Ana Thinks Too Much

The bodies brush against one another as the stale breeze weaves a path through the carnage. I count eight, maybe nine, hanging together like a macabre set of wind chimes. Each face mangled, viciously beaten, with mouths wide open in choked-off silent screams.

A scream of my own takes root in my stomach, bubbling up until it’s in my throat when Cal’s clear voice cuts through the space, “We need to keep moving. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything amiss, okay? And stay close on my heels.”

I manage a nod his way, my eyes still glued to the butchery above. How he’s managing to stay calm is beyond me. My meager lunch of dried meat and a handful of nuts threatens to make a reappearance. I swallow against it hard. My hair clings to the cold sweat soaking the back of my neck.

“We should come up on a small clearing soon. We can rest for a little when we get there. But for now, I need you to keep your head, Aruna.”

His level tone helps me find my voice. “Do you recognize any of them?”

Cal’s silence helps me force my gaze to where he sits atop Tolino. His eyes are trained on the men hanging above, scanning each body. The glow from the match throws soft shadows about his face, contrasting with the tightness of his features. He stares at the figures and I swear a storm wars behind those earth-toned eyes. But then he blinks, any emotion I thought I saw instantly wiped away. He rights himself in his saddle before clearing his throat. “Let’s keep moving.”

I grip Yago’s reins, the now-dried blood cracking around my knuckles. Before Cal douses the match, I do a quick scan of the men suspended in the air. I don’t expect to recognize any of them considering how little time I had with the crew before they were all sent ahead, but just as Cal makes to shake out the match, I catch sight of not one, but both of the men who engaged in the conversation about changelings. A violent shudder wracks my body as the forest goes dark once again and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Stick as close to me as you can. I’m going to pick up the pace a little,” Cal says, his voice barely above a whisper. Tolino’s footsteps start forward, sure enough at a brisker speed, and I dig my heels into Yago’s side, not daring to let the gap between us widen too far. I’m thoroughly spooked down to my bones, and I’m not too proud to admit that in this moment, especially with the cuffs on, a little protection from the Captain is entirely welcomed.

We fall back into the silence from earlier, the air now infinitely more charged with tension. My nerves are still on high alert, causing me to twitch at every noise in the general vicinity. I do my best not to translate it to Yago, but the sheen of sweat on his neck and occasional faint nickering tell me he’s feeling jumpy as well. The tree tops rustle overhead, sending a tendril of slow moving fear down my spine. It’s just a bird. A friendly bird that definitely does not want to eat me, I reassure myself weakly.

I find myself cursing every life choice that’s led me to where I am now. Every godsforsaken path that I chose to travel that’s inevitably left me stuck traveling through a dangerous forest with a man who probably wishes I was among those strung up in the trees. Who I’m not entirely convinced doesn’t have half a mind to turn around and sling me up himself.

Every shift of my hands on the reins causes the barely-healed skin of my wrists and arms to stretch taut, sending shooting pains up into my shoulders. I desperately wish to apply some of the salve Archie gave me, but it’s tucked away somewhere in my pack and I won’t risk the extra movement, the unnecessary noise while still in this forest. I can deal with the pain until we rest. It’s certainly not the worst I’ve ever endured.

As a fire wielder, I grew up suffering the occasional minor burn. Mostly from carelessness during my daily practice or wielding when I was too tired and my control would slip accidentally. I’ve grown my eyebrows back more times than I can remember.

As a fearless child, scrapes and bruises were a normal part of my life. Elyna and I used to race each other atop the cliff side outside of our small cottage that bordered the sea, tossing taunts at each other and pushing the limits of how fast our little legs could carry us, leading to the unavoidable scraped knee when one of us pushed too hard.

I’ll never forget the day I dared her to walk out on the crumbling overlook as far as she could without tumbling into the sea below. When she made it a good deal further than I had expected her to, I, naturally, had to show her that as the oldest sibling, I would always come out on top.

I proved my point when I swaggered past her with my head held high, stopping a few feet behind her and directly next to the edge. My confidence lasted exactly three seconds before the ground gave away beneath me. The last thing I saw were Elyna’s widened eyes as I free fell down and landed on a flat, jutted out piece of rock that saved me from a swim in the freezing cold surf. Both of our screams sent Papa running to save me from the lip, and I walked away with a broken arm and a good walloping from Papa for being so reckless. To this day, my elbow still twinges on especially humid days.

I flex my wrists again. What’s different with these burns is how slow to heal they are. I’ve always healed abnormally fast, minor scrapes and cuts sometimes healing in a matter of minutes. Even my broken arm was barely more than an annoying ache the morning after my near-disastrous fall. Papa and I always chalked it up to my magic, a defense mechanism of sorts for its host to always remain at full capacity. It’s why though humiliating and painful, I didn’t dwell on the bruise Njal left wrapped around my throat. I’d wager by now, only smooth, creamy skin would reflect back at me in a mirror.

The fact that these burns are both still painful and just starting to scab over after three whole days of rest and recovery has me wondering what about them is different from all the other accidental burns I’ve given myself throughout the years. Maybe my magic really did change that much while locked away all this time.

My eyebrows knit together. But how is that possible? My mind circles back to the night I released the cuff and almost burned the entire camp to the ground. I’ve always been an exceptionally strong wielder, but only ever used it in controlled environments and practiced movements. Sometimes, my senses called out for more, the desire to throw my anger at something breakable overwhelming on a few occasions. But there was never an opportunity to test it out in an unpredictable situation, like battle. Our sleepy village was so far removed from the chaos and fighting that broke out in Rokos during Osric’s siege of the country, a blessing that my family and our neighbors used to thank the gods for. Now, I’m wondering if that peace and sense of security made me complacent, unaware of the danger that always strikes when you least expect it.

I’m so lost in thought that it takes a moment to realize that my eyes can make out the quiver of arrows secured across Cal’s back. I see his shoulders droop ever so slightly as we enter the clearing and, after hours of all-consuming darkness, are greeted by a night sky full of stars. The unease that was settled in my gut disperses a little at the sight.

Cal dismounts and leads Tolino to the middle of the clearing and I follow suit, pressing my hand to Yago’s side and stroking it up and down while murmuring words of good job for staying so calm in the forest. He snorts as if to say one of us needed to keep their cool. Fair enough.

We let the horses graze while we set up camp. Neither of us had room to accommodate our tents since the supply wagons were sent with the crew ahead of us, so I plop my bedroll and assortment of furs on the ground opposite where Cal’s is across the small fire that he’s currently fanning to life. A flame catches and I huddle in closer to the heat, soaking it up while simultaneously digging around in my pack for the salve and a stick of dried meat when I feel Cal’s gaze on my face. I snap my eyes to his, something crossed between horror and mild disgust written over his features.

“What?” I snap, my fingers closing around the dried meat I was hunting for. I raise it to my mouth and take a large bite without breaking eye contact. “Never seen a hungry woman eat before?”

He clears his throat. “I have.”

I continue chewing and swallow before replying. “So what’s with your fascination with my eating, then?”

He opens his mouth then closes it a fraction, hesitating, before saying, “You have, uh… there’s blood on your face.”

Any appetite I had disappears as I look down at the hand that’s holding the meat and see the dried blood from the dangling men in the forest caked on my fingertips. I drop the meat into my lap and quickly reach my hand up to my face. Blood crusts around my eyes and nose, the hairs of my eyebrows slicked down by the blood plastered across my forehead in what I’m sure could be described as the world’s most gruesome masquerade mask. My fingers shake as I turn to find my water canteen and a spare cloth or tunic or something to wipe the gore off my face when Cal hands his own and clean rag to me.

“Here, use mine,” he says, his face carefully blank as he spots the trembling of my hands. I do my best to smother it as I take it from him, but my ruse is quickly up when my fingers fumble around trying to unscrew the cap of the canteen off and almost drop the rag in the fire in the process. Cal watches me struggle for a moment before taking pity and holding his hand out. “May I?”

I eye his clean hand, struck by how once again, I’m the one covered in filth while his skin remains spotless. I debate telling him where he can shove that hand when his damned eyebrow lifts up, but the trembling refuses to cease, so I hand the canteen back over. He unscrews the cap effortlessly before passing it back. Grateful he didn’t ask to clean me up as well — because then I definitely would have told him where to shove it — I take the canteen and pour some of the water onto the rag. I start with my hands, the rag turning pink as I scour each crevice of my hand, turning it in the light of the fire before wetting the rag again and begin scrubbing at my face with vigor. My skin burns with the friction but I don’t care, I need my skin clean yesterday. After a few minutes of scrubbing, focusing especially on ungluing my eyebrows, I turn to Cal and gesture about my face.

“Did I miss anything?”

His brown eyes meet mine before roving over my face. He shifts sitting positions awkwardly before turning to where the horses graze in the grass. “Looks like you got it all. Keep the rag.”

I scrunch my nose in his direction, unsure of what he expects me to do with this soiled rag, but decide not to comment on it as he broods. I stretch my sore legs out carefully, avoiding any fast movement that would cause a cramp, and lean back on my hands as I tip my head back and drink in the scenery. Each star is perfectly painted onto the blue-black canvas behind it, something I’m sure Somna, goddess of the night, took her time with selecting the right sized paint brush for each fleck.

I must have sighed, because Cal side-eyes me before turning his own head upwards. We’re quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Did you miss it?”

How does one explain what it’s like to lose something you were never aware could be taken in the first place? How you never knew that although the night can’t exist without darkness, there is such a difference between the beauty of the stroke of midnight and light that is purposefully suppressed. That sometimes my hardest days were those when I lost track of whether I was being served breakfast or dinner.

Sometimes, before, it had felt like my soul was more alive when the rest of the world was asleep. To lose that, a vital part of my very being, was more devastating than losing Papa. With a loss like that, I know he’s waiting somewhere, perhaps Chiantar, like some believe. I will see him again when the time is right. When I lost the stars, the grief drove me mad.

But I don’t like Cal, and I can’t fathom I ever will to reveal something so real. So, I settle for instead, “You’d be surprised at the things you start to miss after a while. There was a time I’d do weird things for a bowl of drakepepper jelly.”

From my peripheral, I catch him wrinkling his nose. “As in the condiment?”

“Like I said,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Weird things.”

“Not even drizzled on a biscuit or anything? Just a bowl filled to the brim with hot jelly that could melt your stomach lining?”

“Sure, a biscuit would have been welcomed, but I craved the burn. I would have drank it in one sitting.”

He lets out a disbelieving snort. “I would love to watch you attempt.”

I turn away from the stars at last to rummage through my pack in search of the salve once again. “I’m sure you would.”

He ignores my remark and asks instead, “What are you looking for?”

I’m up to my forearm in the pack, the leather scraping gently across each burn igniting a wake of fire in it’s path. “The salve Archie gifted to me.” I find it at last and gingerly ease my arm from the pack. Twisting off the lid, I scoop a small portion out and apply it to the worst of the burns first. A hiss escapes through my teeth at the contact of my fingers, but I push through it and coat both wrists before screwing the lid on and placing it back into my pack. A cooling sensation envelopes each wrist, delivering instant relief from the burning I’ve endured all day. I send up a round of silent thanks to wherever Archie is right now. Turning my attention back to the fire, I notice Cal is fixated on my cuffs. Or, not the cuffs, but the blistered skin underneath.

He stares a moment longer, something like regret shining through. Regret that has business with the men strung from the trees and the woman who sent them to their ultimate demise, I’m sure.

My heart drops into my stomach as I gently pull the sleeves of my tunic over each wrist and lay down on my side, putting my back to the flames. I hear Cal settle back onto his forearms, taking watch.

The thoughts in my head are the loudest they’ve been since leaving the cage. Coupled with the anxiety of sleeping in an area this exposed, I know sleep will evade me for a while.

There’s a whoosh noise overhead, so faint that if not for my current hyper aware state, I would have missed it. I warily scan the tree line, unsure ifI want to identify the source, and lock eyes with a pair of glossy, striking yellow eyes and a heart shaped face cloaked in gray feathers.

The owl cocks its head to one side, purely animal as it refuses to let go of eye contact. Its wings flap once, twice, before settling back down on the limb his thick, black talons are pierced into. My heart pumps adrenaline through my veins, but just as I start to rise from the ground, it hops and flips around to face toward the rest of the forest and takes flight. I stare a little while longer before settling back onto the ground, an ominous feeling that I should heed the bird’s warning tightening around my chest. Whatever it may be.

---

I manage to doze off for an hour or two of the five Cal allows us to rest before his footsteps and the sizzle of the fire being doused rouses me. It’s still fairly dark out, the sun at least two hours away from making its appearance for the day. I blink around blearily, my hand fumbling for the canteen to splash some water on my face in hopes it will help shock me awake.

I scarf food down my throat quickly, feeling the effects of missing my modest dinner, before packing up my bed and joining Cal by the horses. Yago is saddled and ready to go next to Tolino. I secure my bedroll across the top of Yago’s back before reaching my hands up over my head, feeling the muscles of my shoulders muscles go taught as I stretch quickly before today’s ride. After our bone-chilling discovery in the trees yesterday, I’m sure the plan is to get in and out of this forest as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

Sure enough, Cal confirms my suspicion when he clears his throat and says, “If we ride at the same pace we ended at last night, we can make it out of the forest just before nightfall. There’s a small village that we can stop at for the night once we pass through. From there, it’s another two days ride before we make it to the mountains.”

I blow an errant strand of hair out my face as I grip the horn of the saddle and hoist myself up, adjusting myself in the saddle briefly before replying.

“How long will it take to cross the mountains?”

He grunts. “Four, but I’m hoping the weather will cooperate and let us pass in three. With how the trip has been going so far, it will probably end up being six.”

I shoot him a glare, but his only reaction is a bored blink before he clicks his tongue at Tolino, urging the horse forward. His non-reaction annoys me more than it should. Is he made of freaking stone?

I urge Yago forward with a gentle press of the heels, following Cal’s lead into the forest. The darkness swallows us whole once again, the stars that were just beginning to wink out fading behind us as we step into the void.

