As we follow Sylhara to the Meeting Tent, the crowd of Khaturians parts like an ocean splitting in two. Many of them melt away; disappearing through the network of buildings, slipping into hide-covered doorways.
Only a small group of Khaturians remains now. As we pass, they fall into step behind us, forming an escort.
Corvan leans in. “Finley, I’m going to ask them to tell us everything they know about you. The Khaturians know a lot about magic; about ancient lore.”
The feeling of his hand against my back is the only thing keeping me sane right now.
I’m afraid.
Back there, at the edge of the valley, Corvan told me her name.
Aralya.
There’s a reason my coloring is so different to that of my brothers. There’s a reason father treats me with such disdain.
There’s a reason I’ve always felt rootless; like I don’t belong in a world where everything is measured by wealth and status and breeding… and the ability to breed.
This is happening too fast, and it’s all orchestrated by Corvan.
I’ve lost control.
Not that I ever had control in the first place.
We reach a hut that’s three times as large as the others. Oval-shaped, it’s surrounded by a lagoon of pristine turquoise water carpeted with small lilypads. Elegant stems emerge between the floating leaves, bearing delicate white flowers.
I catch a glimpse of silver; a school of tiny fish darting beneath the surface.
The water’s so clear it could be glass.
A curved timber bridge leads to the entrance. As we reach it, Corvan stops and draws me close.
He turns to Sylhara. “Go inside. All of you. I will have a moment alone with my Orama.”
She gives us a curious look, then quietly nods.
The Khaturians disappear inside the tent in a soft murmur of voices and a flurry of furs and robes, leaving us standing together beside the lagoon; surrounded by snow and drenched in the bright sunlight.
Something’s wrong with Corvan’s face.
His skin… it’s turning red; blistering and peeling.
“Corvan,” I gasp. “What’s wrong?”
He touches the side of his face and smiles wryly. “Too much time out in the sun. The effects of your blood must be wearing off. Don’t you think your magic is powerful, though? To be able to protect me from the sun for so long… and even against the glare of the snow… it’s quite remarkable. Just like you.”
“You should be taking this more seriously, Corvan.” I quickly unwrap my scarf and offer it to him. “Here. Put this on.”
“I’ll be fine, but I appreciate your concern.” He takes the sky-blue scarf and wraps it around his face, covering his peeling skin.
The tent casts a small shadow. “Step into the shade,” I urge, suddenly filled with worry. It’s strange to see him vulnerable.
We step onto the small wooden bridge.
A fish flips out of the water, creating ripples on the surface.
“Sweet Finley,” Corvan murmurs. He looks down at me, and although I can’t see his expression right now, I can feel his tenderness. He gently caresses the side of my face. I’m relieved he’s wearing gloves. I don’t want his hands to burn, too.
“What is it, Corvan?”
“I’m sorry.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “In such a short time, you’ve dealt with so much. The journey to Tyron. Your brother’s injuries. Your idiotic father. Me. And here I am, leading you into this immense truth when you aren’t yet ready for it. If I could give you all the time in the world, I would, but there’s no room for complacency. Things can become precarious too quickly, and your heritage is far too important to ignore.”
Everything is different now. I’m not just a simple baron’s daughter from Ruen.
I’m Aralya’s daughter.
And everything I thought I knew about her was a lie.
“Tell me everything you know about her,” I demand, wrapping my fingers around Corvan’s wrists. I pull his arms down and move closer, until our bodies are almost touching. “What is she? What am I?”
“Your mother was brought to Rahava from across the seas. According to your father, she’s a dryad.”
Dryad. The word hits me in the chest like an arrow. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s the truth.
“What… what is a dryad?”
“A magical being.” His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Born of the forest and attuned with nature. A true child of Eresus. Of the Life God’s direct line. The embodiment of life and rebirth, possessing power over the trees. That’s all I know, Finley. It's all I've been able to glean from the rare books in my library. There isn't much written on dryads. I wish it were more, but that’s the reason we’re here.”
A spark ignites in me; tiny but destructive. “Before… you said you were going to find her. If she’s alive…” A dark thought hits me. “Did he hurt her?”
Whatever shred of leniency I felt toward my father, it’s completely gone now.
I despise that man.
“Finley.” Corvan lifts his dark glasses, allowing me to see his eyes. He might be the imperious Kral, but he’s also the man who’s delighted me and made me feel safe.
Even though he bit me.
I can probably forgive that now.
He takes my hands into his and pulls me even closer. “I cannot say that your father didn’t hurt her. I can’t say that. I know for a fact that he brought her to Ruen against her will and then had her sent away after you were born. And it’s entirely possible that your mother’s still alive, held somewhere in Lukiria. If that’s the case, then time is of the essence. Now that we’re officially betrothed, it’s only a matter of time before the Rahavan Court finds out.”
“That’s why you’re in such a hurry. Why you’ve brought me into the mountains so soon.”
“Knowledge is power. I believe my father sent you to me for a reason. There’s something he isn’t telling me, either because he’s trying to manipulate me, or because he can’t. And there are others that might not want our union to happen. Unfortunately, I have a lot of enemies within the empire.”
“You’re an imperial prince. I wouldn’t expect any less.” There’s a little tremor in my voice. My legs feel like jelly.
He gently kisses the top of my head. For a fleeting moment, I feel the insistent pressure of his lips through the soft scarf. He radiates warmth and tenderness. “Are you ready to face them?”
No, I’m not.
But the world isn’t going to stand still for me. I need to move forward.
Or else, I’ll drown.
I look up at him; at a crimson gaze that burns through all my doubts.
I have to face this. Especially if there’s a chance my mother’s still alive.
“I am.”
He takes my hands. “I don’t know what the Khaturians will do once they learn what you are. I have no doubt they’re going to use magic on you. Rest assured that I’ll be by your side, and as long as I’m here, nothing bad will happen to you.”
His aura washes over me; powerful and protective.
Corvan isn’t a knight in shining armor. He isn’t a golden prince or a noble saint. His hands are stained with blood—as are his lips. He knows how to wield power, and I’m sure he has his own reasons for seeking the truth of my heritage.