Rose Thorns (The Cimmerian Cycle #3)

Chapter 20 - Part 2

Evrart fell to the ground, overcome with the horror of what she had done. Her body shook and her wounds open up.

"Go home."

It was one last ghostly whisper that made Evrart feel the most terrible. It was the end. She wanted to scream and cry and be a child again. But at least he knows the truth the little voice told her.

"I don't care anymore. I don't care."

The dream of the last few weeks had come to a close. She had woken up to the harsh reality this world had to offer. At least the Ancestors will forgive me now, she thought. She had righted her wrongs.

She didn't want to go home. She would have to face her father's wrath and Aysi. Aysi. The girl who had started it all because she wanted to be queen more than love or her beauty. Evrart remembered. Aysi was a traitor, a villain.

She lifted her head gingerly to stare at the wall. She had just told the prince to marry Aysi.

"What have I done?"

She had thought she was protecting him but she may have just sent him to his doom. She stood up and hobbled to the door of her compartment.

But she couldn't see him now. He wouldn't believe anything she said. She had just declared that she was a liar.

She buried her face in her hands. Her chest rose and fell sharply. There was nothing left for it but to flee. Her father would punish her if she went home. There was just one thing she had to do before she could escape without ever needing to return.

She left her belongings on the floor as she marched out. She ignored all voices that called to her. Philip's face was locked in her mind. She still wanted to protect him.

She walked with a limp and half in a daze. She was lost in a sea of tents. The Dayrian blue tents were greater in number than those of Meol. She walked until she found where the horses were tethered, avoiding being seen by anyone who may stop her. She got a few curious glances from soldiers but she pressed on.

It was time for her to answer the one question that had been burning at the back of her mind since she was a child. The question she had been too afraid to ask. The one that she felt would solve all of her problems if she knew.

She couldn't find Nutmeg and sent him a small prayer to the Ancestors. She wondered if he was alive or dead but guessed it didn't matter. It was war and war took life.

She took a grey stallion which was strong and proud. Evrart fumbled with the ropes before they coiled to the ground. She writhed into the saddle and found her grip.

People shouted at her from all directions as she sped across the camp. The numbers seemed to have multiplied dramatically and she wondered how long she had been asleep. The Dayri army held a huge presence and Evrart was glad that they were not alone.

It was as she left the perimeter she realised that she might have jeopardised the alliance. What if Philip sent word that it was off? What would her people do? The Dayrian army was placed within their borders. Would they strike? She felt foolish as the land tumbled beneath her. She had perhaps caused more trouble than she had predicted.

She pushed the horse beneath her hard. She couldn't sleep, nor would she rest. She had no time.

After two days of solid riding, with only one short break to relieve herself and nibble on some plants that grew on the roadside, she almost fell off the horse when she reached the city gate. She clung to the saddle to keep herself on her feet. Her head was pounding from the constant rocking of the horse that she had endured.

Her eyes found the palace of Bymerrow on the skyline. She was confident that she would beat any messenger that Philip sent to the city. She would be in and out before they were aware that anything was wrong.

The trip to the palace seemed to take as long as the journey from Easterden had. Every step sent jolts through her spine, and tugged at the wounds in her legs and on her shoulder.

She entered the courtyard and her fingers slipped from the saddle. She fell onto the ground by the steps and grazed the palms of her hands. Tears stung the corners of her eyes but she pulled herself up the steps at a crawl.

The pair of guards at the door must have seen her at last because they ran forward and attempted to help her to her feet.

"Don't touch me," she said.

They backed away. Evrart could see that there was fear on their faces. She didn't want to think about how terrible she must have looked. Her hair was tangled and she was covered in bandages. She had bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and she walked with a limp.

It took a lot of effort but she eventually was able to stand. She heard the stolen horse snicker behind her. She brushed herself off and without looking at either of the men she walked inside through the doors.

Her father was exactly where she thought he would be, in the throne room, sitting with his head bowed in worry and age.

He didn't even look up to the sound of the door opening. Evrart wiped her face approached him.

"Father," she said.

He raised his head. Something in his expression shifted. He grimaced.

"Where have you been?" he said.

"I'll tell you if I can ask you one thing."

"Ask away." He waved his hand to the open air.

"Who was my mother?"