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

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I wake hours later, the sky threatening the dusty pink of dusk. I slept all day. Thank the gods, I had a deep and dreamless sleep and am fully rested.

Turning to my nightstand, I find a tray with a glass of water, three slices of fresh bread, and a lidded jar of red jam, a small spreading knife laid across the top. I’m famished and immediately dig in. Devouring the first piece of bread, I start on another, slathering an extra thick layer of raspberry jam. I’m silently thanking Locane for the gesture of leaving me food when I notice something out of the corner of my eye.

My attention turns next to the bedroom door, and I halt mid chew.

Leaned against the wall next to the door is a long, wooden staff. I immediately put my snack down and run to it. Picking it up, I weigh it in one hand. Perfectly balanced. It’s simple, but skillfully crafted.

Perhaps this is Locane’s apology for pushing me this morning.

Understanding washes over me—understanding over why he’s treating me the way he is. But I do not agree with his methods. There must be a better way for him to pull out of me whatever he thinks is buried.

Buried …

Is he right in that Nana was trying to stifle my abilities? And if so, why?

So far, all my memories of Nana have been nothing but loving and happy. They feel more real to me than my current reality does. An overwhelming sense of safety and comfort is always present when I have dreams of her.

But Locane seems sure that she was holding me back—that I have power beyond what she wanted me to master. His disdain about it made it so real.

The idea hits me hard, giving me a sudden, squeezing heartache. I drop the staff, push my back against the wall where it was resting, and slide down to the floor.

Abrupt sorrow interlaced with increasing anger and frustration crashes over me; my resolve cracks at once. The tears I’ve so desperately held back on multiple occasions come pouring out of me in loud, racking sobs. I clutch my hand over my vacant heart, as if I could physically reach into my chest and massage the hurt out of the beating organ.

A sheen of cold sweat breaks out over my brow. I’m overwhelmed by my confusion and the weight of expectations Locane clearly has for me. On top of that, the question of who had me imprisoned and why still sits heavy. What did they have in mind for me? Expectations similar to Locane? Or maybe the exact opposite—perhaps I was imprisoned to attempt to keep me from reaching my full potential. What lengths would have been sought to keep that from happening?

Then there is the question of what my full potential could mean. What is it that I could accomplish? What is the end goal?

All my questions just lead to more questions, and I’m afraid of the answers. I’m terrified to stay here and learn what Locane has planned. I’m equally frightened of the idea of leaving here and entering back into the unknown, completely alone. Fear piles on top of all the other negative things I’m already battling with.

The sudden onslaught of utter terror pushes me over the edge into hyperventilation. My chest is constricted; my lungs are flattened and unable to expand. I struggle to gulp down breaths as dots of bright white obscure my vision.

Locane silently creeps in. I only know he’s there when a firm hand lands on my shoulder. His other hand attempts to pry my crossed arms from my bent knees where I am trying to hold myself together.

“Open your knees and drop your head between them,” he coaxes me quietly. I let him guide me into the position as he says, “That’s right. Breathe in through your nose, deep. And out through your mouth.”

Locane strokes my hair tenderly as I do what he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as he whispers quiet words of encouragement. The next few minutes are like an eternity as my rattling breaths become stable again, and my reality becomes less untethered.

That air of familiarity from Locane hits me again, but something about it is tainted. Different from the comforting warmth I’ve experienced in some of my memories. At first, I thought that the calming presence was coming from Nana. But with Locane’s familiarity being so similar, I’m beginning to think it’s him. He swears we don’t know each other, but I know that we do. Only it is clear that something has happened between us.

Just another truth I have to pry from him .

Finally, I glance at Locane. My mouth opens, intending to confront him about our past that I’m getting the impression he isn’t eager to face.

Before I can say anything, he cups my cheek and whispers to me, “You will feel much worse before you start to feel better.”

The words sound so very him , and I let out a sincere chuckle. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“It’s the truth. So, yes.” Locane lets his hand drop from my cheek and sighs. His eyes land on the staff lying on the floor. “I thought you’d be pleased with the staff. What set you off?”

I’m flooded with heavy sorrow all over again, and my voice does nothing to hide my anguish. “The idea of Nana having less than good intentions. The staff made me think of her.”

Locane nods solemnly. “I know that you are going through a lot. But there is a purpose to it.”

“What is that purpose?” Another tear slips free and slides down my cheek.

“You will learn in due time. It is better to ease you into everything.” Locane’s expression and tone holds a softness not at all typical for him.

“I know you. When I’m close to you, I sense this familiarity. But something about it isn’t right. It’s like… like, I don’t know. Like something changed. I’m having a hard time fully putting my finger on it. Will you tell me how we know each other? What changed?”

A look of unmistakable guilt darkens Locane’s face as he gazes at me. He shakes his head and angles his head before telling me, “I will have to one day, but not today. You won’t forgive me when you learn those truths. ”

Locane grabs my hand and squeezes it with apology in his eyes. I gently squeeze his back, surprised at my own contentment to not push him on this right now.

