Searching, Valoretta made out a green-clad figure astride one limb, arrow and bow held ready as he stared in their direction. Thankfully, trees blocked his view. “Do you think we were spotted?”

  “It doesn’t appear so.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Stay here.” Arnacin had been gradually removing his cloak, and now he slid it over her red dress. “Sleep if you can, it might be some time before we can move safely. If we move, he’s likely to take it for an animal and shoot before inquiring further.”

  “Yet if we don’t move…”

  “An animal should come along sooner or later and rescue us.”

  “How nasty,” Valoretta muttered, nevertheless sinking her head onto her arm to wait. It seemed hours inched by while they lay there. Although Arnacin dozed, occasionally glancing upward, Valoretta found her heart remained too active to rest, threatening to betray them any second. Her only consolation was that Arnacin seemed not to hear her.

  Time dragged on. Then, feeling Arnacin’s hand on her arm, she followed his gaze. There, slowly approaching the hunter’s tree, stepped the most beautiful doe the queen had ever imagined, snow white, its eyes perfectly framed by lashes.

  As an arrow flashed toward the doe, it took off—yet no feathered shaft pierced the ground. A cry of triumph from several voices filled the woods. Men shimmied down trees. Arnacin pushed the queen’s head down.

  As the sounds of running feet disappeared into the woods, Arnacin pulled Valoretta to her feet and pushed her in the opposite direction from the archers. “Go!”

  Without hesitation, the queen gathered her skirts, dashing for the thicker woods her companion had chosen. At the first stream, Arnacin led her through it, masking their trail.

  A week passed before the Ursan king ordered a few men to return to the Eyrie and retrieve the dark-haired captive for the “games.” The men returned later that afternoon in a panic. The Eyrie was desolate. The gates were already open when the men arrived, and the tower was empty. When the men entered the Eyrie itself, they found only the horses, grazing in the bailey’s yard.

  No one could check if the captives had died by dehydration or escaped. Only the missing prison guards knew the passages. For the most part, that last bit was inconsequential to the king, except that Mira’s heir was among those thirty-two prisoners.

  If she lay dead, Ursa could possibly return to the lookalike plan. Now that she had been seen at Prater, it might be easier, particularly if they found her body and retrieved the signet they had returned to her. He had hoped he could stage many witnesses watching her die during childbirth, while they rescued the baby. Without that child, however, that wish was impossible.

  But he was diverting from the problem at hand and the men remained standing at attention, waiting for new orders. Who could have infiltrated the Eyrie? It was renowned for its ability to keep prisoners in and everyone else out. No one need speak of the interrogation torture rooms below it to scare captives. Everyone knew that once within those walls, they were only alive as long as the king decreed, and he had never before, not until Valoretta of Mira came along, held anyone there he intended to retrieve.

  Had the guards all betrayed him at the same time? The king found that unlikely, but for the time, he ordered his men to go map the Eyrie’s passages and discover any clues they might find.

  Three days had passed when one of the men returned with word that they had mapped the halls and found thirty bodies of dead prisoners. Their physician suspected the last prisoner died a week ago. As to the Miran, she was missing as was her companion. No trail or hint existed outside of small scratches up the inside of the doors and a few bloodstains in the guard tower, estimated to be over a week old.

  “Impossible!” the king exclaimed.

  Pale, his spokesman muttered, “Unless her escort’s a wraith, or she is. Somehow she escaped Mira.”

  “Wraith or not, I want her back! Organize all our captains and send them to scour the seas. We will find that ship!”

  Licking his lips, the messenger unwisely asked, “What type of ship are we to look for?”

  Grabbing the man’s collar, the king shook him. “Any that’s not connected to a known kingdom! If we must hire privateers to find them for certain, do so, but we’ll find that ship!”

  As the messenger scampered off, the king muttered, “I want her dead, and a child of hers in our hands. If we lose this opportunity to claim Mira as our own, there may never come another.”

