt rope sitting in the middle of it.

Did she use my fireball to burn through the rope? He didn’t think that was possible, given the magic he used to fortify the rope. Then again, it appeared she had found a way—magic against magic.

Fuck me, he cursed in his mind.

Elijah quickly clambered to his feet, wiping the blood from his forehead, and gathered his things. Thankfully the snow had stopped falling, but the chill was still there.

He quickly dressed and wrapped as many blankets over him as possible and ran to where they tied off the horse.

“Oh, that bitch.”

He would have to go on foot.

Elijah looked around for hoof marks, catching a faded trail that wound up to the top of Whitestone Mountain. She was heading in the direction they had planned to go. The wiser choice for him would be to go back to the palace where he would have better protection from his enemies and take the damn dragon over the mountain, despite Lincoln’s protest over Anaru’s safety.

Gods, I’m such a fool, he shouted in his mind. Believing she’d not flee the moment I wasn’t watching her.

Right then, in his anger and frustration, he decided that all that mattered was stopping Janelle before she reached Newick. He wouldn’t go back to Zemira until he found both her and Aiden.

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ELIJAH’S MAGIC WASmany things, and every day he felt the strength of his power like his own heartbeat. Whether he used it to kill his enemies or step into someone’s dream, it was his strength, his will. Using his black smoke to stay on the trail and transport himself to the top of Whitestone Mountain, that wouldn’t come easily with the heavy wind and the snowy slope.

He had to muster the energy to harness his power, but once that energy drained from him, using his own physical strength would be nearly impossible. He was still human, after all.

It felt as if he had traveled for hours, taking as many stops as possible to gain strength. By the time he reached the top, the clouds had parted, and the sun began to rise.

The trail he had followed, showing which direction Janelle had gone, was now covered with snow as the wind scattered the flakes over the terrain. Unfortunately, he hadn’t a clue which direction she had traveled.

He still held the Voleric pendant in his pocket—to find her now, he would have to use magic.However, Janelle would know the moment he tried and would push him out.

A slight worry hit him that perhaps she hadn’t made it to the top—he barely had been able to while on foot.

He trudged forward, his limbs almost giving out with each trek through the snow. He felt frost blisters forming on his lips and he cursed himself for being such a fool as to leave her alone in that tent while he floated away into Aiden’s mind. As he reached the end of the trail, Elijah could see the faint outlines of small buildings and houses. He’d managed to reach a small village.

Movement in the distance caught his eye. He stepped back, his eyes narrowing on what looked to be a woman with long black hair, placing a basket of something next to a storefront.

Elijah straightened his back, combing his fingers through his tousled hair over his head. He then gingerly washed the dry blood from his forehead with the snow and felt the gash. It was more of a small cut, really, nothing too extreme that he couldn’t explain away. No one could know he was the King of Zemira, but rather someone they could trust, like one of their own. Someone they’d be willing to feed and give shelter to until he could figure out where Janelle had gone. Perhaps she was in that town ahead, but was she foolish enough to be found in plain sight? If he had to, Elijah would search every home and business until he found her.

Elijah trudged through the snow until it thinned out on the road. It appeared that the townsfolk were up early, clearing the path. Businesses lined the main road and up ahead, there were a few cottages.

The woman picked up a rug from in front of the door and shook it out, placing it back down. She then ran her hands down her dress to wipe them dry. The black-haired woman looked up as Elijah stood in front of her.

His stomach dropped. Heyerberg Coffee Co was painted on the sign. He was in his birthplace.Being in the village he was born in, yet never returned to, the same place his mother died . . . he felt solemn peace, yet the nerves wracked his body.

“Hello, miss,” he said gently. “Are you open yet?” Elijah glanced through the window, seeing pastries in a glass case and a kettle on the top of a small stove.

“Oh, dear. You startled me,” the woman said. “I open in ten minutes, but you can come in to keep warm. Your cheeks are blood red.”

“Thank you, I’ve been out all morning. My horse was injured, and I was thrown from her, hitting the rocks. I had to walk the remainder of the way.”

She scratched her head. “Oh my. I’m so sorry. Where are you traveling from?” she asked, stepping in front of the door as if she questioned whether inviting a stranger inside was a good idea after all.

“Mayberry,” he answered quickly. Elijah may have never traveled through the mountain range before. Still, he was familiar with the smaller villages between Zemira and Whitestone Mountain. They were not part of any kingdom. They governed themselves as they were never claimed by either country.

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