Page 64 of The Nymph King

“Retreat!” the Master Witch shouted.

The soldiers nearest the eastern road withdrew first, disappearing between the trees. The others followed in pairs, one retreating while another covered him, until the ring around Imani and Esa emptied and the path opened completely. Within seconds, they were gone, leaving behind nothing but trampled ferns and fresh blood on the soil.

Imani stood rooted to the ground, her wand still raised. Her chest heaved as she squinted into the gloom, tracking the shadows to ensure they weren’t circling back. But the terrain remained still. A light breeze ruffled the canopy, indifferent to the violence that had just occurred.

She swallowed hard and lowered the wand. This hadn’t been an opportunistic bandit raid. Tanyl had anticipated where she would emerge from the Draswood. She cursed herself fiercely under her breath. Tanyl couldn’t send his people deep into the Draswood without risking Ellisar’s swift retaliation, so he had done something smarter. He had stationed them beyond its boundary and waited for her to come out.

“Tanyl is looking for you hard,” Esa breathed, her eyes still locked on the tree line.

“It was stupid to think this would be easy,” Imani muttered, forcing her rigid limbs to move. “We keep moving.” Standing still only made them a better target.

They found the horses pacing nervously near the trees. They mounted quickly and spurred the animals north. With every stride, a colder awareness settled over Imani. Tanyl would send more hunters. The Moorlands’ trees now seemed to lean in closer, their branches knitting together overhead like the bars of a cage.

No more attackers materialized, but the prickling sensation of being watched clung to Imani’s skin.

CHAPTER 19

By the time Galwell appeared ahead of them on the third day, Vathis felt much farther away than the distance suggested. They had spent nearly three days riding north through the upper Draswood and across the Moorlands, losing hours after the ambush to avoiding the main road and doubling back whenever Esa found signs of other riders.

Neither woman had slept properly. They ate from the saddle when they could, stopped only long enough to water the horses, and woke each morning with stiff backs, aching thighs, and yesterday’s exhaustion still lodged in their bodies.

The horses had paid for the pace, too. Foam dried pale along their tack, their steps had shortened, and Esa had forced them into a slower rhythm during the final miles rather than risk arriving with two animals too spent to carry them home. Imani’s bruises from the ambush pulled every time her mount climbed another rise, and the hand that held the reins had developed a raw strip across the palm.

They had covered the distance quickly because they had no choice. With less than three weeks remaining before the strike on Tanyl, every day spent reaching Gorrum was a day Ellisar spent preparing without them.

Soon, they entered Galwell proper, and Imani immediately noticed it lacked Vathis’s rigid organization. Buildings rose directly from the hills, anchored in uneven ground that forced every path to bend and climb haphazardly. Streets curved, then split and dropped, following the terrain rather than reshaping it, forcing people to adapt with every step. Stone, wood, and living growth blended together; some homes were half-buried in slopes, others perched higher along ridges, all of it irregular and resistant to order. It felt wild and untamed, as if the city refused to be contained into anything resembling order.

Galwell’s center opened outward around a single open-air hall set in the middle, its whitewashed stone bright against the patches of green grass. The hall itself was simple, supported by carved pillars and left exposed to the sky, with no doors to separate it from the surrounding space. Beyond it, most of the settlement remained unconstructed, with wide stretches of open ground where people gathered in small clusters. It was striking in a way that didn’t rely on refinement, the stone worn and textured, the design rugged but undeniably strong.

As such, the High Sentinel manor received them without ceremony. Imani and Esa dismounted alone, then made their way up the steps and through the threshold.

Gorrum waited just beyond the open-air doors, in a large atrium, sitting lazily in an ornate chair and speaking with several other Sprites. His attention was on them before they had fully entered, though. After waving the other sprites away, he didn’t move to greet them or adjust himself to acknowledge their arrival, which only intimidated Imani more. Where Vathis had built authority upward, into guards and thrones and the geometry of deference, Gorrum’s simply existed without reverence.

“You’ve come a long way for something you don’t yet have,” he said, his tone even, as if the conversation had already been waiting for them.

A breeze played with the loose strands of Imani’s braid as she let the glamour fall from the crown, revealing the powerful relic in full.

Gorrum’s recognition of her claim required a different burden of proof than Ellisar’s. Imani had arrived beside Esa, a powerful High Sprite he already knew and respected, with Ellisar’s support behind her and the Crown of Life openly on her head, yet Gorrum would need to see she was just as pragmatic as he was.

At least Gorrum had no loyalty to Tanyl’s line, according to the briefing Esa had given her during their ride. His distrust of that family was old, long before Imani returned to Essenheim.

He leaned back, a short breath of disbelief escaping him before a grin pulled across his face. His head tilted, interest turning into amusement as he let out a barked laugh and spread his hands slightly at his sides. “Well,” he said, voice edged with delight, “that explains why you walked in here like you owned the place.”

Imani shrugged, fighting the smile tugging at her lips as she studied the High Sentinel of the Sprites more closely.

Gorrum seemed carved from the same stone that formed the building around him: a broad, immovable frame, thick through the shoulders and chest, with heavy arms and legs that gave him a grounded, steadfast presence. Even at rest, he carried a sturdiness that didn’t rely on posture or display. Coarse strands of blue hair fell untidily around a face marked by age at the corners of his heavy-lidded brown eyes. His skin was weathered and warm-toned, his mouth relaxed. Behind him, large brown-black Sprite wings rested loosely against his back.

Imani considered giving him only the outline. Under different circumstances, she would have, but Gorrum wasn’t a courtier she could recruit with half-truths, and Esa had warned her that trying to manage the exchange would fail before it began. He already disliked Tanyl, already knew why Esa had crossed half the kingdom to bring Imani here, and would never commit Sprite soldiers to a plan whose actual objective remained hidden.

If she wanted his army, she would have to risk giving him enough truth to judge the war he was being asked to enter.

She could still protect the details that mattered most.

“We’re here for your support,” she said, her voice steady and direct, cutting cleanly through the stillness. “Tanyl is not the true monarch, and we’re planning a coordinated strike against him to remove him from power.”

He stroked his short beard. “And you want my Sprites to help.”

“I do. This isn’t just about seizing more power for myself,” Imani continued. “If Tanyl keeps the false crown he built his reign around, we have reason to believe he’ll only be a puppet to his Upper realm masters.” She didn’t pause, letting the weight of it carry forward. “Removing him puts the true monarch on the throne, one who has all of Essenhiem’s best interests at heart.”