  After the near escape from the hunters’ notice, Arnacin dragged Valoretta into ever-thicker woods. It slowed their journey, yet she knew it prevented them from crossing paths with anyone else.

  These woods now wanted nothing more than to catch the travelers in brambles and briars tall enough to force them to use the muddy animal runs underneath. The ability to stand became a rare and wonderful thing. Valoretta might have pressed for leaving those thickets faster, except that it remained warmer on those small trails.

  Then, on a rare day of upright travel, the queen stumbled into Arnacin. Without a word, he pointed to where plants twisted around a large stone. “What is it?” Valoretta whispered.

  “Those were a foundation of some sort,” her companion breathed, causing her to look again. Indeed, she saw now that there were more rocks, all about the same shape, spaced here and there throughout the choking brambles.

  “Do you think any danger can come of it?”

  The islander shook his head, yet the fact that he took her hand as he started forward told her the opposite.

  In all likelihood, they were simply traversing a path along what had once been a home or village and no harm would come to them, yet something in the desolation of the scattered, thorn-wrapped stones caused Valoretta’s throat to constrict. The farther the travelers pressed, the more the number of stones increased—some cracked, others completely broken into thirds or halves where gnarled roots and vines had eaten through. As if to echo the desolation, the air grew steadily thicker. Nature’s sounds faded away. In its place, the breeze hissed and snickered, as if some unearthly evil had claimed the land as its own.

  Without warning, they hit a wall so covered in vines as to be invisible until one stood directly before it. To the left and right, it raced away, before curving back in the travelers’ direction, arms prepared to envelop them in a suffocating embrace. With that horrific thought, the walls seemed to gradually pulse inward, closing off escape for all except the trees and weeds that continued to burrow their own holes sporadically into that barrier. Around them, not a breeze moved, the air hardly existed at all, yet the wild grapes swung slowly back and forth among the branches.

  Hoarsely, Valoretta gasped as she attempted to unglue her tongue from her dry mouth, yet it was futile. Arnacin himself only took her sweaty hands in his, positioning them around the vines growing up the wall. Bending down, he placed her foot against the stone, lifting his eyebrows questioningly as he did. Slowly, she nodded, for the only way out she could see was over the wall.

  The climb was hardly easy. Vines used as handholds gave way, raining damp, decayed-smelling dirt and pebbles over their faces. Arnacin half-steadied, half-hauled Valoretta up beside him, somehow seeming to sense the roots’ intention long before they broke on him.

  Eventually, they found the top. Dragging herself up to drape over the edge, Valoretta gagged. In the wind, no longer blocked by the ruin, the stench of decay wafted toward her. She bolted upright the next second, bringing her knees under her. Not far away, something chanted in low, hissing tones.

  As her horrified gaze found Arnacin’s where he stood atop the wall, he shook his head slightly and kneeled beside her to say at the volume of a breath, “The wind through hollows.” A slight tremor betrayed him and gave her new resolve.

  Helping her up, Arnacin started down the steps into what had once been a city. Broken paving stones led through the streets, opening on all sides onto grotesquely sagging doorways. A step near one of those entrances revealed a reek of the grave so strong as to make Valoretta’s knees give way and blackness fringe her vision.

  At times, the path forced them beneath arches where that stench clung to the air. Only Arnacin’s presence pulled the queen through.

  The place felt endless. They could wander forever in such misery without escape.

  Eventually, they came to the top of a short flight of stairs that descended into a trench separating the outer wall from the city.

  Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Beside Valoretta, Arnacin dislodged a stone as he stepped near the old stairway, and it clattered loudly on its way down, breaking the desolate silence before it halted with an uncomfortably loud rattle.

  Frozen, Valoretta’s gaze remained fixed on that stone’s final resting place. Just beyond it, she realized she was staring into the empty sockets of a jawless skull peering out from beneath the thick plant growth. Inhaling sharply, she found Arnacin’s arm.

