Page 139 of The Silversmith

You said you want me to be free, but I want that for you too. I would never be as strong as I am now had I not met you, and I’ll never be able to express how grateful you’ve made me. You’ve helped me become someone I’m proud of. And for that alone, I believe you deserve all the good in this world.

I know I can do this.

Please don’t follow me.

Be happy.

- Ella

I choked out a dry sob, then tears. I broke all at once, stumbling toward the door, crumpling the note in my hand. “No, Ella, no!” I stormed outside, into the forest, and found the trail of hooves heading south. “Aryella!”

The fault was mine. All mine. I had opened my desperate fucking mouth once. I’d said I had a wife in a plea for her to remember she was mine. And I knew she was incapable of believing that just she could be enough. She’d struggled to believe it then, and she struggled to believe it now.

This was no one’s fault but my own.

She was on horse. She would get to that camp in an hour. If I ran and didn’t stop, I could get there in two. Finding a horse of my own could be faster, but I hadn’t seen any, and by the time I found one…

So I ran, seeing nothing, hearing nothing else but her. As I ran, I roared her name into the woods again and again in the hopes that she could hear me. That she would know, even if she would never remember.

In every life, I would find her.

Chapter thirty-three

Icounted to three hundred. That was how long I let myself cry.

Then I wiped my cheeks and eyes with the sleeve of my green sweater and focused forward. Straight south with no stops. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to search long for the camp. Best to get this over with before I changed my mind.

The gelding was old, smaller and slower than our black mare, but he galloped as fast as he could. Fast enough that peppering sleet from the dark, overcast sky felt like tiny pointed blades on my skin. For most of the journey, I thought of my loved ones happy. It was the only way I could stifle the fear and keep from turning around.

An hour passed, maybe a little more, before I found flame torches casting an eerie glow in the distance. The horse slowed without needing to be told, sensing the impending danger.

Dark figures and their shadows slinked in and out of tents so black I couldn’t make out where one started and another began.

I shuddered. The bitterness in the air around me was unnatural. It stole the breath from my lungs and turned it to ice as it passed from my lips. Bitter cold rooted in my core and released starving tendrils of evil that reached to devour every remaining pocket of light within me.

I gripped the hilt of my dagger to provide myself with some sliver of assurance. Some, not much. I wasn’t here to fight.

The Insidions on guard gathered around a fire on the north side of the camp. I decided to leave the horse a long walk away, hoping they might never find it. Or if they did, spare it. One of us should make it out of here. Each step toward that fire was an effort, but I took each one.

A tall, beautiful female with an ebony mane saw me first. Her black cloak was hooded, but the hood rested over her shoulders. Her long legs and torso were clad in fighting leathers, and she had a sword sheathed at her side. I figured Gavin’s wife looked like her—statuesque and alluring. I prayed the gods might spare me from seeing her, just so that part would hurt a little less.

The raven-haired woman strode out in front of the fire, her four comrades standing to attention at her movement. A few others meandering about their tents sniggered and stayed put. I wasn’t enough of a threat to warrant their attention.

Infusing false confidence into my voice, I announced to the raven-haired woman, “I’m here to make a deal with Molochai.”

She cocked her head at me. It was too dark to decipher her eye color, but they looked… evil. Her bright-red lips peeled back to reveal a disturbingly beautiful smile.

“And why shouldn’t we kill you on the spot? Walking so willingly into our camp. Quite… stupid.” She folded her long, slender fingers at her waist. “Though Lord Molochai will certainly… enjoy you.”

“Because I am Simeon Whitlock’s daughter.” I forced my shoulders up, back, and hid my trembling lip. “I am the one Queen Christabel foretold.”

A few more Insidions—equal to her in rank based on the insignia on their black lapels—sidled up to stand with her.

Her smile vanished. “You?” she uttered icily, her eyes drifting to my long silver braid still tousled from bed. She laughed—a shrill, grating cackle. “You’re her? How… underwhelming.”

“Now, now, Kiana, don’t envy the pretty little thing,” purred the Insidion beside her. Another woman—short with pale lips, a long, thin face, and dull brown hair tied into a tight bun. I glanced to their left, where there stood three men with brutish features.

“What deal do you propose?” asked the brunette woman.