The Unforgiving Heir of a Cursed Kingdom (book 2) - on a temporary hold -

Chapter Two - Ether

Is there a difference between truth and deception?

When I close my eyes, I see Ramiel. When I open them, I see Ronan. When I see neither, I remember the harsh, cacophonous words Xavelor spoke to us, the way his eyes locked onto mine as he concentrated his hatred into a fatal strike. 

I remember not feeling that strike.

Then there was the vacant blackness of Ronan's eyes as he glimpsed something behind me, then held my head steady so I wouldn't see the same thing.

But seeing might have been better than being left to imagine the worst.

Sighing, I return to my sitting position and curl my toes in the dry dirt. I can't sleep. I haven't had much rest, thanks to... well, many things, but mainly not wanting to think about how Ramiel is not here with us. Staying awake is one way to prevent the tears that seem to endlessly fall.

Ronan is snoring peacefully when I rise, pat my clothes down, and collect a few dewdrops from the dying moss surrounding the base of our tree. The droplets are enough to quench my thirst for now, but I can already hear Ronan's eventual complaints when he wakes with the sunrise. Something about saving our energy for an attack, or conserving any resources we scavenge to make it to the next day.

Despite his aggravating behavior, Ronan has been trying to take care of me. Most mornings, he leaves to gather firewood and edible flora and fauna while I pretend to sleep. Neither of us has had much of an appetite, but somehow today feels like a good day to regain energy. Yes, it's a feeling in my gut; not quite my Eluviam but somewhere close—I can sense today is going to be different. Call it an intuition that we're going to find something good.

It's faint—fleeting—but it's there.

I don't want to be wandering in the forest any longer than Ronan does, but I also don't want to tell him every time I have an itch that we're getting closer. The energy of the forest is wavering more than usual—I'm surprised he can't sense it. The last thing I want is for Ronan to think we're getting closer, only for us to have much farther to go. The forest is a living, breathing being that can change its attitude on a whim in order to protect its inhabitants. I'm clinging to this feeling that it's finally accepting us back into its boughs.

With a quick look over my shoulder to check that Ronan is still breathing to the rhythm of sleep, I step away and jump into the dark canopy above.

The branches prickle the bottoms of my feet and the cool leaves brush against my ankles, but the air is brisk and icy, making the ground below seem warm in comparison. The sky is muted from dark gray clouds, hiding the moon and stars and heavens from view. The trees are a wave of wandering dark, and without a fire, I'm not sure if I'll be able to sense my way back to Ronan.

My legs stiffen and toes hesitate on the ends of pointed branches.

Should I go? What if... what if this feeling really is fleeting and I'll only end up digging us a trench back to where we started? What if I get lost? What if I—

With a huff, I shift my weight to my right leg and stretch my arms high above my head. Then, with a deep breath, I take a decisive leap from the tree's crown and skip like an echo atop the sleeping forest.

The wind brushes through my wild hair; though we've taken a few rests near streams, I've not cared enough to rebraid the black strands or pin them out of my way. So they flutter around me like the ribbons of dancing Fae, tickling my arms and legs to occasionally remind me that yes, I'm still alive and can feel the breath of my own being.

A few more strides, and a flash of white catches my eye. It's brief, but bright enough amidst the dark that all movement ceases.

My chest heaves like that of a stimulated deer, ears perking to hear any rustle or whimper.

A second passes, then another.

Nothing.

With an almost-silent sigh, I lift my foot to continue my prowl. And then I hear it—the sing-song howl of a crobie, quite distinct from their more violent relative, the klopse, and a rare thing to see wandering around in the night. With no defenses and a pearlescent coat, it's a walking meal for any famished predator. 

I move near the sound before I can breathe, legs and arms bending in trained angles. From birth, we elves are trained to hunt, since the humans took everything and gave us nothing. Rather, they permitted us to practice our traditions and keep our culture. And that always seemed to be enough.

Who knows what will happen now?

I snap my head to the right and keep covered beneath a leafy branch—the leaves are brittle, so even the slightest touch might ruin the crucial moment when prey becomes a much-needed breakfast. 

The foliage makes it a little difficult to see, but the flashes of white are enough indication that I haven't exposed my presence. Exhilaration fills my chest as my hand slides to my obsidian knife, which is growing hot against my thigh.

My legs shift ever slightly on the branch, and the leaves shake.

The leaves. Shake.

Lord of Arioch.

I turn quickly to see the crobie's wide eyes blinking at me, black and shiny contrasting with its pure-white fur. Then, of course, it runs.

I swing down from the tree in quick pursuit, legs pumping one after the other, and it takes me only a second to realize I'm not alone.

To my left—keeping pace just beyond a stretch of prickly bushes—is a young elven girl with freckles that speckle her cheeks like glowing river rocks. Her red hair is braided neatly back, her clothes much cleaner and covering more of her skin, and rather than a dagger, she's holding an empty hemp sack.

I look forward—the crobie gradually seems to be losing its energy. 

I'm not sure how crobie tastes, but it has to be better than the grass and flowers that sit well with my fairy companion's palate. Perhaps their taste is reminiscent of klopses?

My tongue laps at my lips just thinking about meat. Despite myself, a laugh bubbles from my lips; since when did I become to primal, so... human?

The thought catches me off guard.

Ramiel's smiling face floods my memories; that dimple to the right of his mouth winking at me and his bright green eyes lifted in confidence. He's looking at my subconscious with that intensity he always had when he was blind and unable to see, yet it seemed like he saw everything.

Tears ripple from my eyes, blurring my vision. I lift my arms to wipe them, but before I can, the world goes black and I'm suddenly rolling across the harsh terrain, hitting rock after branch after root before something pins me roughly to a patch of needle-like grass.

All I can smell is wet earth and the unmistakable odor of fresh hemp.