Everything about her is functionally ornate, perfectly designed to keep her warm and secure while also proving her wealth and status as the heir apparent to the regent. I often wonder how different her life would be if her father was a little less obsessed with her image, but it’s never a good idea to get stuck on what-ifs. I know that better than most.
As we approach the fae door, the soldiers tuck into a tighter formation until we're forced into a single file, slowly moving through the fae door in a predetermined order. The soldiers cross through first to ensure the safety of Sari and her handmaiden on the other side while Tauron stays at the rear to be sure that we all get through without a hitch. The feeling of being transported through the fae door is uncomfortable, but over in a few short moments.
Sari makes it through with nothing to show for it but a trembling bottom lip, bitten tightly between rows of sharp white teeth. She’s unusually stoic about the ordeal, refraining from her habit of complaining at the tiniest of inconveniences.
Malia moves through the fae door and shakes herself a little in the saddle, her eyes lifting just enough to be sure that her mistress is here safe before they focus back on the ground.
Looking over the Augur Mountains, I find them as lifeless as when we passed through them weeks ago with the witch in tow. There are no signs of new life, no glimpses of hope around us, just dirt and rocks as far as the eye can see. My thoughts drift back to that small patch of grass that we found just outside of the walls of Yregar, lush and green with life.
It's still there.
I send a soldier to check it each morning and, despite our initial shock, it’s continued to grow—at a snail's pace, but still a sign of life and the possibility of hope.
“Do you think the Seer will ever come back?” Sari says, her eyes squinting up toward the temple at the top of the hill.
Those cursed stones lead up to the temple that once held the Seer who gave me my fate. She left the Southern Lands for her own safety shortly after my last visit, walking all the way to Port Asmyr and sailing to the Northern Lands, where the Fates War is over and witches are treated with less violence and suspicion. Word arrived later that the Sol King offered her residence within the Golden Palace, the shining centerpiece of the Sol City and, if rumors are to be believed, a sight like no other.
I wonder if she met my mate while she was still there, if she told the witch about all the times I visited her and begged to learn my mate’s location. My theories of her having been stolen from me, abducted and held captive, all of it a fantasy compared to the reality of things.
“It’s not safe here for Seers. You know what the witches did to the one at Loche Mountain. The protection wards laid over her temple for millennia couldn't hold up forever. She knew she was safer somewhere else.”
Sari’s delicately gloved hands tighten on her pony’s reins. The animal barely reaches Nightspark’s shoulder, but it’s obedient and carries her well enough. It's not like she needs to ride into war, and with the guard at her side, she should be safe.
She hums under her breath, taking in the bleak view of the kingdom around us. “I sometimes forget that the Seers were once witches too. I got my fate from the witch at Loche Mountain. She was kind to me. Strange in the way that all Seers are, but kind.”
Sari has never told her fate to me, I wasn’t even certain she had made the journey to receive one thanks to the turmoil in the kingdom after my parent’s murder. The regent once mentioned that it would be some time before he’d be getting any further heirs, so she must be waiting for her mate like I had to. I wish now that I’d asked her without the guard present, because her sad look underneath her pinched brows strikes my curiosity.
“We don't have time for that. Your father's males are meeting us at the northern bridge on the Lore River. If we don't get going now, Cousin, you won't be back at Yris before nightfall.”
She sighs and urges her horse on, clicking her tongue at it until we’re moving swiftly down the north side of the mountain. Fields that once were filled with crops and livestock lay barren before us, but the path north to the bridge is quiet. I'm expecting it to stay quiet until we see Sari safely into the arms of her father and his guards.
It's on the ride home that we'll be ambushed, another so-called coincidence in a long list of attacks that never impede the regent or those who follow him but always happen at my expense.
Sari holds herself stiffly in the saddle, her posture growing tighter the farther we ride. She could brush it off as simple discomfort, but she’s favoring one side.
Tyton questioned her about an injury last night, before she retired to the guest wing, but she swore that she was in perfect health. The way she tenses and leans toward the left, I would guess that she’s hiding a wound from us all.
The witch was the one to spot the injury and point it out to Tyton. Sari denied it vehemently, but once he spoke to me about it, I could see it as well. Loath as I am to admit it, I find that I’m jealous of the witch’s ability to observe more than the usual naked eye, her searing gaze never missing a thing.
From the moment we first made camp with her, I said that we’d have to watch out for her. There’s never been a doubt in my mind that she listens to every word spoken within her earshot. Her attempt to use Airlie against us was fumbling at best, but proof of that.
“Your Highness!”
I snap myself out of my thoughts and look over at the soldier who called out, standing in his saddle as he peers down at something on the edge of the path, dead underbrush thick all around us.
I motion to Tauron, and he nods as I ride forward, snapping at Sari to stay put when she attempts to follow me. The guard and Malia both move to stop her as well, pigeonholing her in the safety of the circle of soldiers, and when I reach the soldier, I look down and see the dead spot.
It’s a sign of a battle fought here, and witches dead but not burned up. It’s still fresh enough that the ground seems to ache from the acid left behind by the magic. Even with my distance from magic, I can feel it, the way the pain radiates into the air around us, and though I can't describe exactly how I know, there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s real.
The earth is in agony.
Thanks to high-fae hearing, I don’t need to raise my voice to get my orders out. “Fan out and keep your eyes sharp. This is only two or three days old, and there's every chance they’re camping nearby or lying in wait for us.”
Cursing under my breath, I direct Nightspark back into the lead position and get us moving. Having Tyton with us would’ve been useful, blanketing us and masking our presence with his magic, but Tauron has his own skills to contribute.
When Sari opens her mouth to question me again, he snaps at her, sharper than usual, “We’re in danger, Sari. I need you to stop talking and keep your pony moving. We're an hour away from the river at best, and every word out of your mouth could bring us closer to our deaths. Not another word, or you might as well wave a banner for the witches to come get you for their next meal.”
Tauron never flinches from the killing blow, no matter the consequences or the recipient. If it must be done, he never hesitates or wavers.