I’m sure as Captain of the Guard, his job involves posturing and appearance and tough man blah blah whatever, but it’s hard to believe he’s this stoic all the time. Unless, he truly dislikes me that much that being in my presence is what has him acting so stoney.

I think back to the night I tried to escape and how relaxed he seemed around that campfire surrounded by men who I’m sure he interacts with daily. Some who are most likely friends, if not good friends. Who then had to be sent ahead because of my major fuck up, an act that led some to their death.

It’s definitely me.

Alright, so he doesn’t like me, what do I care? He can get in line behind the hundreds of others who hate me more than he does. Hell, I probably hate myself more than he does. Cal is the last person who I should care whether likes me or not. Besides, this whole journey with me across Rokos is an order from the King. He is literally only obligated to escort me to my doom and then it’s on to the next. After I’m handed off, we’ll never see each other again.

Before I can stop it, I wonder if he’s going home to a wife. Or, possibly, a betrothed waiting for him somewhere in the city. I haven’t really had a chance to look at his hands so I can’t remember if I’ve seen a ring or not–actually, that’s a lie. I’ve certainly looked at them once or twice, but don’t remember cataloguing a ring when I did.

I snort quietly. I pity the woman who chooses to spend the rest of her life with–

Wait, pause, why do I care again? This man willingly works for the real life super villain of recent history. I should not be thinking about him as a person capable of love.

Even though my eyes can barely even make out the reins I’m holding in my hands, I turn my head to the abyss on my left, needing to focus on anything else to distract myself from the train of thought that was leading to nothing productive.

The weak breeze from yesterday makes its way over to where we trot through the forest. I squint my eyes against the dark, searching for only the gods know what, when a shift in the air draws my attention to the space behind me. Every hair on my body stands up, the skin along my spine pebbling as I straighten and scan the area. My useless eyes pick out nothing as the feeling fades. Ice still has a hand wrapped around my lungs, but the sense of danger danger danger is receding. Needing to calm down, I open my mouth for a distraction.

“So,” I say in a low voice. “What are you looking forward to most about returning to Cissonia?”

I hear him startle slightly, like I jolted him from a deep place of thinking. “Not a smart idea to be talking right now.”

“I know you can’t see me right now, so I’m telling you that I’m rolling my eyes at that response.”

“I’m being serious. We’ve been left alone this far, I’d like to keep it that way by avoiding unnecessary attention.”

I huff out a breath that’s part anxiety, part annoyance. “Are you always this prickly? A little conversation won’t kill you, or us for that matter. What will kill me, however, is when boredom puts me to sleep and I fall and break my neck.”

“If only the Gods would be so kind,” he mutters, though I hear it perfectly.

“Heard that, asshole.”

“You were supposed to. And seriously, keep your voice down. You’re going to wake the whole forest.”

He’s right, of course, but residual nerves and stubbornness are in control of my mouth currently. “I’m not even talking that loud. If you don’t want to talk just say so.”

His pause stretches on for a moment before he replies. “If I promise we can have a short conversation when we reach the inn, will that get you to stop talking?”

I debate my answer for a second before, ugh, relenting. “Fine. But I get to lead the conversation.”

“Fine.”

I think again briefly. “And you have to buy me a hot meal.”

“Deal. “

“And–“

“Sh, stop talking.”

I scoff. “That was rude–“

“I said, shut. Up.”

It’s then that I register the groaning of the branches and the faint yet heavy panting overhead. My rising attitude is quickly replaced with the overwhelming awareness that something is wrong wrong wrong wrong

The scrape of Cal drawing his sword from the leather scabbard snaps my attention his way. The sword emits a strange, deep orange light as if lit from within. It casts warmth onto Cal’s hands and face, where his eyes are locked on something above, eyes that have turned from the normal rich, earth brown to the molten red lava that lives deep within, illuminating the air around him like a halo of fire–

Gods, it’s not the sword that’s glowing. It’s him. Cal is glowing.

And it’s the firelight spilling into the forest that helps me see the changelings that have surrounded us from the treetops. They dangle precariously off the limbs, some using two hands to hang on, others one. Some forgo using hands altogether and swing upside down from knees hooked around a branch, their pale, disfigured faces smiling down in lipless twists that stretch from ear to ear as they slowly rock back and forth. One of them leaks green fluid from the nose into its mouth, a sickly gray tongue darting out to lick it away. My breakfast curdles in my stomach.

I hear Cal lift his sword higher, and I realize I’ve never hated him more than I do right now for putting me in these cuffs.

It’s the last thought I have before my brain is drowned with the sound of chaos as the changelings closest to us swing backwards hard and propel forward, launching themselves down to where we sit on the forest floor.

The taste of ash in my throat drags me from a dead sleep. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth and my head swims as I struggle to open my eyes and look around, trying and failing to gather my bearings. Sunlight streams in through the folds of my tent, the thick leather straps that hold the opening together flapping gently in the breeze. 

The bright light makes my head pound even harder, so I nestle back into the warmth of the bed and squeeze my eyes shut. I pull the furs around my shoulders and take a deep breath to settle the nausea curdling my stomach. The furs smell of smoke and something refreshing that I can’t quite distinguish tickles my nose. The scent name escapes my tired brain and I snuggle in closer. Mint, perhaps? Whatever it is, it smells absolutely divine—

My eyes snap open and I push up onto my forearms, my stomach lurching in response to the movement. After a few breaths to settle the nausea, I turn my head and survey the tent around me. Immediately, I notice that this tent is easily twice the size of what mine should be. A small wooden table is pushed against the side opposite of the bed with a simple chair beside it. A  pile of parchment and an ink pot are arranged neatly on the table. A small lantern is perched on the edge, the wick inside burnt halfway. I swivel my head carefully and spot a stack of books at the foot of my bed next to a bucket that, judging from the smells emitting from it, is full of someone’s stomach contents. 

Gods, what happened last night? Did Archie slip something into my stew? I haven’t had a headache this painful since my late teenage years when Elyna and I used to trade a wine bottle back and forth until it was empty to then start on a second. I reach my hand up to wipe the remaining sleep from my eyes and catch a glimpse of black circling around my wrist, right underneath the cuff that is firmly clamped on. I stretch my arm out and see that it creeps up the length before disappearing under the sleeve of my tunic. 

The sleeve, which is singed off and hanging in tatters, scorched. 

Memory of what happened, of what I did, floods through me, followed closely by something that feels awfully close to shame. But what need is there to feel shameful? Certainly my flirt with what felt awfully close to death wasn’t that bad. 

I lie back down on the pile of furs that is definitely not mine with a groan, flopping my arm over my face to tamp down the rising heat in my cheeks. Obviously, since I had to be moved from my tent to what I’m assuming is the Captain’s quarters, the embarrassment I’m feeling is clearly warranted. 

Gods, I can’t believe how stupid I acted. I taste clean air for what, less than 72 hours and suddenly I’m invincible? No matter that was the strongest surge of power I have ever felt, I had no way of ensuring things wouldn’t go horribly wrong. 

What if I hurt someone?

What if I ruined my only chance at freedom?

Another surge of nausea that has nothing to do with my feeble state has me reaching for the bucket at my feet. I retch but only bile comes up. My teeth chatter as another round of retching begins and tears gather in the corner of my eyes.

The sound of footsteps outside the tent sends me scrambling away from the bucket. I hastily wipe away the string of saliva hanging from my lip as Callahan undoes the leather straps and pokes his head through the opening.

He’s fuming. 

“Are you awake for good this time?”

It takes a few tries before my voice works correctly, my single-word response clawing it’s way up my charred throat before coming out in a rasp.

“What?”

His face turns positively murderous at having to repeat himself. “I said, are you actually awake this time? Or do I need to empty this bucket for the seventh time while you fall back into your death sleep.”

My eyebrows lift. Seven times? Gods, how long have I been out?

Callahan reads the question I’m sure is written across my face and answers coldly before I can ask, “You’ve been out for three days.”

My eyes bug out of my head as his words clang around my skull, refusing to sink in. Three days? 

Gods, this is so much worse than I originally thought. 

I glance up at his face and spot purple bags staining the underside of his eyes. His hair sticks up a little on the sides like he’s kept his head propped up with one hand for the entirety of my self-induced coma. 

The shame I pushed away earlier resurfaces with a vengeance as I’m suddenly painfully aware that he’s been caring for me. I avert my eyes from the anger that’s muddling his usually mastered demeaner. 

“This is your tent, isn’t it?” My voice is weak still, barely above a whisper. He nods his head curtly, and I curl my hands into fists. The cuffs on my wrists chafe at the raw, scorched skin underneath. “Thank you.”

He snorts in response, and I feel the blood rush into my cheeks.

“Think you can manage a day of riding in your delicate state?” 

I flinch at the bite in his words but manage an answer back. “Maybe? My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed a vile of poison, but I could probably manage if we keep a steady pace.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, and I swear I can see him mentally count to ten before he replies, “We are drastically behind schedule on our already outrageously long journey, thanks to the stunt you pulled. What makes you think we have the time or resources to take it easy?”

I fully understand that I’m completely at fault here, but his harsh tone sparks an attitude in my chest that has my mouth running before I can stop it. 

“I know I’m to blame for this situation, but a little compassion never hurt anyone.”

He clenches his jaw tighter, a deep red flush creeping up his neck and over the bridge of his nose. “Compassion? You’ve derailed our entire travel plan because of your selfish desire to regain your magic before your body has time to readjust, and you expect me to treat you with compassion?”

I’m sure my face is cherry red at this point. “How was I supposed to know that would happen? I have never experienced anything like—“

He steps fully into the tent, and I shrink away from the intensity of his glare. “I told you exactly what would happen if you took those cuffs off before you were properly acclimated to your power again, and yet you have the gall to sit there and play the victim card. This is not a fun road trip over the continent for your enjoyment. You were summoned by the King of Rokos, who is expecting our arrival in six days when we are still a full three, probably four, days away from crossing the mountains before we can even think about reaching Cissonia. Not to mention we still have yet to step foot into Emscroft Forest.”

Indignation takes root and it takes everything in my power to not laugh in his face. “You can’t possibly expect me to just lay down and accept that I’m crossing from one prison right into the jaws of another. This is my life being played with, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you hand me over to your King without a fight.”

“You don’t get it still,” says the Captain, shaking his head in disbelief. “King Osric himself gave a direct order to escort you to Cissonia. He is not a man to be trifled with and kept waiting. I find it hard to believe word of his reign escaped the rumor mill of whatever simpleton village you’re from.”

I scoff at the implication. “Of course I know of the King. Why else would I have tried to escape? I will apologize to your men for delaying our journey, but I refuse to be reprimanded like a child for trying to take back the freedom that was stolen from me.”

Callahan steps back and grabs the opening of the tent, flinging it wide open. The usual chatter and bustling noises of the camp are strangely quiet despite it being daylight. “You want to apologize to my crew? You should have woken up a day ago. Then maybe you could have given them a proper apology for dealing with your shit and putting them in danger.”

Now the gravity of the situation decides to settle in, and my attitude slips a little. “You sent them ahead? All of them?”

“After two days of nothing but sitting on their asses waiting for you to wake up from the dead, some doubling up or braving the elements entirely because their tents were unfortunately too close to yours, I had no choice but to send them forward to keep a riot from happening.”

My heart plummets into my stomach. I force air into my lungs and ignore the burn in my muscles as I push myself slowly to my knees, then to my feet, testing my legs before ensuring I can take a few steps without falling flat on my face. Callahan sidesteps out of the entrance as I shuffle slowly out of the tent and makes no move to steady me when I sway slightly.

The camp stands barren. Campfires that have long grown cold dot the ground, encircled by matted patches of grass that attest to how much sitting around happened during my recovery. The area where the horses were kept is empty, save for Yago and Callahan’s horse. Even Archie, it appears, was sent ahead with the crew, and it makes me wonder if Callahan knows how to cook.

I take small, tentative steps into the space, making my way toward where my tent should be. I’m met with a mound of burnt fabric and ash in its place. Streaks of charred earth jut out from the center, long black fingers that seize bits of crispy canvas from what’s left of the handful of tents that neighbored my own. 

Tears spring to my eyes, and I swallow around the lump forming in my throat as I take in the destruction. I look to the sky and blink back the tears. Guilt wraps around my stomach, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

I wrack my brain through my shredded memories and try to remember if I’ve ever lost control like this before. Besides momentarily losing control as a child on few occasions, I can’t think of an instance where my flames caused such destruction. Papa was always so diligent about instilling fail-proof techniques in case something like this ever happened. Even after he was gone, I kept up the practice to ensure the safety of Elyna and the other villagers. I lift my trembling hands up and inspect them, looking for an outward sign that my magic changed during my time underground. 

My magic spoke to me. There has never been an instance where it’s done that before. I’ve always been able to feel it, yes, an everpresent current writhing through my veins, but it’s never taken the form of a….well, what exactly would you call that? A sentient being? Another voice to join the chorus of others?

I feel Callahan approach behind me, and I drop my hands, turning to him. The fury and redness of his face have faded a little, leaving a slight flush behind.

“Did I…did any of your crew get hurt?”

He pauses for a beat, scanning the charred earth before replying, “No. They heard the commotion from your tent and came to check on you before coming to get me.”

I nod absentmindedly, a piece of my guilt falling away at knowing I didn’t unintentionally hurt any of his men. My pride, however, is still severely wounded at my plan failing miserably. The freedom I thought almost within reach snatched away.

I feel the door to the ornate cage that awaits me in Cissonia click shut with finality, any meager fight I had left sealed away with it. 

Callahan ignores me as he walks over to the horses, who are already strapped up and ready to go. He tugs a few times on the straps before turning back to me. 

“We’re getting a later start than I would have liked, so we’ll have to set a fast pace through the forest. You’re not in any shape to spend longer than a day in there. Let’s get going.”

I squint at the sun and realize it’s already high in the sky, midday sunshine in full swing. I turn my gaze to the forest ahead of us, and a full-body shudder runs through me. Gods, I am not prepared for this. 

