Bound by Darkness (Bound By Series)

13. Old Scars

Chapter 13

Old Scars

THALIA

Adjusting the pack against my back, my breaths were labored as I followed behind Ivan, my legs threatening to buckle from underneath me.

“I need.. a break,” I huffed with each footfall.

Ivan stepped over broken branches, his strides large as he quickly maneuvered through the dense foliage. Not a bead of sweat dripped from his temples. “We need to reach Arilyn before nightfall.” His back faced me as he continued, leaving me further behind in the thick canopy.

We’d traversed through Lost Woods quickly, the mist curling at our heels as I’d stuck close to Ivan. I didn’t want to get lost, especially if he was going to rescue Moria. Separating from him now would be utterly stupid.

He’d explained the mist to me, but it sounded like ancient casting garbage as I’d blocked most of his talking out. The only thing he told me to do was stare ahead—to not let my eyes venture in the forest. It had been quite easy to stare at him, a beacon of black in a sea of white.

I was glad to be rid of the stuff though. Being trapped in a forest aimlessly walking didn’t sound appealing… as did now, the muscles in my legs tightening.

“I need a break,” I rasped. “Now.” If we didn’t stop, my legs would buckle either way.

Turning around, his jaw tightened, his eyes settling on the sorry state of me as I bent over. My hands rested on my shaking knees as I inhaled the musky air.

“Fine,” he said after assessing me from head to toe. “Ten minutes, that’s it,” he muttered. “We won’t stop again.”

I collapsed at the words, my legs buckling underneath me as I shucked the pack from my shoulders. I didn’t move for a while. Not until my chest stabilized, and the blurred lines of my vision faded into nothing.

Prying open the dirt-stained pack, I rummaged through the multiple pockets until my fingers found the wrapped sandwich Gwen had prepared for me. Prying back the linen fabric, I stuffed half of it into my eager mouth as my stomach whispered a quiet thank you.

Ivan’s gaze lingered on mine. He took a swig from his muted green canteen. “You tire easily,” he said, his eyes narrowing on my still-shaking legs.

Chewing on bread, meat, and cheese, I glared. “You try being chained in a cell for years and see how well your legs do.”

He looked at me, but those silver eyes darted as they focused on my hand—at the jagged scar running from my knuckle to the entire inside of my middle finger. “What happened there?”

I took another bite as the bread clung to the roof of my mouth. “None of your business.”

His brows furrowed. “I was trying to engage in polite conversation.”

“Poorly,” I added. “Most conversations start with asking how are you or nice weather. Not how someone obtained their scars.”

He took another swig, a few droplets of water trickling down his stubble. “Would you like me to ask how you are?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

A few birds chirped in the distance as the wind carried their trills through the bending trees.

His chiseled jaw tightened before he leaned back, the light illuminating his skin. “Well, half-breed, how are you?”

“Terrible,” I said. “I’ve been kidnapped by a Fae prick who asks me details of my scars.”

Ivan whistled. “Sounds terrible.”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckled, his chest rising with the movement. “But in all seriousness, how did you get the scar? It didn’t heal properly. It’s far too jagged.”

I tossed the empty fabric into my pack. “If you must know, I gave food to a boy. The guards caught me stealing and they broke it as retribution, along with the boy’s neck,” I answered. “Moria used a sharpened rock to cut into my flesh. Without resetting the bone, it could have caused permanent damage.”

He remained silent for a moment. “She used a rock to cut into your finger?”

“It’s all we had.” I pointed to the scars on his hands. “Your turn.”

His eyes darted away as his hand rested atop his bent knee. Scars, pink and jagged, covered the entirety of his hands from fingernail to wrist. They were horrific and deep .

He remained silent before nodding toward the forest. “Ten minutes are up.”

I pointed to his hand, his fingers curling ever so slightly. “That wasn’t even ten minutes! You’re deflecting from answering?— ”

His eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “We’ve already rested for too long. Faelight is fading and it is not smart to be out here after dark. Woods are known to harbor spies.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You can’t do that. You can’t obtain information from me without offering something of yours in return.”

“This isn’t a market exchange. My history doesn’t concern you.”

