A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XLIII. Injustice

No matter how much Gregor twisted and turned, he couldn't sleep. He had no idea how long they had been at the lake—maybe a day, maybe longer. All he knew was that their collective unease grew with every passing hour.

It was another five minutes before Gregor released a silent sigh and rose from his spot. The orange glow of the lake provided sufficient light, and he was tempted to blame his inability to sleep on it. Yet, deep down, he knew there were other reasons. He quietly sat by the water, captivated by the pretty orange patterns illuminated by the volcanic light.

"It . . . is certainly not a problem. Hera says she will gladly stay with us."

Gregor's head snapped up at the sound of a muffled voice.

"How is she faring? I have not spoken to her yet . . ."

He turned and peeked behind the stalactite that he had used as a backrest to double-check if he had heard correctly. And sure enough, he spotted none other than Luxa standing close by where the bats slept, talking to—

"She is better now that she has other fliers to mingle with." Stellovet shrugged. "At least something positive came from this whole ordeal. If I hadn't been abducted, she would have likely perished in that dreadful pit."

"I . . ." Luxa cleared her throat, sounding uncharacteristically timid. "I would like you to know that I never wished for anything such as this to happen, not to you and not to any of your siblings. Or anyone, for that."

Stellovet's mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Only then did Gregor see that she had fashioned her waist-long, wavy hair into a slightly haphazard braid again. "Is . . . that so?" she finally replied, though she did not meet Luxa's gaze.

"It is," said Luxa without hesitation. "I despise what Dalia did as much as you, but we must take such experiences as they come and learn from them. Not that I mean to say this was your fault. I . . ." She tugged at the seam of her shirt. "I do not mean to patronize you, but—"

"But you have experience."

Luxa stared at the floor, and Stellovet made a face. "I should not have made fun of this matter," she said quietly. "It is not something to laugh about."

Luxa's head flew up. "I can not claim I wouldn't have done the same, had it been me." She shrugged. "Have we not once intentionally sprayed your dress with moth-attractor for Nerissa's birthday? They nearly consumed it while it was on you."

"Oh, yes." A bitter curve appeared on Stellovet's lips. "But were you aware that I later sprayed the substance all over your wardrobe? It must have been quite a sight. I am all but saddened that I could not witness the outcome."

"That was you?" Luxa exclaimed. "The reason behind the sudden moth infestation in my closet remained a puzzle to everyone. I was made to wear Nerissa's oversized dresses until my wardrobe was restocked, which was quite amusing . . . for me and me alone."

They both broke into somewhat awkward yet sincere laughter, and even Gregor couldn't help but grin. Who would've thought he'd ever see Luxa and Stellovet having a proper conversation without—

Gregor winced as something suddenly shot over his head. The last thing he registered was Luxa and Stellovet crying out in unison before he lost his balance and fell, headfirst, into the pleasantly warm water.

Moments later, he resurfaced and coughed, only to observe a large black bat descending among the now fully alert questers. A black bat with a white face . . . and two riders.

A moment of stunned silence passed before Luxa cried out in joy. She dashed forward toward the Death Rider, who slowly dismounted. Gregor frowned in disbelief as he made out a human crown perched on the outcast's head.