To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

10. CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

“ U gh,” I groan, trying to keep from retching at the tangy, metallic taste in my parched mouth. My head pounds and blood is crusted from my nose onto my parted lips.

How long was I out with my mouth hanging open and blood running into it?

I quickly run into the kitchen and turn the faucet on the sink. Not bothering with a cup, I put my mouth straight to the water and take in a mouthful. I swish and spit repeatedly before putting my nose and upper lip under the water.

Did Locane see me? If he did, had he worked out what happened?

Much like the one I saw in my combined dream/vision with Nana, this vision weighs heavy. Perhaps not as important as the creation of the god’s emerald, but it was more detailed and clear. The one with the emerald was obviously far in the past, but this one was impossible to tell if it was past, present, or future. There were no clear indicators to give a timeline that I could remember; but it feels fresh.

After cleaning myself up I walk into the cozy living area. Pausing in the center of the room, I listen. The house is quiet.

In the buzzing, silent energy, unease creeps in again .

Shaking myself out of my daze, I go upstairs to get changed for the day. I pay no mind to quiet my level of noise—certain that Locane got a wonderful night of rest after leaving me hanging with his cherry-picked shreds of information. I try to not let it bother me too much and start this day off with a positive attitude. Maybe that will rub off on him.

Not likely, but maybe.

Taking more careful stock of my armoire in the daylight, I choose a white sleeveless shirt to go with flowy black pants. Both are made of breathable cotton. Perfect for a warm day.

My eyes steal a peek at my appearance in the vanity mirror. I pull my hair up, securing it so it swings between my shoulder blades. Slight shadows sit under my green eyes, and the sight of my own face makes me inexplicably unsettled. Turning away quickly, I shake the feeling off and plaster a forced smile on my face.

The sounds of cooking come from the kitchen when I go downstairs.

“Good morning!” I trill pleasantly, waltzing through the kitchen door as if I regularly grace these walls. Locane barely glances over his shoulder at me and continues stirring something in a bowl. “What are you making?” I ask, leaning against the island.

“Breakfast.”

I laugh. “You don’t say? What specifically are you making for breakfast?”

“Cinnamon peach pancakes, omelets, and spiced sausage.” His tone is matter of fact but without the unfriendly air I’ve grown used to.

“Mmmm,” I hum happily. “Isn’t cinnamon more commonly a colder weather flavor? ”

“Anything can be made to fit any season if you know how to pair your ingredients correctly.” He goes to the large range and starts ladling batter into a skillet.

Locane turns to put the bowl on the island when I notice he’s wearing an apron. It’s buttery yellow with a bouquet of sunflowers embroidered in the bottom corner. I laugh loud; an embarrassing snort escapes through my nose when I cover my mouth to stifle it.

“What’s funny?” Locane raises a brow. He doesn’t seem humored in the slightest.

“Oh, nothing. Just the dark rain cloud in the kitchen wearing the most sunshine apron I could ever imagine.” My shoulders shake with more ill hidden amusement.

Locane looks down at himself as if he has no idea what I mean. “I just changed into fresh clothes. I do not want to get them dirty.” His face tells me that’s the most obvious thing on the planet, and I’m dense for not realizing it.

The face of anger sitting on top of the bright, happy apron makes me break out in peals of laughter again.

“This is not a good way of showing appreciation. I guess next time I’ll skip the home cooked meal and you can figure it out yourself,” Locane tells me cooly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you. For what truly sounds like a delicious meal.” And I mean it.

Locane moves with ease as he cooks, not even thinking about the motions. Trying to discreetly take in his handsome features, I notice the pallor of his face—the gauntness of his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” I ask with a legitimate concern.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Well, you don’t appear entirely well. Kind of pale. And like you haven’t had a good meal lately,” I tell him honestly .

“I haven’t had the best meals lately. But yes, I’m fine. Just still drained from the overexertion yesterday. After more rest, I’ll be fine.” He continues preparing the food, not missing a beat.