“As mine doesn’t concern you,” I added.

He stood, wet leaves clinging to his pants. “Apologies for trying to get to know you better. I will refrain from asking you questions in the future.”

I tossed the heavy pack onto my shoulders as I scrambled to stand among the slippery foliage. My legs were still shaking, but the discomfort had subsided slightly.

“Answer the question,” I said again. “Anytime I ask you one, you deflect it. For all I know, you could have earned those scars from killing?—”

“Stop talking.” His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles gleaming white.

“Or what? You’ll threaten to hurt me? Silence me?” He was a Fae male. All of them were the same— had to be the same.

Only the air around us whistled.

Why wasn’t he responding? Why wasn’t I on the ground? I was a half-breed insulting a Fae, and he was standing there… stoic. Had he not heard me?

“Are you?—”

“Just because we made a deal does not mean I am interested in negotiating or divulging personal information to you,” he said, his voice flat.

Not an ounce of anger in his tone. Not even a glint of frustration.

“Let’s go,” was all he said as he took a few steps forward.

Silence joined us the rest of the way to the town.

Arilyn’s square bustled with noise.

It was full of merchants and townsfolk as they mulled over the different tents and caravans, flashes of color bright in the dimming faelight.

A bubbling fountain sat in the middle of the square. Bright pink and yellow flowers floated in the crystal clear water as an offering to Aine, the goddess of summer.

Tradition had not been forgotten here as the caravans highlighted the flowers, spreading them among their wares and goods. The flowers were said to bring wealth to those who honored the goddess. Even after centuries, the people refused to abandon tradition as if the gods would stop the curse slowly turning the land to sand.

My eyes roamed over the tents as we walked past, piles of fresh fruit and freshly baked bread watering my mouth. Especially the apple tarts a red-haired woman gestured to, her hands wafting the savory smell directly to me.

I cried as I turned my body away from the sweet smell, my eyes set on the caravan at the edge of the street littered with pink and yellow streamers.

Clothing came first. Proper ones that would fit my malnourished body. Thanks to Gwen’s tonics and food, the pull and stretch of my muscles didn’t hurt as bad at least. Even the hollows of my cheeks and eyes had started filling out, the color returning to my skin.

I’d have to ask Ivan if he had money to spare. Something told me that if I stole the pouch he’d been trying to keep hidden in his pocket, he wouldn’t be too fond of the gesture .

Brushing hair from my face, I walked around the stone fountain as my eyes wandered the various houses. They were celebrating summer, banners of blue, green, and yellow floating from the windows as I wandered past.

They towered over the quaint square, each house coming to sharp points like a drawn arrow.

A woman stumbled out of one, a large mug of ale in her hand, as a man tugged her back inside. The wooden doors slammed shut behind her.

Scrunching my nose, the stench of ale and piss wandered into the cobblestone street from where I stood.

I hated all ales and anyone who drank the intolerable substance. Not because of the stench, but because of what it did to many who drank it. Of what happened in the prison after the guards had their fill of the fermented wheat.

“Disgusting. I bet you frequent taverns often,” I said as I turned around.

“Stay close,” was all he said as we walked side-by-side down the street. “We’re grabbing a few supplies and then heading out.”

Did he react to anything? “Are clothes on the list?” I mused, the shirt I’d picked bunched into my pants. Gods, I hoped he said yes.

“I suppose proper clothes would be beneficial,” he said as his eyes scanned the market.

A finger lifted as he pointed to a caravan off to the side. It was packed with the most boring fabric imaginable, and not the caravan I’d wanted with the colorful streamers. “There. Let’s get you a few.”

My lips turned into a frown. Annoying and cheap.

The caravan was even worse up close. I had the choice of gray, dark gray, or muddied gray.

“Let’s get two of those,” he said, his finger pointing to a shirt lacking any personal depth. I’d blend into the cobblestone street with it on.

The merchant nodded. “Sure. Anything—” The man paused, a finger pointing to him. “Your eyes,” he breathed.

Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Your eyes. They remind me—” But the man stopped, his eyes blinking rapidly as his lips pursed together. “Ah, sorry, I forgot what I was saying,” he said as he continued stacking clothes.