  With a sideways glance at her, the islander gently pulled her down the stairs to study the outer wall above the skull. Valoretta permitted his guidance, yet she quickly moved to his other side as he stopped before a scattering of bones and spear points.

  Running his fingers along several black scorch marks in the stone, Arnacin followed the wall until they came to a place where stones cluttered the ground around a gaping hole. There, both travelers climbed swiftly through, pushing through the unhindered foliage.

  Valoretta would have denied it, as she knew Arnacin would, but they fled as quickly as the terrain allowed until, sometime later, they paused to catch some air. There, the islander finally gasped, “Fortune will be with us if the battle that took down that city was a border dispute, in which case, we are near or have already crossed the Ursan border.”

  “Fortune will be with us if the spirits don’t kill us for trespassing,” Valoretta panted, receiving his familiar sarcastic expression.

  “They won’t dare touch me,” Arnacin growled, taking her wrist to resume the trek. The queen noticed, though, he no longer insisted they lacked power.

  Chapter 14

  Never Love

  That night, Arnacin risked a small fire—small to keep the heat away from the thick underbrush more than to keep from being seen. He knew they needed it, not so much because of the cold as because of the despair that lingered with them.

  Sitting beside the islander with her legs drawn up to her chest, Valoretta sightlessly stared into the flames. Arnacin left her to her silence, but after some time, she spoke in a dead tone. “I’m as afraid of life as of death, Arnacin. Life continues, growing only more miserable, as all die or betray. We’re cursed to exist, to wander without hope. If we could even hope for the blackness of nothingness afterward, it wouldn’t ease the misery. Yet peaceful suicide is pointless, for what lies beyond the grave? Simply the continuation, without break, of all the dark horrors. It would have been a mercy to have never been born.”

  Arnacin sat motionless. His own gaze remained unfocused on the leaves nearby until Valoretta finally drifted into a restless sleep. Watching her tremble, the islander sighed. She was right.

  Pulling his cloak off his shoulders, he draped it over the queen. If they both died that night, not a soul would care.

  Morning finally spilled through the trees onto Arnacin’s stiff shoulders as he stared at the fire’s ashes. Beaten, he glanced at the queen sleeping beside him. Even now, her shoulders shivered beneath his cloak. Sadly, nightmares were common for both of them.

  He turned back to the fire’s remnant, which needed obscuring before they resumed their march. Yet as he looked away, he noticed something he had failed to notice at first glance. Whipping his gaze back to Valoretta’s face, he took in the perspiration running down it, the angry flush in her cheeks.

  Cautiously touching her shoulder, Arnacin felt his breath leave him at the heat beneath his hand. “Valoretta.”

  Weakly, she shifted, a crease of pain crossing her brow. Without a word, however, she attempted to rise, catching herself as she swayed.

  “Are you sick?” The islander reached out to support her.

  “No, I’m fine.” Yet, the queen pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead. “I just need food.”

  Arnacin refused to inform her he was already giving her most of what he found; he simply helped her to stand. Tugging her arm away from his hand, Valoretta stumbled forward a step and retched into the dry leaves at her feet. Dropping back to her knees, the queen stuttered with a trace of humor, “I guess that rules out hunger.”

  Regarding her for only a minute, Arnacin surrendered. “I’ll restart the fire.”

  “Arnacin, Arnacin,” Valoretta called him back as he began to leave to hunt for wood. “We have to continue. I can’t spare time to be sick—winter will come upon us. It’s already in the air.”

  Dropping down by her and wrapping his cloak about her shoulders, the islander confessed, “We don’t have any choice. You can’t travel like this, and… I’m not capable of carrying you for long.”

  Laying back, the queen pleaded, “Then go home, Arnacin. Go. There’s no sense in this killing both of us.”