I walk over to Yago, where Callahan is already situated on top of his horse, Tolino, and place one foot gingerly in the stirrups, taking a deep breath to settle the nausea in my stomach before swinging my leg up and over the saddle. My empty stomach protests the movement, sending out a loud growl. Cal side-eyes me before reaching into his pack and pulling out a stick of dried meat, passing it in my direction.

“Thanks,” I say, and try not to show how famished I am while gobbling down the meat.

He doesn’t answer, instead pressing his feet into the sides of his horse and setting off in front of me at a trot.

I reach down and pet the side of Yago’s neck before doing the same, murmuring under my breath, “What have I gotten us into, boy?”

Yago snorts and follows the Captain into the forest. It’s impossible to tell if the frantic beating noise is his heart or mine.

---

The darkness is suffocating. 

I say that as someone who spent two years of my life enshrouded in nothing but darkness, but this is something entirely different. Before, I could take solace that it was just me and the occasional mouse that escaped from the manor above. That unless the door at the top of the stairs opened and someone came shuffling through with a tray of slop, I could sit in a corner and not have to fear for my safety.

Here in the forest, the darkness wraps around Yago’s legs before reaching up and caressing my shins. Its frigid breath skates across the back of my neck, my flesh breaking out in goosebumps. 

Here, I feel eyes on us. 

I can’t discern what kind of eyes they are, and the conversation that I heard between the guards about changelings does nothing to help my growing anxiety. I try to fool my brain into thinking they’re just the eyes of an owl or another non-life-threatening creature, but the image of deformed and forgotten Fae is glued to the recess of my brain.

We’ve slowed from the initial fast trot we started at when we entered the forest, I’m sure in part to stifle the groans I was emitting from my aching muscles and throbbing headache. I know it’s not for my comfort because Callahan has yet to turn around and say a word to me since we left, but more so to keep from attracting too much attention to ourselves.

The deeper we go, the more we lose the sun. I can’t tell what time of day it is anymore, but we have to been in here for hours. When I turn my head to look behind us for the entrance, I’m met with a yawning stretch of murky gloom. I have no idea how Callahan knows where to go, and I have to bite my tongue to refrain from asking. I can just make out the tension that straps across his shoulders, so I’m mostly trusting that Yago can see well enough to pick out the trail being made in front of us.

Seeing Callahan tense increases my anxiety tenfold. If the man who’s already traveled through this forest gods knows how many times is nervous, my trepidation suddenly feels like it isn’t enough. I need to distract myself before I start to panic.

Reaching inwardly, I brush against the wall holding back my fire. It’s fully intact once again. Nothing amiss from my foolish escape attempt that I can tell as I test the entire perimeter. Part of me is thankful that it’s sealed shut until I can figure out what the hell is going on with my magic. The reasonable side of my brain says I should take Callahan up on his offer to help re-acclimate to the magic, but it’s shoved aside by the stubbornness that usually wins out. Maybe if he had shown a little bit of sensitivity toward my near-death experience, I’d be more willing to cooperate with him.

I expel a breath in a silent whoosh. Okay, fine, so he did nurse me back to health while I was knocked out for three days. And yes, okay, I did almost take out half the camp in a moment of weakness, the shame from that still eating away at me, but I can’t imagine anyone would hold out long in a pair mystical stone cuffs that suppress a vital part of their identity.

A drop of condensation from the leaves above falls onto my forehead, dribbling down my nose until I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

I can’t help but wonder what exactly makes Callahan think he can help me readjust to my magic again. Does being Captain of the Guard mean he’s well versed in all things magic as well as combat? I imagine he’s got extensive training under his belt, but not everyone has magic, and I’m sure if the King caught wind that someone in his guard had the ability to wield magic, he’d lock them in a cell just like he plans to do with me. 

I bite my lip. Why go through all the trouble of sending an entire fleet of soldiers across Rokos and back just to deposit me in the dungeons? The only reason that remotely makes sense is that it has something to do with my magic specifically. I’m no stranger to the fact that possessing magic in this day in age is rare in and of itself, not to mention that I’ve never heard of anyone else with the ability to wield silver fire.

Back in our small village, there was only one other woman who weakly possessed the touch of water magic. Her name escapes me, but I can faintly remember that whatever she could do wasn’t anything to write home about. Nothing useful like purifying salt water into clean, drinking water, something that would have desperately come in handy during the drought we suffered through a few years back. Just the ability to turn cold water into lukewarm water and shoot misbehaving children with a spray of water from her palms.

Papa strongly believed I was the only fire wielder, let alone silver fire wielder, in all of Aeris. After the Fae were banished some two hundred years ago, magic slowly fizzled out with each generation that passed. When the Gods were put to sleep, it vanished entirely, popping up in random births throughout each continent. Families without a drop of Fae in their blood got quite the surprise when their children started manifesting powers around their thirteenth year of life. The fortunate ones were raised by accepting parents who would seek out ancient healers and wise elders to control the magic before it got out of hand. Others, the less fortunate, would go missing, never to be heard from again, their families moving on as if one of their children never existed. 

Despite having a mother who showed little concern for her daughters, I feel grateful that my parents never abandoned me by the seaside cliffs when my fire abilities manifested at such a young age.

Another droplet of water rolls down my cheek until it dribbles off my chin and lands on the front of my tunic. I look up and squint against the night, searching for the rain clouds that are following us. Branches groan in the wind, swaying in time with the wind. I can barely make out the edges of an object suspended in the air when an onslaught of rain falls, blurring my already impaired vision. 

I speak my first words since we entered the forest. “Are we expecting rain?”

Tolino’s footsteps slow before Callahan replies, “Not that I’m aware of.”

I wipe the water from my face, scrubbing my eyes to relieve the stinging from the rain. “Did it rain earlier, then? I’m getting drenched back here.” 

I hear Callahan rustle around in his pack before pulling out a match and striking it against a piece of flint. Light flares, chasing away the darkness until I’m left blinking to adjust to the rough transition. My still burning eyes barely make out Callahan’s widened eyes and parted lips as he shifts in his saddle to look back at me, then shoots his head upward to look at the forest ceiling with a curse. 

I rub my eyes harder to rid them of the sensation to see what he’s spotted when Callahan calls out to me softly, “I need you, whatever you do, to remain quiet and, above all, calm.”

Lowering my hand, I crane my neck upwards. The dangling objects are bigger than I’d anticipated. They’re attached to the branches with thick cords of twine that creak with every movement. Long appendages hang from the middle of each object, outstretched to the earth beneath us. Distantly, a twig snaps.

I blink again, and the stinging recedes some. My vision clears marginally, and in the dim firelight, I see that the tips of each appendage are stained dark, wet with liquid that runs off in rivers. 

My breathing labors as I glance down at the hand hovering in front of my face, each finger covered in blood. 

We travel hard for another four hours after our first pit stop until we reach camp for the night. The forest’s border stands just a few miles from us now, so close I can feel the coldness emitting from its floor on the back of my neck. An overwhelming scent of leaves and foreboding envelops our resting place, putting everyone on edge. 

The guards murmur to one another, and I catch bits and pieces of their hushed conversations. 

They’re scared.

“I know changelings are mostly endangered, but I heard it’s only making them that much thirstier for blood.”

“I heard that, too. I had a cousin who went missing in that forest. A search party went looking for him, but most didn’t return. The ones that did still refuse to speak of what they saw, which was over 3 years ago.”

I shudder, a shiver racing up my spine. Changelings are pure nightmare fuel and extremely rare to spot outside Emscroft Forest. According to legend, they are descendants of Fae, often their sickly children who were left to die in the desire for a healthy baby. Instead of growing into beautiful humanoid creatures, like most Fae were, they’re often mangled and craved human blood. When the Gods drove the Fae away, the changelings were left behind as reminders of how retched and bloodthirsty the Fae could be.

At one point, wealthy humans took sport in hunting down changelings. They’d lure them out with a freshly sacrificed mountain goat or wildfowl and rig traps to string the changelings from the trees. Once captured, the humans would take turns with clubs made of ash and bash the changelings repeatedly until they were unrecognizable. After they had their fill, the changelings were left strung up to die.

All of this stopped, of course, when the changelings started setting their own traps for the humans and would inflict unspeakable damage on their bodies. 

It’s not fun anymore when your prey beats you at your own game, after all.

I leave the two guards to their disturbing conversation and turn in search of Archie. I was able to slip a handful of the salve under my trousers and massage it into my muscles during the ride when no one was looking. If I hadn’t, I’d undoubtedly be in tears currently and unable to walk.

I spy him on the other side of camp, standing in front of the fire, a large kitchen knife in hand. A wooden cutting board is balanced on a log as he chops a mound of vegetables before dumping them into a pot that’s heating over the fire. He spots me walking up and pauses, his knife dangling precariously from one hand. 

“Why, if it isn’t my silver-eyed beauty. How are you holding up today?”

I wrap my arms around my middle, pulling my cloak tighter against the cold. “I’m doing better today, thanks to your salve. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had the touch of a healer.”

“Nah, just a little recipe I picked up from my days as a soldier. It’s nothing, miss, no need to thank me,” he says, waving me off with the flick of his knife.

“Well, regardless, I do appreciate it. It’s the best I’ve felt in forever.”

“Glad I could help then, miss.” He resumes his chopping and scoops the small mound of what looks like carrots into the pot. 

“Anything I can do to help? I’m not much of a cook, but chopping I can manage.”

“Nah, nah, you just sit your pretty little self down and rest for a bit. Heard you and cap’n got into it earlier. Bet that explains the breakneck speed earlier. Thought my damn head was gonna bounce right off my shoulders.”

I cringe slightly as I sit down on the log next to him. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, he’s the one who started something he couldn’t finish.”

Archie snorts and points his knife at me. “I’m sure he did. Between you and me, miss, cap’n could use someone to put him in place every now and then. These guards are so far up his ass they can’t tell left from right anymore.”

A tiny grin forms on my lips. “I can do that, no problem.”

He shoots me a side-eyed stare. “Now, I don’t mean for you to go startin’ a fight all the time. My ass can’t handle no more of this hard travelin’. Plus, I’m sure cap’n means well. He’s got a good heart, unlike that cruel weasel of a king he serves.”

I turn to look at Archie, eyes wide in surprise. “I thought you said you fought for the king on the battlefield?”

“That was a long time ago, miss, and it don’t mean nothin’ to me anymore.” His chopping turns frenzied, and he turns the carrot he’s handling into a heap of orange ribbons.

I take the hint and drop the subject. “So, how are you feeling about crossing the forest tomorrow?”

He grunts and pulls out a bag of potatoes from a sack situated next to him. “The sooner we’re out, the better.”

“I heard some guards talking about changelings earlier. I thought they were pretty much extinct by now.”

“Never trust anything you hear in these parts, miss. I know you’re new around here, so I’ll clue you in first. Rokos is dangerous. Keep your wits about you, ya hear me?”

My smile vanishes as I give him a solemn nod. “Understood.”

“Good,” he says. Whatever is in the pot has started boiling. He grabs a wooden spoon and starts stirring. 

I look around and take in our surroundings. There are few trees spread sporadically throughout the area. But save for our tents, the area is mostly wide open space. Tall grass waves in the soft breeze, the crisp spring air dropping a few degrees with it. The night sky blinks at me, a brilliant expanse of stars on display for us.

I glance behind my shoulder. A lone tent, a tad bigger than the rest, stands on the perimeter. Soft light from a lantern glows behind the canvas walls, carving out the silhouette of the person inside. He’s hunched over a small table, a pen in hand, scribbling furiously.

For a second, I wonder what he’s writing about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was ordered to write frequent updates about the journey, but I find myself wondering what parts of it he’s reporting about.

“Aruna?”

I whip my head around, dirty hair fanning out around my shoulders from the movement. 

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted the first bowl. You okay, miss?” 

He holds a steaming bowl of stew in his hand, outstretched towards me. I grab it from him hastily.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought. Thank you.” I take a sip and the hearty goodness warms my soul. “Hey, Archie?”

“Hmm?”

I wipe the soup that’s dribbling down my chin with my sleeve. “Where can a girl take a bath around here?”

---

Ten minutes later, I’ve made it the few hundred yards due east, where Archie said I could find a stream winding through the trees. Armed with my soap and rag, I drop my cloak and tug free the laces of my boots before slipping my feet out. Scanning the area for unwanted onlookers, I unbutton my trousers and peel them off. They’re soaked with sweat from the two days ride. I debate swishing them a few times in the water, but the night is cold enough that I know they wouldn’t dry properly. I’ll save hypothermia for a different life.

I tug my tunic over my head. The sleeves snag on my cuffs, and I yank them the rest of the way off with more force than needed. Dropping the tunic in a heap next to my trousers, I grab the rag and dunk it in the stream before wringing it out and lathering it with soap. I start with my underarms, methodically rotating between rinsing, lathering, and scrubbing as I work my way down. 

In the dark, it’s difficult to make out the setting around me. Thankfully, my eyes are used to the dark by now, so I can pick out the outline of a handful of trees, small shrubs, and a large rock a few yards to my left. 

I finish my makeshift bath and sit in the grass for a bit, letting the cold air bite at my skin. I work a hand up to my hair, the ends of it blowing in the breeze. Even tangled, it reaches the middle of my spine, hanging in wads of dirt and knots. 

Before I can think twice about it, I dip the ends of my hair halfway into the stream, plunging my hands in at the same time. Quickly so as a chill doesn’t set in my fingers, I work at untangling the knots. Clumps of dead hair and grime bob down the stream by the time I’m done. It’s not perfect, but at least I can run my fingers through my hair again. I squeeze out as much water as possible before slinging it behind my shoulders. It lands on my back with a wet slap. Reaching for my pile of clothes, I tug on my trousers and tunic before lacing up my boots and slinging the cloak around my shoulders. 

Looking over my shoulder towards camp once, I turn and walk up stream to the shrubs. Bending to my knees, I feel around in the grass. My fingertips grope around blindly until they hit something wet and slimy.