“Is today a rest day then?” I’m anxious for more enlightening conversation. And almost as anxious to hold a staff in my hands again.

“No, Ellya. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked.”

That strikes me as an odd thing for him to say. “Are you admitting to me that you’ve helped me for nefarious purposes? Just how wicked are you, Locane?”

He finally turns to me and gives me a strange smile. “What makes you think it is I who is wicked and not you?”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. I smile and laugh all the time. I’d say that is a fantastic indicator of which of us is more wicked.”

“Some would say that a woman as beautiful as you must surely hide some kind of wickedness. A face like that could ensnare anyone and bring them to their knees.” Locane almost sounds angry.

My jaw drops for my mouth to form a comical O. “Obviously you are still ill from last night! Or you are just trying to flatter me to lessen my suspicions of you. Which are gradually mounting.”

I’m not sure why I just admitted that stark truth to him. My trust in him has not entirely increased since last night, and in the late hour when I couldn’t sleep, I considered, again, high tailing it as far as I could. I was held back when I remembered I have nowhere to run to—and the guard screaming his fury when I got away.

Locane laughs at my comment and says, “Haven’t you ever been told not to judge a book by its cover? ”

“You were just saying that I am so beautiful, I must surely be evil. Wouldn’t you call that judging a book by its cover?”

He blandly says, “Touche.”

Walking to the living room, I sit on one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar. Locane slides a loaded plate in front of me, plopping a glass bottle of maple syrup beside it.

“Well, what’s on the agenda for today then?” I take a bite of the pancakes and moan obscenely. “Fucking Mother, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” The peaches and cinnamon work together in a combination of spice and sweetness that tastes like the epitome of summer.

“Can you actually recall any real meals before this one?” Locane asks me as he comes through the kitchen door into the living room.

I give him a pointed look. “Not the point. Just accept the compliment.”

“Should I accept it as gracefully as you did when I told you that you’re beautiful?” he asks me with a raised brow.

“That didn’t count. That was more of a backhanded compliment.”

“I disagree. But thank you. I’m glad you enjoy my food,” he tells me as he takes his own seat.

I smile at him brightly. “You are very welcome. Well then, don’t keep me waiting. What’s on the agenda for today?”

“I obviously haven’t had a chance to make you a weapon yet. So, I thought we might attempt a different kind of training.” Locane watches me expectantly with his usual seriousness, bordering on cold.

The fire of my good mood sputters out.

“I don’t think I am ready for that,” I say as I let my fork clatter to my plate, my appetite now gone .

“I think you are.”

“Oh, well as long as you think so,” I shoot back with sarcasm.

“How much did your grandmother teach you about your Sight? I believe she mastered hers at a very early age. But yours is much stronger and undoubtedly more difficult to tap into.”

“I don’t really know. The only memory I have of us working together with my magic, it didn’t go well.”

“In what way?” His interest is obviously piqued.

Stop talking, I chastise myself internally.

Despite my thoughts, my mouth continues of its own accord. “It seemed… it seemed from the memory that the visions would come on without much warning. She was trying to teach me to ease into them, instead of a free fall where I become unconscious and can’t pull myself out of it.”

I struggle to get the words out. Trying to remember everything is difficult; the memory is thick and dense. Attempting to articulate what I mean is proving just as difficult, my tongue heavy and struggling to form the words. Simple words that should be easy to think of, but they elude me.

“Why would you want to pull yourself from your gift? That sounds counterproductive. To deny it is to deny nature,” he says angrily, voice raised. The sudden burst of emotion shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does, nonetheless.

“I don’t know. I guess she thought it was important for some reason. I don’t really know why.” My voice comes out as a whisper, and I chide myself for sounding like a scolded child asking for forgiveness.

Locane lets out a long breath and schools his face back to neutral. “Can you search for visions? ”

“What do you mean by that? Hand select what I want to see, like choosing a book from a shelf?” My words drip skepticism.