  “We don’t know that it will,” the islander soothed, curling up beside her hot body and wrapping his arms about her trembling waist in order to keep her warm. “We can spare a few hours. Go back to sleep. Maybe when you wake, the fever will have passed.”

  Her shoulder blades pressed against his chest as she sighed, and he pulled his cloak closer about her. Under usual circumstances, he expected she would pull away, and it was foreboding that she did not.

  Arnacin could not help but doze also, waking here and there to shrug her hair and sweat off his neck. He dared not stretch his cramped muscles for fear of waking her.

  When she finally did stir, her fever had broken, thankfully.

  However, the fevers returned over the next few days. Even though she recovered quickly every time, Arnacin feared some sickness beyond starvation, cold and exhaustion. He kept such thoughts to himself. In that cold, there was no other choice. They had to leave Ursa and find shelter.

  If she did die or grew so sick that she could no longer move, he would be responsible. Without a companion, the cold would also kill him.

  With that thought, his nightmares again increased.

  Sun glittered over the snow on Enchantress Island as the lone ship ground ashore. In seconds, the vessel was surrounded by clamoring people: Tevin, Raymond, Bounen and so many more Arnacin remembered playing with once. Some of them, a voice told him, he only recognized because he slept.

  Through the tears, laughter and embraces, he finally made it into the village, headed toward home. Not five paces along the main street, however, he froze. An enormous statue dominated the road, a statue commemorating some king that looked like a younger version of Miro, a heavy, twisted crown perched atop his brow. In response to Arnacin’s gaping horror, Tevin whispered, “Oh, yes. We were taken over by Elcan. That thing’s a monument to the battle fought here.”

  “But it can’t be,” Arnacin protested. “That’s Miro.” Yet no one was around anymore to hear him. He sat by his family’s flock. All the healthiest sheep were missing.

  The sound of laughter and solitary footsteps caused him to look over. The king who resembled Miro was pulling himself over the last rise of the hill. Arnacin briefly noted his brown hair before Charlotte appeared beside him. It was she who captured the king’s gaze and absurd smile.

  Fire burst awake inside Arnacin and, softly, he rose, allowing them to draw closer. After another step, the king froze. Without even realizing he had moved, Arnacin closed the gap as pride very much like Miro’s flickered in the king’s eyes.

  “Stop.” Charlotte stood between them, her bow ready, though lowered. It was then that Arnacin comprehended the Tarmlin blade in his hand. His sister’s voice dropped pleadingly, “For your own sake, Arnacin.”

  “So we can watch him destroy our home,” Arnacin hissed. “He’s already stolen the best sheep.”

  To his alarm, tears glistened in Charlotte’s dark lashes. He took another step, and her bow lifted. “Please,” she breathed. “He’s not like other kings.”

  Arnacin was sure his scoffing retort shone from his eyes. Now, with tears in her voice, Charlotte said, “I wanted my brother back.”

  Those words struck like an arrow to the heart. With every added word, she enlarged the wound, even as it seemed she was no longer speaking to him. She was speaking to a stranger, then to a dragonish monster who had stolen her brother and disguised itself as someone she once loved.

  Reality whisked back as Charlotte’s last words rang in his consciousness, “Find him.” Her tears were Arnacin’s tears, streaming down his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose as he lay on the forest floor. Against his back, Valoretta trembled in her own sleep. Angrily wiping his face dry, he again promised himself such a thing would never happen. Enchantress Island would never know a noble, would never become enslaved to such a demonic being.

  Slowly, the woods thinned. Three days after passing through the destroyed city, the travelers reached a river. Watching its gurgling rush of water, Valoretta hugged her arms more tightly. “It feels cold enough. You’d think it would be ice.”

  “It’s still too early,” her companion reminded her. “And if we wait for the convenience of being able to walk across it, it will be too cold for us.”

  “Great,” Valoretta huffed—yet Arnacin was already turning down the riverbank. Dispiritedly, she trailed after him.

 

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