Blegh. I cringe, not daring to wonder what that could be, and shift the other way, reaching out with my hand again. This time, I touch a small, rough object. It’s long and thin, about half the width of my pinky finger. I feel for the end of it, and a dull point scrapes my fingertips. Bingo.

I grab the skinny stick and tuck it into the pocket of my trousers before stepping out from the bushes, pretending like I just came from relieving myself to anyone who may be watching. As nonchalantly as I can muster, I walk back to camp. My wet hair drenches the back of my tunic, and I shiver from the cold.

The guards are all sitting around the bonfire when I return, engrossed in a story one of the men is telling. Whatever the tale, it must be good. They’re leaning in, on the edge of their seats as the storyteller animates wildly with his hands.

I briefly scan around the fire and my eyes land on on the Captain. He’s facing my direction, eyes locked on mine as I approach. The orange light from the fire illuminates the strong features of his face, his dark hair gleaming in the muted light. He inclines his head to an empty spot on the log next to him, and I shake my head quickly, my heart thumping out of rhythm in my chest.  His eyebrows pull together momentarily and he does a subtle once-over before turning back to the story. 

Nerves course through my veins as I cross camp and enter my tent. I kneel in the pile of furs and whoosh out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. 

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the stick and twirl it between my fingers. It’s skinnier than I would have liked, to the point I’ll have to be mindful not to snap it, but it’ll do the trick. Now, the wait begins.

Almost three hours pass before all I can hear is the soft crackling of the bonfire and distant snores from the surrounding tents. My eyes have been glued to the same spot on the ceiling of my tent for what feels like an eternity, but I didn’t dare close them in fear I’d fall asleep and miss my opportunity. My hair has long since dried, hanging in a blunt curtain around my shoulders.

Sitting up, I strain my ears again one last time to confirm everyone is truly asleep. When not even a sound draws from where the horses are tied up, I rise to my knees and place my left wrist onto my lap, my right hand holding the stick. 

My heart thumps in my chest. For a moment, my brain tells me to rethink my plan. I almost listen to it, when I feel my magic whisper to me.

Release me. Let’s go home.

It’s all the push I need. Taking a deep breath to steady my shaky hands, I insert the stick into the keyhole on the cuff and fiddle with it until I hear the lock click. Slowly, I ease the cuff off and let it drop to the ground in front of me. 

Nothing happens. I flex my wrist and rub at the skin, a frown pulling at my lips. I reach inwardly and feel the wall still intact around my magic. 

Strange. Maybe both cuffs need to be off in order to free it?

Or maybe the calemarine cell walls extinguished my fire for good.

Pushing the unsettling thought out of my head, I start working on the second cuff. Since I’m now using my non-dominant hand, it takes me a few tries to line up the stick correctly before setting to work picking the lock again. I’ve almost unlocked it when I feel it. My hand stills.

It starts in my belly, an interesting sensation, almost like the linings of my stomach are melting away. The feeling grows until a portion of the wall surrounding my magic starts crumbling away. I inhale deeply as the barrier lifts. The fog in my brain alleviates slightly, and I can see clearly again. My smell heightens, eyes sharpening against the darkness of the night. I can almost taste the nightmare a guard a few tents away is having. 

Fire trickles through my veins slowly from going unused for too long. The heat burns so good. Tears prick my eyes at the sensation I’ve greatly missed. It feels like home. 

Gods, I’d forgotten what this felt like. What it felt like to have such great power living under my skin. The ability to stretch my fingertips and burn down an entire village with just the glimmer of a thought. Not that I ever have, but it was nice to know I could if I wanted to. 

The fire courses through every inch of my body, spreading more rapidly now. I welcome the sensation, tipping my head back and opening my mouth slightly to release a rush of hot air from my lungs. It’s almost orgasmic. 

I’m so lost in the feeling that I almost miss the thought that flits through my brain. 

Too fast.

I open my eyes. Suddenly, the heat is overwhelming. It’s growing faster now, building stronger with every pump of my heart. Whisps of silver smoke float in my peripheral, but I can’t focus on it. My eyes bulge, silver irises churning. I can’t remember a time when my magic ever felt like this. 

But then voice in the back of my head tells me to let go, to let it take over, and I swear I feel the sea salt spray of the ocean on my face. The taste of familiarity teases the tip of my tongue. I release the tension from my body and let the flames take over. Home. I’m going home.

Briefly, I wonder if I should fear this. But when the magic pulses again, I realize that I don’t care if it burns me alive. I will never go without this power again, and if it eats me alive, so be it.

There was a time in my cage when I wanted to live through the pain. When I wanted to see it through to whatever end met me. But now that I know what meets me on the other side of this journey, I’m through with holding on to the scraps of my life before. A life I will never get back. 

I’m ready to give in.

The heat picks up again, the silver smoke swirling faster now. It circles around my tent, whipping against the canvas walls. My mouth is fully open now, breath rasping out in short gasps. The heat still grows, boiling my blood as it leaves my frantically beating heart. My soul detaches from my body. Distantly, I can hear screaming. It’s hard to decipher if it’s coming from outside the tent or my gaping mouth. My eyes are unseeing, too far gone to decipher the madness around me. 

I vaguely register the folds of my tent being thrown open and someone rushing through. He throws an arm over his face to block the heat radiating from my body.

“Gods, Aruna, what have you done?” Hands reach to grip my wrists. Palms hit my flesh, then snatch back with a hiss. The person fumbles around for something on the floor, eyes squeezed shut to keep them from liquefying in their sockets. He finds whatever he’s looking for and reaches for my wrist again.

“No!” I roar, yanking my wrist from reach. The voice that emerges from my throat doesn’t feel entirely my own. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re going to die, Aruna. Let me help you.”

A sob rips from my throat. “I don’t care,” I rasp, tears streaming down my face. They evaporate instantly, leaving a trail of dried salt on my cheeks. 

I try crawling away but he’s faster. Suddenly, a hand wrapped in red fire grips my arm, holding me in place. My silver fire retreats from it the second it makes contact.

“What sort of trick is this?” I spit, looking down at my arm. The red fire pulses brighter, scattering my flames into smoke. I try wrenching my arm away but the grip holds firm.

“I’m sorry, Aruna, but this is the only way.” The red flame licks up my arms, dousing the silver fire in its wake. 

“Wait,” I cry out. My flame retreats against the threat, curling back into my core. “Don’t.”

“I have to, you’re going to burn out,” Callahan says, and he places his other hand on the side of my face. I look up and see pain etched on his face, mixing with the sweat that pours down his temple. “I’m sorry.”

Before I understand what’s happening, the red flame pulses again and consumes me. The heat from my body cracks in two just as something cold slips over my wrist. My fire dissipates.

“You really are mad, Aruna. That, or you have more of a death wish than I anticipated.” 

It’s the last thing I hear before my fire is sucked back behind the hard wall. Tendrils of silver flames sink their claws into the ground, trying to escape the effects of the calemarine cuffs, but it’s no use. The internal door clicks with finality as the last of my fire is once again locked away.

Strong arms wrap around me as my head lolls, and the energy leaves my body. I’m gently lowered into the furs. A hand brushes away the sweaty strands of hair that cling to my face as darkness engulfs me.

The first leg of the ride lasts for about five hours before we finally stop at a small pond along the way to water the horses and eat a quick lunch of dried meat and nuts from our satchels.

We’ll reach Emscroft Forest just as the day turns to dusk. I can start to make out the edges of it and the darkness that wraps around the tree trunks, an endless depth of gloom stretching behind it. My hair raises on end from looking at it. I can’t imagine how I’ll react when we’re actually riding through it. When Callahan announced we’d be making camp before we reached it, relief flooded my system.

Aeris was lucky when it came to dangerous creatures. Kelpies lurk in the ocean, but unless in a boat, they usually lived too deep to pose any real threat to swimmers. Sometimes, a rogue mist hound crossed from the southern parts of Rokos into the countryside, wiping out half of an unsuspecting village before help arrived. My family was fortunate to be removed enough from such creatures in our remote area along the coast. My skin crawls with the realization we could come face to face with something in those woods tomorrow. 

My legs nearly buckle underneath me when I dismount Yago. I have to balance a hand on his side for a few seconds before I trust them to work correctly. Sweat drips down my neck, dampening the collar of my cloak.

Gods, I’m out of shape. 

I groan as I reach my hands down to my toes and stretch my legs. A quick glance around tells me none of the guards seem to be in as much pain as I am. Lucky bastards.

“It’ll get better after a few days,” Callahan says, approaching on my right. His wavy hair is slightly tousled from the wind, but otherwise, he looks almost refreshed. Like he could ride for days and still fight a bear after. And win.

It annoys me to no end. “That’s very comforting, coming from you. You haven’t even broken a sweat.”

That damned left eyebrow lifts again, annoying me further. “To be fair, I’ve had a lot more opportunity to practice than you have lately.”

I shoot him a glare. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. Are you always this astute?”

A corner of his mouth tilts like he’s stifling a chuckle. I want to slap it off his pretty face.

“Are you always this crabby?”

“You would be too if you’d just spent two years locked away in a cell and then were forced to ride for days on end against your will.” 

His smile drops. “So that’s how long you were in there, then? Two years?”

A stray strand of hair falls in my face and I blow it away with a puff of air. “Yes. Two years, 19 days, and a hand full of hours before your King Osric so graciously decided to save me from my cage.”

He brings a hand to his face and rubs it down the side of his stubbled jaw. My eyes track the movement against my will. “It’s a wonder you didn’t go mad.”

“Who says I didn’t?” I say, throwing him a wicked smile that would have most people sprinting in the other direction. 

Instead, he looks at the cuffs on my wrists, unbothered. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to want to keep those on for as long as you can. It’s going to be really unpleasant adjusting to your magic again.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’ve lived with my magic my whole life. I’m pretty positive two years isn’t going to set me back that badly.”

“Maybe, but calemarine is a tricky mineral to work with. Too much, and it absorbs every drop of magic and leaves you with nothing. Too little and even an unskilled wielder can bust out of its hold.”

What he’s saying makes sense. In the cell, my magic was nonexistent, almost as if I had never possessed it in the first place. The loss was almost unbearable. Twenty-two years I had lived with my magic, perfecting it, practicing it every day until I could light a candle two houses away in a room I’d never been in with my eyes closed. 

Papa had always told me my magic was like a wild animal. If left untrained, it would lash out unexpectedly, a dangerous beast that would bite when cornered. 

My magic manifested on my 7th birthday when I accidentally spit flames trying to blow out my birthday candles. Right away, papa made sure I practiced daily to tame it early on. It started with easy tricks like lighting lanterns or coaxing out weak sparks, exercises designed to release any pent-up magic in my system to avoid major catastrophes before I knew how to wield it properly. 

I think about the time when I was about 10 years old, and papa had gone off on one of his traveling expeditions for a week and a half. Mama never paid much attention to Elyna or me, always caught up in trying to swindle the market people for an extra bundle of grain with her good looks. So, I took the opportunity to rest from my training. They always had me dripping in sweat anyway, with my brain feeling like a pile of mushy oatmeal. I figured a few days without practicing wouldn’t do too much harm. I deserved a break.

By the time papa returned, I was a walking fireball of pent-up rage. One smart comment from Elyna while we were playing tag in the backyard and I exploded, accidentally burning down mama’s tool shed and scorching the ends of Elyna’s hair into burnt crisps. 

Papa rebuilt the shed and Elyna’s hair grew back eventually, but I never let myself go without practicing for longer than a day or so after that.

Later, when I could control it better, we moved on to harder stunts; lighting a wet wick, creating arcs of continuous silver flame, breathing fire without singeing off my eyebrows.

Even after papa passed, I still practiced every day, not wanting the tolerance I’d built up to fade away.

And then suddenly, when I stepped into that dungeon, my magic vanished. Years of hard work and patience gone in the blink of an eye. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye properly, had no idea why the one constant in my life besides Elyna had left me.

I look down at my cuffs.

It was easier in the cell when I couldn’t detect a trace of where it’d gone. I was able to forget for short periods of time, offering reprieves from the incessant thought loop in my head.

But with these, I can feel something there. Like it’s locked away in a room and I’ve just forgotten which key opens the door.

My blood tingles, and I start feeling claustrophobic. My flames are here, inside somewhere, but I can’t reach them. Can’t reach them, yet I can feel them begging me to unlock the door and let them out. They’re being stifled, smothered behind a heavy door that was closed without my permission.

I need these cuffs off. Now.

Panic rises from the bottom of my stomach and crawls up my stomach. My breathing quickens and I struggle to draw a full breath. A pounding starts in my head. My magic screams at me, bellowing, telling me it’s time, time to–

A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I snap from my trance. I look up and find Callahan, his face lowered slightly so he’s looking directly into my eyes. 

“Okay, take a deep breath.” I do as he says, my lungs still not working properly yet. “Good. One more.” 

I inhale again and let it out slowly, the panic melting away with it. The buzzing in my head subsides until it’s just a dull twinge behind my eyes. 

“Alright, now I’m going to touch your wrist, okay? Don’t freak out, I just think you snagged your fingers on your cuff.”

I look down and see my hand wrapped around my left wrist. A sharp pain throbs in my index finger. Slowly, I flip my wrist over and see that it’s wedged under the edge of the cuff as if trying to snap it in two.

At the base of where my finger disappears under the cuff, a small hairline fracture snakes halfway up.

Callahan gently takes my wrist and pulls it closer to his face, a deep frown pulling at his mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed above slightly widened eyes.

“Impossible,” he whispers. He tugs on my hand until my index finger slips free from under the cuff. I flex it, the joint aching a bit. He inspects the cuff again, turning my wrist in a circle, before dropping it. I tuck my wrist behind my back.

“Wait here,” he says and walks towards where the guards wait together.

I wait until he’s far enough away before looking at the cuff again. The crack is tiny, not nearly big enough to break in half, but enough to make me wonder how I could have done it.

Cal’s reaction was genuine, I read the shock on his face. Maybe these are a faulty pair of cuffs?