All his light, gentle touches today must have completely unnerved me.

“I don’t know anything about you. Tell me something. Please?”

Locane takes a long pause before asking me, “What do you want to know?”

“How old are you?”

“Much older than you, Ellya.”

Dropping his hand, I poke his shoulder. “That’s not a real answer. How much older?” Locane doesn’t appear to be older than his thirties, but somehow, I know that doesn’t mean anything.

“You are twenty-three? I’m around two-hundred years older.” My jaw drops, and he laughs. “I told you: much older.”

“You must have strong magic then. Only people who are particularly powerful live that long, yes? And you still look quite young,” I tell him, my eyes roving appreciatively over his face.

“Yes, and you have strong magic, too. I believe you will live to be just as old as I. Maybe even older.” Locane gives me a raised brow, as if challenging me to argue that point with him.

“What is your gift?” I wait on bated breath, wondering if he is truly about to tell me something real about himself.

His face returns to its serious, impassive mask as he shakes his head and says, “You’re already distrustful of me. If I tell you, you will be even more so.”

My mind tries to process what that could mean. I come up blank of any possibilities of what he may be able to do. “It might help me trust you more if you just tell me. ”

Locane turns his gaze away from me, staring blankly at the wall. He swallows, and I can tell he’s nervous. It’s my turn to give him a gentle, reassuring touch. I grab his chin with my thumb and forefinger and turn him slowly until he’s facing me again.

“Please, just tell me. Tell me something.” There’s blatant desperation in my voice, but I have no shame in begging him to help me trust him.

Locane swallows again. “I can make anyone of a lesser mind do whatever I want them to. I can compel almost anyone to do my will, no matter what it may be.” His voice sounds dangerous as he finally gives me this truth.

I drop his chin quickly as suspicion takes me over. He’s right. I do trust him less now. Standing, I look down at him with accusation. “And how much have you been controlling what I do?”

Locane stands too, pointing a finger roughly into my chest.

“I fucking knew it. I knew that would be the first conclusion you’d come to. This is why I have been so reluctant to tell you anything. You are so wrapped up in thinking everything is about you to actually consider what anything means. Everything is a shallow answer to you.”

“Well, you have made it abundantly clear that you think I am—what was the exact word you used? Oh yes, less than you in every way. You never hesitate to point out my shortcomings or make me doubt myself. You never hesitate to insinuate that I’m weak and useless,” I shriek. “Tell me right now, have you compelled me to do anything? Tell me honestly that you haven’t, and I will gladly admit that I was wrong and give you my sincerest apologies.”

I grab his finger digging into my chest and twist it before flinging his hand away from me. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even blink.

“I can’t honestly tell you that,” he snarls in my face .

Pulling back, I slap him across the cheek as hard as I can.

“Fuck you!” I shout. “Fuck you, for trying to make me feel guilty for being suspicious of you, for doubting your intentions. You’re a prick for always trying to make me out as a bratty child when my instincts have been correct! Is this some kind of power trip? Some kind of control tactic? Oh, wait—no. You don’t need a control tactic. You’ve already been fucking controlling me!”

Bending down, I snatch up the staff laying by my foot and twirl it in my hand three times, so quickly it’s nothing but a blur before I right it and jab Locane under the chin.

The impact makes his jaw close with a loud clack as his teeth collide. He keeps his head thrown back where it landed as I point the staff directly at his chest, prepared to strike him again.

Locane laughs as he rights his head with menacing slowness. He spits a mouthful of blood, something clicking against the floor with it. As our eyes connect, there’s a fire that dances with a mixture of lethal rage and endless amusement.

“You little fucking viper.” Locane smiles wide, blood staining his teeth.

My determination momentarily wavers, and I drop my firm stance, the staff falling slightly. Locane takes the chance to step forward, grab me by the neck, and swing me around until my back hits the wall roughly. I emit a high pitched, startled yelp.

“You broke a tooth. Now I am going to have to go pull the fucker out so it will regenerate. Have you ever had to pull your own tooth, Ellya, hmm?”

My face splits at my victory. “Can’t say that I have. Then again, I wouldn’t know. But you would, wouldn’t you? ”

Locane squeezes my throat a hair tighter, putting his face closer to mine, rubbing our noses together before he releases my neck and steps away, chest heaving. He spits a mouthful of blood again.

“Stop spitting on my floor. And tell me the godsdamned truth. What have you compelled me to do?”

“Nothing that didn’t help you.” Locane is walking out of the room, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up as he goes. I stride with heated purpose behind him, following him down the stairs.

I yell at his back, “Not good enough! Tell me specifically.”

My blood rushes in my ears in deafening waves. With each footfall I become more unhinged.

“Since you insist on having intimate details, the only thing I have compelled you to do is leave your imprisonment.” He swings the door to the vestibule wide before sitting on a bench and roughly pulling on a pair of leather boots.

