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“Sorry, Ryker.” Graceson shrugged, already brushing off what we had seen like it was nothing. Had he seen so much of death that it didn’t bother him now?
Jerydin was already heading our way, his expression as indecipherable as ever. Shavarra weaved through the waiting Nymphs. Their eyes still searched the forest, their weapons drawn and at the ready. I swiped an arm through the air, motioning for them to lower their weapons, as I’d done many times in the valley where we trained. A unanimous sigh of relief came with lowered shoulders and shy smiles as they sheathed their weapons.
“Not a threat?” Shavarra clapped.
“I still wouldn’t make a lot of noise if I were you,” Graceson suggested before he faced Jerydin. They didn’t exchange words, but I was sure they had their own way of silently communicating.
“Not a direct threat to us. But it’s a threat to that village. Graceson says it's best we don’t give ourselves away though and refused to let me go help them. A thief killed a Nymph and his owner. He had another Fae with him bound and gagged.”
“Oh,” Shavarra mumbled.
“Maybe I’ll just go over here while you two talk for a minute. I’d hate to see those pretty faces pucker anymore,” Graceson said, backing away.
“Oh, Graceson, you’re just not man enough to take the heat,” I said with a vulgar gesture.
His playful smile returned. “So I’m getting out of the kitchen.” He winked at us, his feet still propelling him away. “Alright, let's get this army on the road.” Graceson whistled, twirling a finger in the air, encouraging the army to march forward once again.
Hooking my fingers into the straps of my backpack, I walked quietly next to Shavarra. Her gaze appeared distant, as if she was in thought, but it seemed to linger on Graceson.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “It honestly surprised me. To still see a Nymph enslaved.”
“I’m sure that would. Does it bring back bad memories?” she asked, her attention only half on our conversation.
“No, just a lot of sadness, I guess. We have to do something about Nymphs who haven't gotten their powers back. I just don't understand what King Ganglin did to suppress all of our powers at once. To unlock them again, we have to take a dose of whatever concoction Jerydin accidentally found in his lab one day.”
Shavarra tossed a glance my way, tucking a long strand of hair that framed her face behind her ear. I waited for a moment to see what she would say, yet she only fiddled with her fingernails and stared at the ground.
“Will you help me?” I tried again. “We’ve got to find some way to help the Nymphs get their powers back. Undo whatever was done to repress them in the first place.”
“Yeah. Yes, of course,” she finally stuttered.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry, yes I’m thinking. You know, there are a lot of complex emotions just running rampant at a time like this.”
Together we nodded in agreement, still shuffling forward. I watched the shadows change as the day grew longer and we grew closer to our destination. My unease and regret never calmed.
Chapter9
Maglehmore
Dressing for evening tea was always suffocating. I was expected to look like a princess and act like a princess. I played the part well, if I did say so myself. However, there was never any truth in the actions and I never felt more than numb doing so.
Nothing matters though, as long as I pleased the king. Father by blood. King by blood. Enemy by history. To say that we had a rocky past was an understatement. Ottack didn’t love me, as I didn’t love him.
That’s where he went wrong.
Maybe if he had loved me, or perhaps, if he had at least not locked me away like the unwanted daughter I was, I wouldn’t have the compulsive need to undermine him and conspire for the crown.
Today would be the last of that. Today was the day that King Ottack, oh so regrettably, would pass away. An assassin, they’d say. A ruler from another court, they could muse. The rising Nymph rebellion, they’d eventually accuse.
Never would they suggest it was me. No, not doting, obedient Princess Maggie. Not his daughter who followed his directions without so much as a single objection.
“Utterly atrocious,” I heard my father say through the cracked door to the sunroom. The ruffling of paper followed. Likely word of some sort of political to-do somewhere in the world that my father didn’t agree with. He didn’t agree with much unless it was his own opinion or idea. Fae who agreed with those were few and far between.
“That doesn’t mean we have to do it, does it?” Frannie, my father’s favorite whore, said in her high pitched, whiny voice.
I cringed. He didn’t tell me to expect her company for tea today. I would have prepared myself better. I could have gotten drunk; that would at least ease the pain of having to listen to her shrill tone for only the gods knew how long before my father dismissed me. If he was mad, or even mildly annoyed, I could be stuck here all evening listening to him.