I shake my head inwardly and draw my eyebrows together. No, that’s definitely not it. I can’t imagine the Captain of King Osric’s guard would be foolish enough to not ensure that the cuffs work properly.

Out of curiosity, I reach for my magic, tapping a mental finger around the barrier to feel for faults. As far as I can tell, nothing is out of place. 

Confusion muddles my brain. I heard my magic yelling to be let out, I know I did. But how could it have done so underneath a wall of calemarine?

I’m still heavy in thought when Cal walks back over and holds out a small tin to me. “Here. It’s a salve to help with your finger. Archie says it’ll work for your sore muscles, too.”

I take it and open the lid, an aroma of pine and lemon escaping. I scoop out a little bit and rub it over my index finger. 

“Thanks,” I say. The salve cools my skin and the pain is dulled some. “Sorry I freaked out. Two years in a cell will do that to you.”

“No need to apologize. Actually, it’s a good time to bring up something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” I say, arching a brow.

He clears his throat. “With your permission, I’d like to start helping you acclimate back into your magic. We’ll start small and work your tolerance up until you can step back into your full power.”

“Why?”

“The cuffs are going to come off eventually, and I still don’t think you realize how big of an adjustment it’s going to be. Plus, it’d be in your interest to get a handle on it before presenting yourself to the King.”

“Before I present myself? I hope you know that all of this is against my will. If I had any choice in this, I wouldn’t be anywhere near Rokos.”

“I understand that, but the fact is that’s not the reality. You need to learn how to control your magic again, and I’m kind of your only option out here.”

I scoff at him. “I don’t understand what makes you think I want your help. I mastered my magic when I was thirteen years old, there’s nothing you can teach me I don’t already know. I don’t need your guidance.”

“That wasn’t my intention. You didn’t even know what calemarine was until I met you. How are you supposed to navigate the effects if you don’t understand what it is?”

“You don’t even know me. We met two days ago. Do you understand how little that is to me compared to the past two years?”

His face reddens slightly, the most unruffled I’ve seen him. It makes me want to push even harder.

“I’m sure I’ll navigate the side effects just fine, no thanks to you. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “Then the cuffs stay on until you agree to train with me.”

“Fine. Present me to your king like the prisoner I am,” I say, throwing his words back in his face.

His mouth snaps shut on a retort that I know he’s holding back from saying. Part of me wishes he’d spit it out so I could unleash the words that are simmering underneath my skin.

Before I can let one of those words slip, he turns on his heel and whistles to the caravan, signaling that our rest stop is over and it’s time to move on. His shoulders are tight as he walks over to his horse and mounts, kicking his heels into the horse’s haunches and leading the pack, setting a fast pace.

I find Yago and climb up onto the saddle, taking off at the breakneck speed Callahan’s set. My sore muscles bark in pain, but this time, I welcome the pain, hoping it’ll distract me from my thoughts. 

I know I got under his skin, and I thoroughly enjoyed learning what annoys him. 

I ignore the nagging thought in the back of my brain that acknowledges he got under my skin, too.

If Callahan thinks he knows what’s best for me, he’s got another thing coming for him. And I know just where to begin.

Tonight, these cuffs are coming off. And when they do, I’ll be halfway across Aeris before Callahan can do anything about it.

A scuffling noise outside my tent draws me from sleep, eyes flying open.

I throw my arm over my face to drown the sunlight that’s streaming through the folds of my tent, blinding me momentarily. 

Gods, I don’t remember the sun being this bright. 

I hear the noise again, closer this time than before. Slowly, I crawl over the tent’s entrance and peel the folds back, peeking through the opening. A long snout shoves its way through the opening. Yago’s wet nose leaves a trail of snot on my forehead.

“You about gave me a heart attack, buddy,” I say gently, reaching up to pet his muzzle. His lips nip at my fingers, and he snorts into the palm of my hand. 

“Okay, okay. Give me a second to wake up, and I’ll be out in a moment.”

Satisfied, he withdraws his head from my tent, and I hear him amble away. I flop back down into the pile of furs and listen to the sounds of camp waking up for the day.

Birds chirp distantly. The scuff of boots dragging across the dirt. A guard asks another to help him break down a few tents. 

It’s all so ordinary. Nobody is thinking about the girl with silver flames. Or how the King waits for us on the other side of this journey.

It unnerves me.

I frown and sit up, turning my wrists over to inspect my cuffs once again. The morning sunlight illuminates flecks of blue embedded in the stone that I missed the night before. 

Out of curiosity, I reach for my fire. Unlike the cell where I was met with a pit of nothing, I hit a hard wall that seems to wrap around the core of my magic where it lies in my stomach. I reach harder, rapping a mental finger against the exterior, but it holds firm.

Footsteps sound outside my tent and stop before the entrance. “Aruna? We’re leaving soon. Are you ready to go?”

I drop my wrists into my lap. “Yes.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Archie saved you some breakfast if you want it. I’ll leave it here for you.” I hear his riding leather scrunch together as he kneels and sets a bowl beside the tent. 

I stand up and regret the movement instantly, my legs painfully stiff from the ride yesterday. Ducking through the folds of the tent, I find Callahan standing with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Did you rest well enough?”

I reach my hands over my head and stretch slowly from side to side before bending and picking up the bowl of breakfast mush. I can’t tell what it is exactly, but the savory smells are appetizing at least. 

“Hardly, but I’ll manage. Where will we end up today?”

He watches as I spoon a little of the mush into my mouth and chew the grainy texture. It’s salty with bits of vegetables throughout. I’ve definitely had worse.

“Our goal is to reach the edge of Emscroft Forest by nightfall. It’ll take us a good day or two to make it through the forest, but it’s easier to navigate during the day.”

“Why’s that?”

He raises a brow. “You’ve never been to Rokos, have you?”

Captain Obvious strikes again. “No. I was raised in Aeris with my family before Njal ransacked our village and captured me. I’ve only seen the southern tip of Rokos while traveling to his manor, but I was drugged for most of it.”

His other brow joins the first, high on his forehead. “How long ago was that?”

I monitor him for a beat before answering, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Why does it matter?”

He holds his hands up as if surrendering. “I was just curious. Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

A guard calls his name and he half turns before looking back to me. “That’s our cue. Time to saddle up, again. You can leave the tent, someone will pack it up for you.”

I follow him over to the horses and find Yago. Cal tries to help me up again but I shoot him a glare before climbing into the saddle. That left eyebrow of his lifts again before he shrugs and turns away to mount his own horse. I wonder if it’s perpetually stuck that way.

Our caravan sets off once again, faster than yesterday. My sore muscles protest every move across the land and I curse myself silently for forgetting to seek out Archie before we left. I try shifting in the saddle a few times to alleviate the ache but after a while, a new set of muscles starts to ache, forcing me to shift again. 

I focus on the land around us to take my mind off the pain. Grassy plains stretch on for miles before disappearing into a thick forest at the bottom of a distant mountain range. If my memory is correct, those are the Grenvern Highlands that split the continent in half.

The terrain in Rokos is vastly different than Aeris. Whereas the former is mostly landlocked between two continents, Aeris on the south and Vidas in the north, and covered mostly by cold grasslands, Aeris borders the Oaktham Sea and is made up of rocky terrain and smells of salt. Elyna used to hate the way the sea spray and humid weather made her hair frizz terribly. 

“I just don’t understand why mama and papa had to settle in the swampy part of the continent,” she complained on a particularly hot and muggy day. We had opted for a walk along the coast in hopes the waves would shower us with cooler weather. Instead, it just made Elyna’s hair shrink even more than usual.

“I mean, seriously.” She went on. “They both had wavy hair and suffered from the same frizzy fate as we do. Wouldn’t they want to spare their daughters from having to endure it too?”

I rolled my eyes at her. “You are so dramatic sometimes, Elyna. Tell me why you’ve taken to studying ceramics when you could certainly excel in the theatre?”

“Because you made it look so easy that I figured, ‘hey, if Aruna can do it, certainly I can too.’”

I scoffed at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I adore my big sister so much that I’d do anything to be just like her.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what I thought,” I muttered. Her blue eyes pop against the ocean backdrop. A smattering of freckles dances across her slightly upturned nose that mirrors mine, one of the only similarities we have with each other. Her long, golden brown hair whips behind in perfect curls as the ocean breeze picks up momentarily, then settles back down. “I’ll never understand why you got all the good familial genes and I’m stuck with Grandmam’s drab coloring.”

She turned to me with a surprised look on her face. “Are you kidding? Men practically drop at your feet and beg you to spare even a single glance in their direction with those silver eyes. It totally works with your pale skin and black hair. You have a mysterious witchy vibe that men drool over.”

“Yeah, right,” I snort, biting the words off. “Run in fear is more like it.”

“Remember Draeden Lance and how he literally followed you around like a pup on a leash? You have no idea the effect you have on men. They love powerful women, and you, my dear sister of silver flames, are as powerful as they get.”

“Draeden Lance was a lovesick fool who moved on to the next as fast as he could when I told him I’d roast him alive if he didn’t leave me alone.”

“Semantics,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “All I’m saying is one day, you’re going to find a man who can handle everything you bring with you and won’t run away with his tail between his legs when you threaten to melt the flesh off his bones.”

“Who says I need a man?”

“Gods, Aruna. I’m obviously not saying that, I just mean that someday I hope you find someone who wants to take care of you and that you let them.”

I let her words sink in. Is that something I wanted? When I looked to the future, I saw me, Elyna, and maybe a cat or two. There was never a man pictured in that scenario, and I was most inclined for it to stay that way.

I turned to her, needing to get out of the hot seat. “Alright, miss Love Guru, what about you then? I see the way you and Rafferty Sala sneak glances at each other during the weekend markets.”

Elyna ducks her face away from me, but not before I caught the tinge of pink across her cheeks. “Raf and I are friends, that’s all. He helps me carry in the sacks of flour at the bakery when a delivery comes in.”

“Raf, eh?” I tease, poking her between the ribs. “I saw the eighteen roses on your desk that mysteriously appeared last week on your birthday. Don’t lie. Besides, at least he’s cute.”

“Very cute, but I swear. I’m focusing on school and work right now, and he knows that. I don’t have time for a boyfriend, and I don’t really want the drama if I’m being completely truthful.”

I laugh and thread my fingers through hers. “You and me both, Elly.” The sunset ripples off the ocean, casting a rose-gold hue over the world. A flash of white on the ground caught my eye and I spy a sand dollar. I bend and pick it up, flipping it over to inspect the other side before stuffing it into my pocket.

Now, back in Yago’s saddle, I struggle once again to smother the deep sorrow gathering in my chest as the sun overhead begins to set. It pales in comparison to the sunsets we had back home. Nothing will ever come close to the beauty of the walks at dusk I used to share with my sister.

I have no idea if Elyna heeded my advice to run as far from our little coast village as she could without looking back when Njal and his men came for me. I can only pray to the gods she did, and that wherever she landed, she is safe.

I wonder if Raf went with her. 

 The day is brisk.

A cold stream weaves through the tree branches. It runs a slender finger over the hem of my filthy tunic, lifting it slightly as I approach the traveling party. Spring is just starting to arrive, so there’s still a bite to the air. Even so, the sun thaws a fraction of the ice that’s covered my bones for months on end. 

I draw in a deep breath of fresh air until my lungs can’t expand further, bordering on painful. It’s even more refreshing than I remember.

The captain is standing next to a pretty yet fairly young horse, tightening the straps of the saddle. I walk to the horse’s side and run a hand over his belly before walking around to his front. I let him sniff my palm, and after a beat, he nuzzles his snout into it.

“This is Yago,” he says. “Have you ridden before?”

“Yes, but not for a while.” I scratch down Yago’s forehead. “I’ll adapt quickly, I’m sure.” 

I turn to him, craning my neck slightly. Gods, I’m not the shortest person ever, but he stands a good head and shoulders above me. In the sunlight, I can see I was wrong before. Handsome was an understatement. He’s focused on preparing Yago, his face the portrait of concentration. His dark brown eyes are lined with thick, long lashes and remind me of wet earth. Dark brows, a straight nose, and high cheekbones frame his face. Upon closer inspection, I see threads of gold weave through his chocolate waves. A full mouth pulls down as he looks over his work once more before turning to me.

Beautiful is more like it. It hits me suddenly that I don’t know his name.

“What should I call you?”

His features smooth into a neutral position. “My name is Callahan West. I go by Cal, though.”

“Callahan” I say, feeling it roll over my tongue. “Is the journey really twelve days?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We have to cross most of the continent to reach Cissonia. We’ll keep a quick pace to speed it along as much as possible.”

The knot that’s been twisted in my stomach since the Captain’s arrival constricts tighter at the mention of the infamous shadow kingdom. Home of the wild fang cats, the feared beasts that make up Osric’s front line of defense. I haven’t been to the city, but my father had never spoken highly of it, saying it wasn’t a place worth visiting. 

Callahan reaches behind him into the satchel attached to the saddle and pulls out a set of riding leathers and a pair of boots.

“Here,” he says, handing the clothes to me. “I imagine these would be better to ride in than what you have on now.”

I take the leathers and rub my fingers over the soft yet durable fabric, surprise flickering through my body. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting to be offered a luxury such as this. I eye the clothes and the Captain warily before deciding it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth and duck behind a tree to change. 

I strip off the rags I’m wearing and toss them into a heap on the ground, not bothering to fold them. They won’t be coming with me, after all. They’re of no importance, a threadbare dress and a pair of leggings one of Njal’s men threw into my cage when the clothes I had arrived in had literally fallen apart at the seams.

I tug on the pair of black trousers before slipping the long-sleeved tunic over my head. The material is thick and buttery and a rich, deep blue color. Carefully handmade and expensive. I can tell it’s supposed to be close fitting, but instead hangs shapelessly off my too-thin body. 