“Yes, I suppose. More or less.”

“I don’t know what would make you think I could do that, seeing as how I just told you I can’t even control when a vision comes to me.”

“I think you are capable of a lot more than you could ever fathom.” Locane pushes his plate forward roughly, then stands.

He turns my stool to face him and places a hand on either end of the back, caging me in. He leans in close so we are sharing air; the passion in his eyes is fierce. My breath hitches at the intensity of him being so close. I’m hit with that off familiarity again when I catch his scent of worn leather and sea salt.

“You can do so much more than they ever would have let you.”

“Who?” I whisper.

The fire bleeds from his eyes as he backs away slowly, extending his arms fully before he drops them to his sides. “Your grandmother held you back.” His tone is flat, and he begins pulling away before even fully opening up.

“You said ‘ they .’“ I stand now, invading his space—same as he had just invaded mine.

“Yes, the proverbial they. Your grandmother and everyone else involved in your so-called training.“ The displeasure that Locane briefly showed when I told him about trying to control my Sight has returned. “Your magic is strong. So strong I don’t think they knew what to do with you. They were stifling you. Not training you.”

“You know nothing about my Nana.” My fists ball at my sides.

Locane smiles at me cruelly. “I know a lot more than you. ”

“And what the fuck is it that you think you know so well?” I struggle to keep my voice steady and tears from welling. He isn’t going to elaborate in any way that matters.

“I know that they’re scared of what you could accomplish. Given the right tools, information, and direction. I know that they could have helped you be great, but instead they kept you down and held you back until all you became is this .”

Locane’s cruel words sting at the blatant insinuation of my inadequacy. Instead of spitting hate filled venom back at him, I can’t help the question that leaves my mouth. “And what, exactly, do you think I could accomplish with you, Locane?”

“ Everything,” he says, grabbing my shoulders and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

Locane turns and walks away before I can react, leaving me shocked by his action and trying to decipher the whirlwind of emotions he’s shown in such a short time. Again.

I stand and lean on the breakfast bar. Our abandoned breakfasts steadily turn colder as I silently fume for several long minutes.

Or maybe it’s only been seconds.

My breath is becoming more and more erratic. A strong fury courses through me—making me know myself even less. Without thinking, I pick up my plate and throw it against the wall with a loud crash. The untouched omelet splatters on impact and falls with the rain of shattered glass.

Turning in the direction Locane left, I follow. My face turns redder with each pounding, purposeful step.

I approach the vestibule door and throw it open wide, making it bounce off the wall. The exterior front door is already open, allowing in the warm rays of sun and cheerful sounds of birds chirping .

Charging through, I make it outside in a few long strides, moving faster than I ever knew I could. Locane stands on the path facing the house, arms crossed, a look of expectancy on his face. His expression morphs to smug satisfaction as I step onto the porch.

Striding angrily down the steps, I rush towards him, throwing a perfectly formed punch to his face. Locane dodges it quickly, but as he’s still ducking away from my punch my foot comes up and connects hard with his cheek, throwing him down into the grass.

Standing rooted to the spot, uneven breaths saw through my lips. I watch him on the ground, waiting for him to get back up as my sudden burst of anger quickly bleeds away. A small trickle of blood escapes through his hairline down his temple.

“Shit.” I find my bearings and bend over him. Just as I’m crouching down Locane groans and rolls over. “I didn’t mean to do that. But I’m also not going to say I’m sorry. You deserved it,” I say, reaching to grab his hand and help him into a sitting position.

Locane touches the trickle of viscous fluid and inspects it, rubbing his fingers together. He then rubs them against my mouth—forcing me to taste the metallic tang of his blood. I scream and jump up, wiping my mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell.

“What? You earned being able to taste my blood.”

“You are deranged,” I huff, spitting on the ground.

My feet stalk away from him back towards the house, even more confused and thoroughly drained.