LAMIAE

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT: DESTINED

He was dressed as he should be. Without any cloak, without forks; he was standing in a striped shirt, jacket and navy blue fabric pants. No disguise.

He had a masculine appearance, although he could be mistaken for a youngster because of his hair, which was brown in color and slightly longer than that of an average boy of their age. They fell on his forehead, but he didn't bother to brush them away, as if it didn't bother him.

He stood and waited for something.

The thought that he was waiting for her was too absurd, he probably just was waiting for his friends or lost them, which wasn't difficult in this crowd of people that prowled the forest.

Her legs still didn't obey her. They obeyed the soil that didn't want to let them go because the girl was willing to leave this place and run away.

Now that she knew what he looked like, it was easier to defend herself against him. In two years she must be able to defeat him, knowing what he said and what he talked about wasn't necessary for her to fight. And yet... something inside her wanted, palpitated, dreamed to know him.

She took two steps forward. They were a few meters apart. The alcohol she had consumed was crashing in her head as if she had just finished an extreme spin at an amusement park. It would seem that it should encourage her, that thanks to the drink her curiosity would overcome her common sense, but she still couldn't bring herself to react. However, her legs became soft and her hands started shaking. No, she didn't want him to know her like that. She turned around, but didn't go anywhere. She stood there, calming her breathing. She knew that when she turned around again, he would be gone, that he had definitely found his friends and that he would spend the rest of the night with them and she would return to her own company and for the rest of the evening she would wonder what would have happened if...

"You're the only one who isn't dressed up," she heard a melodious, pleasant voice right next to her. Her heart, which had begun to calm down, jumped into her throat. She felt like she was going to spit it out. "I'm starting to wonder if it's on purpose or the result of something undesirable," the words he said echoed around her ears, he could just as easily have told her she was a Martian and she probably wouldn't have responded anyway.

She leaned forward carefully, standing in front of him. He was exactly as she had imagined him, as if she had conjured him up, strangely enough, without the ability to wield magic. He must have noticed that she didn't believe him, because he smiled a little and pointed at her.

"You're really not dressed up."

He wasn't laughing, but there was something in his voice that made her blush. She began to wonder if it was already time or if it was after twelve, but it was impossible for her to spend most of the time, as it was a few hours, drinking with Nikolai.

"Have you consumed alcohol?" he asked, as if he knew what she was thinking. He was the only one keeping the conversation going. "You know, it speeds up the process of returning to your body."

She silently blessed the darkness. Otherwise he would have noticed that her cheeks had turned a shade of peony. She glanced at the skin on her arms. In fact, it was smooth, firm and young, with no trace of wrinkles.

"My friend gave me some," she admitted. Even though she was under the influence of alcohol, she remembered exactly the advice Casper gave her. She had to be careful about what she said. "Why did you come up to me?"

Did you want to tell me I'm not dressed up? she added, but to herself, in her thoughts. Her makeup was almost all gone, and if what he said was true, she no longer looked like an old woman, but had completely returned to her body. This means that not only did she see his face, but he saw hers too. She was a little scared that she had been exposed and that she would have no better chances than him in the duel coming in two years.

"You were looking at me, that's why I came over," he replied. He didn't look worried, on the contrary, he seemed comfortable in her company, something she couldn't say about herself. His figure continued to confuse her, as if the king himself, the pope or a world-class actor had stood before her.

"It's true, I was looking," she muttered. He was even more attractive up close. His eyes were bright, the kind she liked best. They sparkled.

But how did she know it was him? How could she be sure that the boy standing in front of her was her destined one and not an ordinary young man she had just met? How did she know he was her age? Because she knew all this. She felt it, according to what her grandmother had once told Arleta - inside she felt a magnet that drew her here to him.

"Why don't we sit down somewhere?" he suggested. Although he didn't want to insist, something told her that if she refused, he would ask again.

She nodded and agreed easily. She had always been too nice to say no to such a harmless question.

He led her to the edge of the clearing, walking ahead. She could have escaped very easily; all she had to do was turn around and he wouldn't see her anymore, he wouldn't risk chasing her. However, Dagmara didn't want to run away. Despite worrying about what he might do to her, she wouldn't give up the chance to get to know him for anything. He entered the forest, making her hesitate. It was only a fraction of a second, but he caught her momentary hesitation.

"What is it?" he asked, surprised.

"Nothing," she lied.

She followed him deeper into the forest. A dense collection of vegetation, mainly fir trees and beeches, did their job as best as they could, protecting the clearing from unwanted visitors. Even from a distance of several meters, the girl didn't see the meadow, leaving the clearing meant giving up the party.

He knew where he was going, where he was leading her. As she walked in the darkness, following her future tormentor, it occurred to her that he was plotting to kill her somewhere there. That he would like to get rid of the problem earlier than her birthday so as not to risk her life. But why? After all, he wasn't seventeen yet, the chance that he had received a poem about her from the oracle was small. Why would he kill some random girl he thought was suspicious without checking first? It wouldn't make sense.

She saw a lighted place in the distance. She squinted her eyes to see more, but it was no use. They were still too far away and even her eagle eyesight failed in this case. They were still heading north along a beaten forest path, and Dagmara thought involuntarily that if he wanted to kill her, he would definitely deviate from it to make it easier to hide the murdered body. But contrary to darkness, the boy was still moving towards the light, which was somewhat reassuring.

Even though she was hopeful that she would get out of the situation unscathed, she trembled when she heard a loud bird whistle nearby, something that sounded like a cross between a great tit and a tawny owl. Away from the clearing, the noise around the fire was gone again. Everything was muted, so she could hear even the slightest rustle, the slightest bird singing. It seemed to her that apart from these animals, they were completely alone and only these small forest creatures would witness what was going to happen.

"Where are we going?" she dared to ask a question.

He turned around, stopping for a moment.

"Just a little bit more, come on," his words weren't an answer, rather an urging.

As they got closer, she could see that the place they were heading to did indeed offer a habitat. It was like a piece of the gorge she had once visited in Sandomierz, but it was clearly designed for this situation. It was very short, so she could see both its beginning and end. It was all covered with beautiful green moss, with dim light peeking out here and there, as if someone had placed miniature garden lamps every few meters to illuminate the scenery.

The trees held their trunks together over the moss, as if they wanted to metaphorically represent Spartan warriors who were ready to fight together shoulder to shoulder against the enemy. Roots protruded from the ground and were arranged in such a way that they looked like a bench with a backrest.