I tug on the boots and lace up the fronts. They’re a bit big, but they’ll do for now. I wrap my arms around my waist self-consciously and step out from behind the tree, walking back to Yago and Callahan. The soldiers are starting to mount up, a few urging their horses forward a few paces to set the lead. Callahan holds out a cloak for me, and I take it, wrapping it around my shoulders. He makes to help me mount but I swat his hand away, bristling at the unwanted contact. Too close. He gets the hint and takes a step back.

I wrap one hand around the pommel and grip the reins with the other, clumsily putting one foot in the stirrup and attempting to jump and throw my other leg over Yago’s back. It used to be second nature to mount a horse, but I find myself now on my third pass, my face hot from exertion and embarrassment. Deciding I can’t endure much more humiliation, I grab the pommel with my second hand and haul myself up, the muscles in my shoulders and biceps screaming as I finally situate myself in the saddle. Certainly not the prettiest way to do it, but I did it nonetheless. I press my feet gently into Yago’s haunches to spur him forward, and he moves forward into an slow trot. This, at least, is familiar movement, and we soon fall into a steady rhythm. 

Callahan and his gelding catch up a moment later, matching pace on my right, but I’m too lost in the sense of the air on my face to notice him much. It stings my face, cold enough that my eyes water. I welcome the hurt and leave the hood of my cloak down, the train rippling behind me.  I never thought I would feel the wind through my hair again. I tilt my head back and drink in the clear, blue sky above me. By now, the tip of my nose has surely turned pink. 

A nagging voice in the back of my head tells me to enjoy it while I can, considering my new royal cage awaits me on the other side of this journey.

I push the thought and ensuing panic out of my head and focus my attention back on the path in front of me. I’d forgotten that Njal’s manor was situated outside the forested part of Rokos. A day or two’s ride, and we’ll be in the thick of it. Anxiety spikes through my veins and I twist in my seat to look at Callahan.

“Are we planning to ride straight through the forest?”

His eyes flick to meet mine. “Unfortunately. It’s the quickest way, and the King wants us back as soon as possible.”

My ears perk up at that. “What’s the rush?”

“Afraid that’s confidential, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Confidential? Interesting. I decide not to push for now but mentally file the information away. “I’m really hoping your men are prepared to face what lives in the woods.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “I assure you, they are highly trained and will lay down their lives to protect you.”

Lay down their lives? For a woman they just met? I’m assuming it has something to do with the King not wanting his goods to be damaged in transit, but it still strikes me odd that they would do anything to ensure my safety. I’m not sure I’m worth sacrificing the life of another’s.

I turn back around, and we ride in silence. Although it’s cold, the sun still beats down on us. I soak it up, not caring that I’ll probably wake up in the morning with red cheeks.

I can’t drink in the scenery quick enough. It’s nothing spectacular, if anything rather plain when it comes to natural beauty. Not that of the roaring falls over the cliffs in the East part of Aeris, nor the famed dunes of sand in the north continent of Vidas. Instead, a flat expanse of tall grassland dotted with random clusters of trees and small shrubs is the first sight that greets me after two years. The breeze sends ripples through the strands of grass that vaguely resemble the ocean’s waves. It’s devoid of animals save for the flock of water fowl migrating south for the upcoming warmer months.

But the trees are just beginning to bud. And the first flowers of spring are peeking through the cold ground, shoots of blue bravely daring to sprout when the risk of frost still looms for at least two more weeks. It’s this beauty that causes the lump in my throat to form.

The group passes over the countryside, not encountering a single soul the entire time until we eventually arrive at a small outcropping of trees. The sun’s golden rays have begun to deepen into a warm burnt amber as they slowly slip behind the horizon. Purple and and the deepest emerald shade of blue tinge the edges of the sky, swallowing it more with every step Yago takes.

One by one, the stars make themselves visible, and the rest of the world falls away. I’ve been locked away from this for so long. Even after all this time, it’s still the same night sky I used to dance under with my family. Tears threaten to spill, but I somehow manage to hold them in. I refuse to cry in front of the Captain of the Guard and his men. I will not reveal those cards. The physical state I’m in is all the weakness I will allow them to see.

But Gods, I missed this.

Callahan whistles to the men at the front of the pack, jarring me from my thoughts. They slow to a halt and start to dismount.

“We’ll stop here for the night. There’s a creek at the edge of the tree line. You can use it to freshen up if you’d like. It’ll be freezing probably, but it’s better than nothing. There’s a bar of soap in your satchel along with a wash rag.”

Nodding, I dismount and take Yago’s reigns and lead him until we come to the edge of the creek. I deposit Yago in a small grassy clearing to let him feed. I rummage until I find the small square of soap and rag and set it on a large rock. I untie the laces of my boots and dip a toe into the water, testing it. 

Goosebumps shoot up my spine at the frigid temperature. Not brave — or hello, stupid– enough to fully immerse myself in it, I settle for dipping the rag into the creek and lathering it with soap, sponging off only the areas I can bare to touch with the freezing water. I reach under my tunic and pass the rag under my armpits before moving down to my feet, my newly attached cuffs clinking against each other. I rinse and work on wiping away the dirt on my arms, doing my best to clean under each cuff, but they’re too tight to do much. 

Bringing my dripping wet hands to my face, I inspect the cuffs for the first time. They’re unadorned, a muted gray stone band that encompasses my entire wrist. They’re fastened on tightly but not enough to cause welts. I flip my hand over and run a finger down the seam. A small keyhole sits in the center.

I furrow my brows. Callahan mentioned before we left that my cell was made entirely of something called calemarine. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if I’ve learned about it before, but nothing comes to mind. In my cell, it felt like a weight was constantly sitting on my chest, smothering every whisp of flame and energy from my body. I had accredited it to claustrophobia and the assumption that Njal was drugging my food with something to suppress my magic.

These cuffs feel different, though. I still can’t reach my fire, but the weight from my cell has disappeared. I feel lighter.

I make a mental note to ask Callahan about the effects of calemarine at some point and drop my hands back into the creek. I scoop up two palm-fulls of water and splash my face, rubbing my fingers around the curves of my nostrils and under my eyes. Using the front of my tunic, I wipe it dry before wringing out the wet rag and setting it on a nearby stone. My clothes stick the places that are still damp, but I don’t care. It’s the cleanest I’ve felt in a while.

I reach a hand up to my hair and feel the knots that are tied into the long, black strands. I debate dipping it into the creek to try and work out some of the mats but decide I’d rather not freeze on day one of traveling. I’ve made it this long. I figure I can wait a few more days to untangle the rat’s nest.

I walk over to Yago and brush my hand down his neck before grabbing the reins and walking him back to camp. The guards have made quick work of setting up. The tents stand in two rows, forming a semi-circle around the bonfire that roars in the center of the camp. I’m heading toward it to warm my aching muscles when Callahan spots me and walks over to my side. He takes Yago’s reins from me and hands them off to another guard who leads him to the other horses. 

“I had them place your tent over there,” he says and points to a small tent across the way. It stands closest to the fire. “If you ever need anything, mine will always be on the edge of camp. Chef just started serving dinner, so if you’re hungry, I’d get in line while it’s still hot. Whether you want to sit with us or retire to your tent is your choice, but don’t feel like you need to keep your distance. I’m sure the guards would love some new company.”

I glance over to where the soldiers have begun lining up in single-file fashion, iron bowls in hand. A rather tall, portly man with long golden-red hair and a scraggly beard frowns as he ladles some sort of chowder into the men’s awaiting bowls. The smell wafts in our direction, and my mouth waters in response. 

I look back to Callahan. “Thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll stay in my tent. I’d like to rest as much as I can before the long ride tomorrow.”

Callahan nods curtly. “Good idea. It’s going to be a long day. We’ll take only a few breaks to water the horses but otherwise, be prepared for an all-day journey.”

My eyes droop slightly at that. Heavy exhaustion wears down my bones, but I can’t ignore the rumbling in my stomach any longer. I pass a glance his way, eyeing the exhaustion also etched into his features. “Goodnight, Captain West.”

“It’s just Cal. Goodnight, Aruna.” He turns on his heel. I watch as he sits on the edge of a log next to the fire and stretches his long legs out in front of him. Someone cracks a joke, and his shoulders shake with laughter.

A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach at the sight. I can’t help but feel duped by the normalcy of it all. Rather than comfort me at how casual they are with one another, it has the opposite effect. I feel my wariness grow, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

I make my way over to the end of the line. Most of the men have gotten their food already, so it’s not long before I’m two people away from filling my belly.

“I better not find another one of your beard hairs in the chow this time, Archie.”

The chef narrows his eyes. Up close, his size, coupled with the death glare he’s shooting at the guard in front of me, is downright terrifying. His hands dwarf the ladle he’s holding, a damn-near child’s toy. I’m sure he could snap my neck between his thumb and forefinger without batting an eye.

“Or what, Dustin? Would you rather be the one to keep you lot fed?” He pauses as if in thought and then continues. “Scratch that idea. I’ve tasted your cooking before, and I’d rather go hungry than do it again.”

A few of the men snicker as Dustin snatches the steaming bowl from Archie’s outstretched hand and walks away, grumbling under his breath. Archie turns and spies me standing before him. He gives me a once-over before reaching underneath the table that holds his stew pot and grabbing another bowl for me. 

“So you’re the silver-eyed fire girl, eh?” He ladles two heaping servings into my bowl and hands it to me. “Pleasure to meet you. The names Archibald but the only person allowed to call me that is my mother. You can call me Archie.”

“Nice to meet you, Archie. I’m Aruna.”

“Oh, I know who you are, miss. It’s nice to have a pretty face in camp, finally. Anything to distract me from their ugly mugs.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the guards behind him. They let out a chorus of complaints before Archie twists and shoots a knee-wobbling stare in their direction. They shush instantly. 

The bowl in my hands borderlines on scalding, but I ignore it and inhale the delicious, savory smell of the chowder. Chunks of vegetables and some sort of meat bob at the surface. I blow on the surface to cool it slightly and take a small sip, not wanting to burn my tongue. The salty liquid dances over my tongue as I gulp it down, warming my insides more than the bonfire ever could.

“What do you think of my cookin’?” asks Archie, a curious look on his face.

I’m not lying in the slightest when I open my mouth and say, “I think this is the best stew I’ve had in a very, very long time.”

He beams at my comment. “Hear that, fellas? Remember that the next time any of you decide to run your mouth about my cookin’ again.”

I feel my lips pull into a small smile. “How long have you been a chef?”

He thumps a hand against his belly. “Almost 25 years now. I started chopping vegetables with my mother when I was just a wee boy and haven’t stopped since. It’s been my life’s passion, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I nod my head at his words before taking another sip of stew. 

He eyes me up again. “How was your first day of travelin’? Your joints aren’t too achy yet, are they?”

My bowl is almost drained, and I chew a mouthful of vegetables before answering. “I imagine I’ll be sore tomorrow. My body isn’t used to this much movement, yet.”

He bobs his head in understanding. “If the pain is too much for ya to handle, find me before we head off. I have a salve that should help with the aches.” 

“Thank you, I will.” I set the bowl down on the table, now empty. “And thank you for the stew. It was delicious.”

“Sure you’ve had enough? I think there’s enough in the bottom for one more bowl.”

“Oh sure, you give her seconds, but if any of us dare to ask you, we’re left without breakfast the next day,” one of the guards calls from behind me.

“Quit yer yappin’. When you start lookin’ as pretty as her with those silver eyes, I’ll start offerin’ you seconds. Until then, be happy you get firsts.” He shoots me a wink and a sly smile. “Go on now, miss. I’m sure you’re ready to hit the sack.”

He has no idea. My eyelids droop again. I’m about to bid Archie goodnight and walk over to my tent when he calls out to me.

“Miss?”

“Yes?” I say, turning back to him.

A lethal look glints in his eyes. “I hope whoever gave you that bruise got what he deserved and that you were the hand to deliver it.”

Any slight amusement I felt drops from my face as I reach up and brush the bruise on my throat, wincing slightly. I can feel a strong gaze burning a hole into the back of my head, but I refuse to turn and acknowledge it.

“Goodnight, Archie.”

Embarrassment flames my cheeks as I turn and walk into my tent. A pile of furs lays in the center of the small space, and I drop into them, pulling them tight around my body to ward off any of the night’s chill. My head has barely settled on the pillow before I slip into a dreamless sleep.

Two days passed by slower than a snail through mud, made worse by the lingering pain in my throat, which in turn made eating excruciatingly painful. It’s the longest wait of my entire life, a considerable feat when you factor in that two years of my life have been spent waiting for my release. It was a day that I didn’t really think would ever happen.

And now that it’s here, I wish I had been more specific with my repeated pleas to the gods.

Because leaving the clutches of one overlord only to be tossed into the throws of an eviler, objectively worse tyrant is not what I had imagined.

High King Osric is the character in bedtime stories parents tell their children to keep them in line. “Eat your peas, kids, or King Osric will snatch you in your sleep and feed you to his hounds!”

Harsh, I know, but it worked.

My parents used to tell Elyna and me those same stories when we were young. Stories of how he came to power by enslaving half of Rokos and unleashing his beasts on the other half. When the rulers before him, the beloved King Emil and Queen Annora, relinquished the throne to him, he thanked them by sending them to the gallows and leaving their corpses to the crows.  

I used to pepper my father with questions, partly because I wanted to push my own bedtime back without him realizing, but also because I couldn’t fathom why the gods let a man so evil continue his reign of terror without stepping in.

“But why, papa? Why does Elo allow him to do this?” In my 10-year-old head, Elo, the God of Mercy, was severely falling behind on his godly duties.

My father adjusts the thin glasses perched atop the tip of his nose before pulling me closer to his side. Elyna is cuddled into the covers in her twin-sized bed beside mine, having fallen asleep at the beginning of the story. 

“Well, you see, little spark, Osric was, and still is a very smart man,” he strokes a hand down his beard. It’s streaked with grey, a recent development this year. “Before he began his conquest, Osric invited all the gods to an extravagant party. He held it in a giant cave that’s mouth opened in front of the Oaktham Sea. When the gods arrived, they partied lavishly all day and all night long, drinking the expensive wine that Osric had brought with him as a gift. But, the gods soon realized that the wine was spelled, and they fell into a deep sleep that only Osric himself can remove.”