My eyes flicked to Ivan and he shrugged, equal confusion etched onto his face. As he continued picking clothes from the cart, my eyes wandered over the square as wind whipped my face violently.

Another gust slammed into me, shoving me a few stone from Ivan as my feet slid across the cracked road. My arms stretched out to keep myself balanced. “Did you feel that wind?”

Ivan didn’t turn to look at me from the caravan. His frame hunched over as he handed a few copper coins to the merchant, his crippled hand snatching the money from Ivan’s palm.

“Hey, I asked if you felt that wind?” I took a step toward him.

He didn’t budge.

My lips pursed together. “Now you’re ignoring me? That’s?—”

An icy hand wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks as I looked over at the hood, an older woman peering from underneath the black cloak. Her eyes narrowed as they met mine.

My chest stopped moving as I stared into the whites of her eyes, their translucent appearance drawing me into a trance.

My mother’s warning pounded in my ears as the woman’s hand locked onto the thinnest part of my wrist, her sharp nails digging into the soft skin as she dragged me toward the enclosed tent resting on the outskirts of the bustling square, no one glancing my way as if we were invisible.

My mother spoke of them often—witches, their eyes soulless and void of pupils. My mother said they weren’t extinct as the Fae wanted us to believe. I wished she would have been wrong, because then I wouldn’t have stumbled upon one as she guided me to the red drapes of her tent.

My body refused to listen as I commanded it to halt—to run back to Ivan.

“Come inside,” her voice purred.

My feet stepped beneath a veil of crimson, and I cursed my body for listening.

She pried the black cloak from her face, dark waves spilling over her shoulders like a river of tar. She was not conventionally attractive, not by any standard, but the mysterious aura around her beckoned me to draw near.

“I—” My voice cracked as I glanced around the tent, beads of light floating underneath like fire pixies. They illuminated seven stones neatly placed on the table before me.

Her wrinkled hands spread over the table as she sat behind it, her eyes blinking under the glowing embers.

“You are different,” she spoke, her voice woven with smooth silk. “I smell your blood. The blood of our ancestors lingers there.” She lightly touched each stone, her hand stopping over an emerald blood stone pulsing under the ethereal glow.

“You must be in a predicament for the Fae gods to choose a blood stone—a blood stone with a twin,” she murmured, light sparking in her eyes. “Pray tell me.” She placed the gem in the middle, swirls of green and black pooling in the center. “What secrets are you hiding in your blood?”

Swallowing, I took a step back, my fingers reaching for the edge of the drapes.

“Ah, ah,” the witch cried, her bony hand extending. “Don’t you wish to know your future? I can tell you many things—whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you curl around my fingers like wisps of smoke, but something tells me you have no interest in those trifling things man has placed before you.”

The witch leaned back in her chair. Her hands splayed against the red fabric. “Oh, but my information is passed from the Fae gods themselves. A message woven for you.”

Squaring my shoulders, I gripped the symbols Gwen had etched into my straps tighter. “The Fae gods abandoned Cethales years ago. What you suggest is a farce… a petty trick.”

The witch’s ears perked, a sly grin crossing her face. “This is no trick, girl. The gods never abandoned you. They are forging you in darkness, molding you to become a creature of night.”

She pointed a crooked hand toward me, a wisp of darkness curling at the edge of her hand. “Don’t you want to know why the gods blessed you with darkness? The only one to possess casting without killing a god in centuries?”

My breathing grew ragged at the truth she spoke. “How do you know?” I asked as my feet stepped toward the creature in front of me.

The witch cackled, the lights flickering above in response. “Questions are not free.” Her hand gestured at the vacant chair opposite from where she sat.

Biting my lip, I followed the singular thread of curiosity as I sat in the chair.

She wasted no time grabbing my hand, her yellowed nails tickling my sweaty palm as she traced each dip and crease. Her eyes brightened as she turned my hand over, her nails prodding and poking the calloused skin?—

She gasped, my hand slapping against the fabric as her chair slid against the floor. Her back hit the red fabric tent as it rippled from the source.

Her face twisted in a gruesome, silent scream. “You,” she hissed, her voice shaking the stones. “You’re cursed by prophecy.”