“So that’s how he avoided the wrath of the gods? By using a cheap party trick?”

Papa laughs and hugs me closer. “Yes, little spark. The gods fell for his cheap party trick, as you put it, and have been under the spell for hundreds of years. It’s too bad they didn’t have someone as bright as you in their company to realize it was a trap.”

“Is he coming for Aeris next?”

Information about Rokos and Osric’s reign of terror always came secondhand through the village grapevine. It was hard to discern true news from market gossip, so we lived in the dark about most of it. But when citizens from Rokos began fleeing to Aeris, seeking asylum, we knew that things couldn’t be all that great on the northern continent.

“It’s hard to say,” says papa. It was unlike him to be unsure of things, and it sends a tendril of fear curling through my body. “Some say he’s content with Rokos. In my mind, though, it’s difficult to believe that a man as fierce as Orsic would go so far as to put the gods to sleep to only take over one continent.”

I huff a breath of air in frustration. “Well, how come nobody has woken the gods up yet? We need their help to stop Osric before he can take over Aeris!”

“That’s the thing,” papa says, a quizzical look in his blue eyes. “Nobody knows where this cave is. Legend says Osric spelled it so no one but he could find its true location. Believe me, people have tried searching for it and have had no luck in finding the gods to free them from the spell.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Because I’ve looked for it myself.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You have? And you never found it? Not even a clue?”

“Not even a clue, little spark. It is truly lost to the world.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t look hard enough. When did you even have time to look for it? I would have noticed if you’d gone somewhere for a long time.”

Papa’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he holds back another laugh. “Believe it or not, but I did use to have a life before you and your sister came along. One full of long journeys to find lost treasures so grand even someone as smart as you couldn’t fathom.”

I roll my eyes at him. From the hallway, I hear mama’s soft footsteps come closer until she’s poking her brunette head through the doorway. 

“Come, Piers. It’s past bedtime for Aruna. Besides, I think she’s had quite enough of the tall tales for one night.”

“Very well,” says papa. “Before I go, let’s see a spark.”

Unrolling myself from his side, I sit up against the headboard and stick my hand out in front of me. Scrunching my nose, I concentrate until a tiny silver spark leaps from my palm toward the ceiling.

“Good. Now, surprise me.”

I think for a beat before clenching my hand into a fist. A second later, I unfurl my fingers, and a small wave of fire crests over my palm before crashing into the tips of my fingers. My father’s chest swells with pride.

“Very good, Aruna. Very impressive. Now sleep well, little spark.” 

I settle into the pillows, eyes feeling heavier than they were a moment ago. “Papa?”

“Yes, Aruna?”

“I’m going to find that cave one day. And then I’ll help the gods free Rokos.”

Papa looks at me with an emotion I can’t read etched onto his face. He reaches out and smooths my hair before tucking the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you certainly will, little spark.” He places a kiss on my forehead before following mama into the hallway, blowing the lantern out, and closing the door behind him. I can hear my parents pass hushed whispers frantically back and forth before succumbing to sleep.

Now, locked away in my cell, I blink back the tears that gather behind my eyes but let the sting of the memory settle in my gut, allowing the painful emotions to fill the emptiness sitting inside my chest. However much it may hurt, memories like this were the lifeline that kept me from caving into the unyielding darkness.

Memories from before the cage. From the life I loved before I was captured. The life we had before papa died and mama had a psychotic break and left Elyna and me to fend for ourselves.

My ears perk up at the sound of voices nearing the door. A moment later, the door swings open, and two sets of footsteps descend the staircase.

The hair on the back of my neck stands as my mind screams danger danger danger. The moment I’ve been dreading for the last two days has finally come to collect. Even as every cell in my body tells me it’s a bad idea, I find myself peering through the bars to see who it is that will deliver me to my new cage.

Because it’s so poorly lit down here, I can only make out the outline of broad shoulders and an impossibly tall male frame striding next to Njal down the hallway. His boots are coated in a fine layer of dirt, I’m assuming from the long journey from Rokos. His jacket is left unbuttoned at the top, and I catch the glint of a sword reflecting off the muted light. Confidence exudes from his posture, shoulders thrown back and head held high in a way I’m sure is supposed to be intimidating.

Njal and the man stop in front of my cage. I can tell Njall is expecting me to shy away from the man’s stare from the way his own cuts through the darkness, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

I hold the stranger’s gaze. It’s too dark to make out the specifics of his features, especially with his back turned away from the light, but I can tell he’s assumably handsome by the cut of his strong jaw and the dark hair that falls atop his head in loose waves. Annoyance flits through me. 

Of fucking course, my new captor is good-looking.

I can’t tell what color his eyes are as they roam up and down my body before taking in the cell and cement walls around us. 

“So,” he says nonchalantly. “This is her?”

It takes a monumental effort to not roll my eyes. Does he see any other women being held against their will in dark, suffocating cages?

Njal breaks his flesh-melting stare to turn to the man. “Yes, captain. This is Aruna Nigh, wielder of the silver fire.”

Go figure. Captain Obvious actually is a captain. I guess that explains the sword.

The captain quirks an eyebrow. Ever so slightly, a movement so quick that if I hadn’t been studying him so closely, I would have missed it; his nostrils flare.

He turns to Njal. “I could have sworn the letter we sent ahead of us detailed to have her ready for travel. Does she appear to be in a condition for a twelve-day journey?”

Two thoughts hit me at once. 

Twelve days?

And —

Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I look down at myself, not caring that it’ll give away my embarrassment. I guess I haven’t truly looked at myself in a while. 

The clothes I’m wearing hang in rags, filthy from the constant wear. My feet are tough and callused, a thick coating of dirt crusting the bottoms. My ribs poke through the skin at my sides, my skin drawn and stark pale.

I drop my arms and take in the tanned skin of both men standing before me.

I’d forgotten what the sun felt like. 

A pang of surprise rings through my body.

“I meant no slight, captain. There just wasn’t time, what with having to ready the grounds for your arrival. Plus, she’s not that bad–“

“That sounds like an excuse. Have you looked at her? She has an inch of shit caked on her arms. And I mean that literally,” the captain says, cutting off Njal. He turns back to me. “No offense.”

My eyes narrow. “None taken.”

He starts to turn back to Njal, but something catches his eye. He points a finger at me.

“What is that?”

Njal’s eyes dart to my throat, to the bruise that I know is in full bloom because I can feel it. “N-nothing, captain. She got a bit unruly, that’s all. I’m sure you understand how that goes.” 

I feel my eyebrows start to rise. Is Njal…nervous?

Something resembling anger passes over the captain’s face. “So you decided to put your hands on her?”

“She is not technically the King’s yet, I don’t see the issue–“

“Like that makes a difference between putting your hands on a woman or not?” 

“Well, captain, I–“

“That was rhetorical. I don’t particularly care for your answer. Unlock the cage. Now.”

Njal fumbles for his keys briefly before finding the correct one and fitting it into the keyhole. The lock springs free, and the cell door swings open. 

My breath catches, and for a moment, all I can do is stare. The hallway yawns in front of me, my view unobstructed by cold metal bars. My heart thumps in my chest, and I find myself hesitating.

Am I ready for this?

The captain takes one step inside the cell, and I tense. He pauses, then slowly stretches a hand out to me.

I look at his hand, waiting for my lead, then to the door beyond him. I meet his eyes and read the message being conveyed to me through them.

This is real, and it’s happening right now.

I decline his hand, not wanting to get grime on his pretty clean hand. 

“I’m okay, thank you,” I say.

He drops his hand and steps out of the way to let me pass. On shaky legs, mostly from energy zapping through my nervous system, I take a few paces forward. I whoosh out a breath, and, before I can change my mind, close the distance to the other side of the cage.

I don’t know why I expected to feel different. Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Instead, all I feel is unease.

There’s no going back now.

The captain pulls a purse of coins out of his pocket and hands it to Njal. “There’s a little more than what we agreed to. For your troubles, and discretion, of course.”

“Of course, captain. I will not let it pass my lips again.”

The captain looks at him a beat longer before shifting to me. “Ready?” 

I steel my spine and turn toward the door. 

“Ready.” 

He leads the way, with Njal following. I trail a few steps behind, not fully trusting my legs to work on the stairs. But before I know it, I’m standing at the threshold of the kitchen. The light isn’t strong enough to hurt, but I still squint my eyes against it. 

Right as I’m about to cross into the room, the captain blocks my way suddenly and grabs my wrist.

“Shit,” he says, grimacing slightly. “Almost forgot these.”

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, a pair of stone handcuffs slap onto both of my wrists. I frown at the links and glance up at the captain with a mix of shock and despair.

“Trust me,” he says. “You’re going to want them. They’ll help as you adjust.”

My frown deepens. “Adjust to what?”

“You’ve just spent a considerable amount of time living in a prison made completely of calemarine. It’s going to take a while to get used to living with your magic again.”

I’m full on scowling now. I knew there was something wrong with those walls. I look back at the hallway. Sure enough, the stone matches that of my cuffs. I look back to the captain.

“I have many questions for you, but I’ll wait until we begin our journey.”

“And I’ll be happy to answer them for you. Let’s get going, then. We can still ride for a better part of the day.”

He turns and walks to the front door. I’m close on his heels and realize my mistake when he opens the front door and I have to bite back a hiss at the sunlight streaming in. 

The captain strides out through the door and to the waiting caravan of horses and men. My eyes adjusting still to the brightness, I count about thirteen in total.

A cough from behind me stops my feet in place. I turn and see Njal standing on the other side of the kitchen.

“I offer you my good wishes on your journey.”

It would be so easy to rip these cuffs off and smite him where he stands. Too easy to spit fire from my tongue and watch him burn. 

His shoulders tense. I know he sees the look in my eye and realizes the same thing. 

I leave the cuffs on. And without glancing back again, I face the world and step into her embrace again. 

A loud crash sounds to my right. 

Shoulders hunched in surprise, I turn around slowly and see Elyna standing next to the sink, looking down at a pile of blue and purple clay shards.

“Shit,” she says, cringing slightly.

My eyes narrow. “Excuse me? Who gave you permission to swear like that?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Aruna. I’m not a baby. I know what shit means.”

“The last time I checked, you were still thirteen and not old enough to say words like that.”

“Technically, I’m thirteen and a half,” Elyna huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “That has to count for something, right?”

I chuckle and walk over to the closet, reaching for a broom and dustpan. 

“Nice try. Here, I’ll sweep,” I say, handing her the dustpan. “This is like the fourth bowl you’ve broken this month. Keep your hands away from the butter when handling the pottery, please.”

“Har dee har, I’m laughing so hard,” she says, grabbing the dustpan from my hand and kneeling in front of the mess. I start sweeping the pile into a small mound of debris before pushing it her way. It’s such an insignificant moment in my life, and yet I find myself trying to memorize the way Elyna’s nose wrinkles as she stifles a sneeze from the dust. 

I can’t shake the feeling that I need to remember this moment.

Time to get up.

My eyes dart to hers. “What’d you say?”

She looks up at me. “What?”

It’s time to get up.

My heart starts pounding, and a cold sweat gathers at the base of my neck. “Stop saying that, Elyna.” 

“Aruna, what are you talking about? I didn’t say a word.”

Let’s go, freak. Up and at ’em.

The burnt orange walls of the kitchen start to close on me, shifting to a dark grey that leeches any warmth from the air. My lungs constrict, and I can’t expand my chest enough to take a full breath. 

“Aruna? What’s happening?” Her voice sounds so small, too far away.

“No, no, Elyna, don’t leave. Don’t leave me!”

“Aruna? Come back, Aruna.”

“Elyna!” 

“I said, time to get up! Now, or you lose your breakfast!”

My eyes snap open, and I take in my surroundings. Adrenaline courses through my veins as I struggle to remember who and where I am. My tongue feels thick with sleep, and crust forms along my top and bottom lashes.

I squint my eyes against the dark as the room around me comes into focus. A swath of yellow light cuts a weak path through the space, illuminating a steep staircase that leads up to a small door at the top. It’s left ajar, and I can hear muffled noises coming from the other side. Smooth cement walls form a long hallway at the bottom of the steps that stretch out to me, the light from above only reaching half of the way down before dissipating into the air. 

“About damn time, sleeping beauty. Thought you were dead finally, and I was gonna have to start digging your grave. “

I whip my head to the left, head pounding at the sudden movement, and spy a slight man with small, wide-set eyes and shaggy mud-brown hair approaching, a tray of mush in one hand.

“Here,” he says. Snickering, he drops the tray onto the cold ground and shoves it forward with his boot. “Your favorite.”

My arms feel weighed down with sand as I slowly push myself to my knees and crawl over. He crouches down until we are at eye level, watching my fingers grip the edge of the tray and slide it toward myself, not bothering to respond as I shovel the tasteless gruel into my mouth.

It’s a sorry excuse for breakfast, but after spending 2 years behind iron bars in an underground prison, you learn which things are actually worth complaining about. At least it was sustenance.

The guard (I vaguely remembered him introducing himself as Orvyn) does little to hide his disgust at my frenzied eating. “Look at yourself. Don’t even know why the cook still bothers sending this slop down to ya anymore. You’re still wasting away day by day and getting uglier by the second.”

I fight the urge to look down at myself and force my face to remain neutral. Picking your battles is another thing you learn down here. Besides, I knew he wasn’t too far off base from the truth. Save for the occasional rag and bucket full of cold water thrown in about once a week, a luxury only granted after the guards started to complain about the stench, there wasn’t a ton of opportunity to freshen up whenever I wanted to. Grime cakes the undersides of my feet, and a film of dirt is permanently etched into the creases of my skin.

I push a lock of matted hair out my face and twist the tray toward the light, checking to make sure I didn’t miss a single crumb of mush. Satisfied, I toss the tray back to Orvyn (Orwyn? Orville?) with a flick of my wrist. I stand and press my arms up above my head to release some of the tension in my sore muscles, slowly leaning from side to side. 

“Pathetic,” sneers Orion. “I’ve seen week-old corpses look better than you do right now. Silver-eyed witch.” 

His boots swish across the floor as he bends and snatches the tray up from the ground and turns on his heel to leave. He reaches the top of the stairs and shuts the door behind him with a swift click. Dim light glows from the sconces on the walls, offering just enough light to make out the corners of my cell and the nothingness around me. 

It used to freak me out. During my first four months down here, the fact there was truly nothing besides a latrine, the metal bars of my cage, and my thoughts used to threaten to drive me insane. The corner I sat in, knees huddled to my chest in an effort to preserve warmth, still bears the worn-down impression of my ass from days of remaining in the same spot. 

I reach my arms down to the ground and straighten my knees, a soft ache gathering in my hamstrings. My hair brushes the floor as I hang my head and roll my neck from side to side.

Month five was when the pacing started. After months of sitting and refusing to move, my body protested the movement so badly I felt like a newborn calf learning to walk. It took a few tries to unlock the joints in my lower body and press them up until I was standing, wobbly knees knocking together, leg muscles screaming after going unused for so long. My first step almost sent me back down into that corner, but I forced myself to continue. One step became two, which became four, then turned into twelve. Before I knew it, I was wearing a new type of impression into the ground, this time with my feet. Within three days, I could close my eyes and make it from one corner of the cell to the opposite in sixteen steps, heel to toe, and stop just as my nose was about to touch the wall.

Straightening myself back up, I plant one foot in front of the other and sink into a forward lunge position, arms raised to steady my balance. I breathe in deeply and exhale, dropping a little deeper with each loosed breath. I hold it for 20 seconds before switching legs, repeating the movements.

Months seven and eight are what I like to refer to as my reflecting age. The times when the darkness seeped into every corner of my brain, and I asked the gods over and over, “Why me?” Memories of my life before my capture played on a constant loop in my head, a performance that I had watched so many times before that I knew when the final scene was coming, but no matter how hard I sobbed and begged for it to change, it played out the same way every time. 

I fought it so hard. The first year I tried so hard to push the darkness away and sought positivity from everything, no matter how small. A small mouse scurrying down the steps to make my acquaintance. A peel of laughter from the other side of that door I could have sworn was meant just for me. The small grin the second shift guard threw at me as he brought down my lunch.

I drop my arms and press my hands into the ground, kicking my legs behind me until I’m lengthened into a plank position. Bending at the elbows and making sure to keep my core tight, I launch into push-ups.

Another hard lesson learned from the dungeon: there is no such thing as a positive gesture down here. 

The laughter turned out to be the kitchen staff daring one another to see who could go further down the steps before vomiting from the smells of my cell. 

The guard’s smirk was the only warning he gave before hurling himself at the metal bars, grabbing a fistful of my hair while simultaneously fumbling to undo the buttons of his trousers. My hair is still regrowing in the spots that got yanked out as I flung myself backward to escape his grip.

And the mouse? The fucker bit me hard enough on the ankle it drew blood, forcing me to stomp and break its little neck. Three days later, the small wound was seeping pus, infected.

Sweat drips down my forehead into my eyes as I complete my third set of pushups. I sit back on my knees and focus on catching my breath for a beat before moving on to backward lunges.

The hardest part of adjusting to life in an underground cell was figuring out how to live without my flames. The second I stepped foot into this gods awful dungeon, I felt my magic be sucked away like juice through a straw, some type of magic stripping element embedded into the walls. Nobody ever bothered to tell me why. I had never experienced such a loss before, and I wasn’t prepared for a vital part of my identity to be stripped away from me so easily.

Month thirteen is when things really started to get bad. Without my magic, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was truly alone. That there was a hole inside of me, empty and void of any emotion. A hole so vast it swallowed my voice, my thoughts, my will to live.

I try not to think about month thirteen.

I’m just starting a round of crunches when the door opens, and a tall man wearing impeccably clean boots saunters down the stairs and up to my cell. 

“Good morning, Aruna,” he says, peering through the metal bars to watch as I exercise.

“What do you want, Njal? Isn’t it a little early to be awake? I thought your bedtime playthings didn’t leave until midday.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “They actually stay until the sun begins to set and the night shift starts, but I appreciate you noticing nonetheless.”

I ignore his gross remark and continue with my crunches. 13…14…15…

“I admire your dedication to preserving some semblance of normalcy down here. I thought you were gone to the wind the first few months down here.”

I pause my workout and shoot him a glare. “Is there a reason you came down here?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, there is,” he says. His black hair is trimmed neatly on the sides and slicked back with an obscene amount of oil and gel, the gaudy perfume of it wafting towards me. His navy blue fitted suit hugs the muscles hidden beneath and makes the sage green of his eyes stand out more than usual against his tawny skin. On the outside, I know most perceive him as handsome, ravishing even. But the cruel personality that I’ve come to know lurks beneath that pretty exterior, curdling the acid in my stomach.

Njal has always been intimidating. He’s put his hands on me more than a few times, slapping the air from my mouth when I wasn’t smart enough yet to bite back my sarcastic retorts. Occasionally, after he’s had one too many glasses of mead, he’ll stumble down the stairs and rattle the bars of my cage, reaching in drunkenly to paw at the front of my dirty clothes, forcing me to retreat to the far end of the cell. None of that, however, is as frightening as his ability to make me feel less than a speck of dirt.

As far as I know, Njal doesn’t possess any magic. Although, somehow, that makes him even more menacing. His piercing stare radiates power and the promise of death while also managing to feel like it’s stripping you down to the flesh. During the first few months here, I did everything I could to avoid that gaze. From physically shielding my own eyes with my hair to turning around and facing the cement walls for weeks at a time, it was never enough to escape the weight of his stare as it trailed down my body.

The first time he entered my cell and grabbed me by the chin to force me to look at him, my bladder let loose on its own account. The embarrassment and shame that flooded my nervous system were only slightly alleviated by the amusing realization it had dribbled onto his obnoxiously shiny boots.

When I began to realize he basked in my fear and the ability to make me cower, I stopped avoiding his gaze and met it head-on. Still, it’s impossible to mask the goosebumps that trail down my arms every time I match his glare. 

“I came to tell you that we’re to have company in two days’ time,” he says, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off the cuffs of his jacket. “I need you on your best behavior.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, knowing doing so would only cause him to lash out. “Best behavior for who?”

He smiles at me, lips curling back to reveal pearly white and impossibly sharp teeth. The sight makes my skin crawl with foreboding. 

“It seems a highly regarded and wealthy individual caught wind that I was keeping a valuable creature in my basement. He’s sending a scout to discuss prices.”

In the back of my head, a low buzz forms, reverberating through my whole body.

“Prices for what?”

His smile turns feral. “Why prices for you, my sweet. That flame of yours is going to fetch me a pretty penny. Besides, you didn’t think I planned to keep you forever, did you?”

For me?

My mouth gapes open as my brain struggles to make sense of the words.

He means to sell me? 

Why do they want my fire?

Wait.

Does that…

Am I getting out of here?

The wheels in my head are turning so loudly that I barely hear Njar’s key turn in the cell lock before he swings it open and stalks over to me. I scramble away from him, dust clinging to the sweat that lingers on my arms, but I’m not fast enough. His hand snakes up to my throat and slams me back into the wall, my teeth vibrating from the impact.

“I suggest you wipe that look off your face before I do it for you,” he seethes. His hand squeezes harder to emphasize his words. I struggle to take a breath, blood rising to my cheeks. “This is not for your benefit. In fact, I think you’ll rather miss this cage when you realize just who it is that means to purchase you. The sanctity of this cage is something you will wish for someday when you realize what awaits on the other side. You will claw and fight your way back to this hole eventually, and when you do, I can’t wait to throw you in and never look back.”

His words hit their mark. Dread slithers its way into the forefront of my mind. Because the reality of it is, he’s right.

I’m leaving one cage, purchased like a prize sow, only to be thrown into the depths of an even greater, unknown threat.

Suddenly, the fear of the unknown takes over, and the fight that left my body two years ago re-enters with a mighty force.

I kick my leg out, aiming for the soft part of his groin, but he’s expecting me to lash out. He catches my ankle and pins it to the ground, tightening the hold he has on my throat. I thrash in his hold, hoping to loosen either hand that traps me, but it only succeeds in brushing my body against his. I cringe and stop fighting, but don’t release any of the tension reverberating through my veins.

Njal lowers his face and presses his body closer to mine. My throat aches, and I know if I live through this, a hand-shaped bruise will bloom where he holds me. 

“See, this is the opposite of how you need to act in front of our guests,” he says. His breath smells of sour whiskey, making my stomach churn in response. “If you so much as think about acting a fool, I will strike you where it hurts most.”

I still. There’s only one thing that would hurt me more than any slap to the face, any blow to the ribs, and he knows it.

I refuse to show him that his words have an effect on me but give up the fight against him, making my body go limp.

“There’s my good, docile girl,” he croons and releases his hold on me. I sputter as my lungs painfully draw in gulps of air, my throat still screaming in pain. “Rest up while you can, Aruna. You have a long journey ahead of you when this sale goes through.”

He turns and strolls out of my cell, whistling as he goes. The metal bars clang as he swings it closed and locks it before walking down the hallway and up the stairs. He’s almost to the top when I call out to him.

“Where am I going?”

He half turns, a wicked look on his face. 

“Why, Cissonia, of course.” Njal opens the door and closes it with enough force to send dust particles flying into the air.

Cissonia.

The name clangs through my brain, settling in an uneasy pit in my stomach.

There’s only one person that I can think of in Cissonia, the capital city of Rokos, who is both highly regarded and wealthy enough to get Njal to release his hold on me. 

I slump against the wall, mind racing through every possible outcome that could happen at the hands of High King Osric Ashforce. The edges of my vision are fuzzy and edged with black. 

A thought flits through the haze, and before the darkness consumes me, I wonder if my next cage will have metal bars or if they’ll be switched for something stronger. 

His time was near.

Thin branches and thorny vines reached their spindly fingers to catch him as he ran past, grabbing his robes and leaving claw marks on the patches of exposed skin on his face. The wind whipped through his long hair, gray with age that shouldn’t have lasted him this long.

Clear the forest, and we’re there. It’s almost over.

He didn’t know who exactly ‘we’ was in this instance, but the false sense of camaraderie he had created with his body was the only thing that had carried him – us – through the treacherous mountain range. 

He knew his luck had been stretched as far as it could go but still hoped Knir, the God of Time and Age, may have granted him enough to get out of this situation. And even though that luck ran longer than it should have, he couldn’t help but mourn the unfinished plans he had made for this life.

Mother. I will never be able to explain the sorrow for the life I lead and how it affected your own. 

Growls from the leashed beasts of the kingdom nipped at his heels, hot breath spreading like a fine mist over the forest floor. He urged his legs to go faster, pleading for any last bit of spare energy to push him just a little bit further. They trembled in response, exhausted from the six-day trek he had already made to cross the Grenvern Highlands to reach Sungan, the sacred mountain peak. He sent a silent prayer to the gods that his legs wouldn’t give out before he made it.

He reached for his magic one last time, knowing the last spark had already been thrown at the soldiers when he entered this godsforsaken forest. A kernel of flame wavered weakly in the pit of his stomach, but it would be enough.

The forest started to thin, and the thick darkness of the night eased a fraction. He could just make out the puffs of air hissing from his mouth, weaving through the air in fractured gasps. Relief coursed through his veins.

He burst through the forest’s edge and into the clearing with a cry. Skidding on his heels over the dew-covered grass, he stopped and faced his pursuers. He spread his arms, palms facing the skies, and tipped his head back. The harsh wind cupped and caressed his face, whispering goodbye. 

Keeva. My love.

His throat burned as he swallowed a sob, tasting ash on his tongue. 

Flashes of silver armor glinted off the moonlight. Metal on metal crashed through the sleepy oak trees, a path of destruction in their wake. The beasts cried out when they saw he had given up the chase, begging their masters to release their holds on the chains that barely kept them at bay. Upon seeing him, the soldiers slowed, wary of the sudden change of heart. 

I can only pray you will someday forgive me. 

His chest heaved as they drew closer. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the flame grow until he could barely stand it, but he welcomed the burn, relished it. His greatest gift and oldest friend. 

The leading soldier took a few steps forward and paused, holding a hand out toward him. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” said the soldier, panting, eyes widened slightly. “He only means to help you.”

He nearly laughed at the comment. Why they were never able to grasp that he didn’t need help, nor did he even want it, would be left unanswered.

The burn was building rapidly now, faster than it usually did. In order to summon the dredges of whatever was left, he had to pull with every last ounce of strength left in his body. For a brief moment, he panicked his heart would give out before he could form the spell. 

“Ignis, lucis custos, teporem pande,” he breathed, steam forming on his lips. The undersides of the surrounding tree leaves began to glow faintly. Still outstretched, his fingertips each started to pulse and cast a silver light throughout the forest. It crept outwards, so bright the soldiers shielded their eyes. The flame spread to every inch of his body. It threatened to consume him. 

“Adius,” the lead soldier called again. “Think, brother. Is it worth it?”

Keeva. My northern star. 

He held many regrets in his life. Regrets that stole sleep from him on many nights. Regrets that he had never dared share with anyone. Regrets that would follow him into his next life. 

He knew, however, with every fiber of his being, that this would not be one of them.  

“Yes,” he said. Tears collected in the corners of his eyes. From the emotion or the pain, he couldn’t tell. “The worth is greater than anything I have come to know in this life.”

Your shine was always greater than you believed. 

“Ignis, lucis custos, teporem pande,” he chanted.

Fire, keeper of light, spread your warmth.

With one last inhale, he opened his eyes. The night sky welcomed him home as he pulled on the bond that tethered the flame to his soul until it snapped.

Use it, my love. May it guide you the rest of the way.

He heard a soldier draw a sword before the forest erupted into chaos as silver flame consumed everything in its path, leaving nothing but smoldering embers.