“That was not intimate fucking details! Again, bare minimum!”

Locane throws a pair of boots at my feet, a clear hint that he wants me to put them on and continue to follow him. He opens the front door and walks out. I scoff in indignant disbelief at his audacity in thinking I will do anything he wants me to at this point.

“Put the shoes on!” Locane screams, his unsettlement on full and terrifying display.

Instead, I collect the boots in my hand and hurl them through the air.

They hit their mark right on the back of Locane’s head. He roars before turning on his heel and stalking quickly back up the steps of the porch. He is about to walk through the front door when I panic and slam it in his face, locking it quickly.

A satisfied grin plasters my face when he jiggles the handle, my smile as wild as my raging heartbeat. His fist pounds on the door, way harder than is necessary—considering I’m standing right in front of it and know he’s there.

“Open the fucking door!”

“And why on the Mother would I do that?”

“Because it’s my fucking house!”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a filthy mouth?” I struggle not to laugh as I throw the question at him that he asked me only days ago. Giddy excitement courses through me when he growls and jiggles the door handle again.

“You really are an infuriating, insolent child!” Locane screams through the wood.

“Yes, Locane. I am well aware of your rather low opinion of me at this point. But you would think you might try to hide it a little better, considering you so very clearly need my help with something!”

A seething breath hisses against the door. “Open the door, Ellya.”

“Why don’t you just compel me to open it?” I lay the sarcasm and amusement thick. He answers with four rough knocks in quick succession, small panes of glass rattling with each loud thud.

I laugh loud enough for him to hear, the lilting chime piercing the air in a taunting way that I hope boils his blood. It’s deathly silent on the other side of the door, and I think maybe he has given up.

“Don’t think that I won’t,” Locane says softly, almost seductively.

My pulse quickens as it sets in that he might. After I have purposely riled this man whose general disposition can only be described as utterly unpredictable, I can’t help but wonder what he might do after he enters my mind and forces me to let him back inside.

“I can smell your fear from here. Tell me, what are you afraid that I’ll do to you?” Locane jiggles the handle again menacingly, harder this time. I take a slow step back.

Does he have to be physically near someone to make them do his bidding? Would it be in my best interest to put as much distance between us as I possibly can?

As if he can hear my thoughts racing in my mind, he laughs darkly and says, “Are you thinking about running? You should. I might just like it.”

Locane’s words resolidify my fire and my blood sings. I grip the staff tight before yelling, “Well, I wouldn’t want to purposely show you a good time, Locane!”

Taking a deep breath, I slide the lock free and throw open the door. He is standing right at the entrance of the door with a twisted, disturbing smile across his handsome face.

“Who says I won’t enjoy your fight even more?”

I lunge for him.

Locane jumps, but I expect it, and I keep rushing towards the yard knowing he won’t go back into the house. My assumption is correct, and he reappears in a copse of trees just off the path leading to the porch.

Smiling, I remember how sickly Locane appeared this morning, telling me he’s still drained from the long jump pulling me last night. He won’t be able to pull that trick many more times. He smiles right back at me as he reaches behind a tree and pulls out a sheath housing a sword. Locane removes the weapon with a hiss carrying on the wind. He twirls it in his hand slowly, barely stepping forward, making his intention clear that he wants me to acquaint myself with this new weapon before we fight.

I loosen a maniacal laugh. Concentrating on my staff in my hands, I take a moment to really let it become an extension of myself. As I do, muscle memory kicks in, and my confidence in my skill boosts significantly. I stand straight and toss it between my hands a few times and then twirl it in lightning quick movements.

Spinning it behind my back, I then shift it from my left hand to my right before doing a graceful, handless cartwheel. I land silently on my feet, bent slightly at the waist with my staff held at a balanced angle at my back, an arm outstretched. I raise my fingers slowly before snarling and motioning them forward in a come-hither movement, taunting him.

Locane comes for me quickly, striking down as I lift my staff—hands wide on each end—and block his blow easily. It's then that I notice that he is holding nothing more than a basic, blunt edged, training sword.

This is what he had planned all along.

I have to speak to him about his methods of getting what he wants out of me. Locane smiles cruelly as he watches the realization wash over my face.

Utilizing all my strength to push him back, I use his momentary stumble to raise my leg and kick. My bare foot lands perfectly where I intended across his jaw.

A shockwave from the impact travels up my leg, and I buckle back in pain.

I should have put the shoes on. And he knows it, too.

“Maybe you will learn to listen to me now.”

Spinning, I bring the staff down on his shoulder. It slaps noisily, echoing off the trees as the light of the sun rapidly dims .

“Maybe you start putting in effort before I break more of your stupid fucking teeth,” I spit at him.

Locane takes me at my word and comes at me much faster now, swinging with swift strikes that I block with more effort than before.

Still, my movements come easily to me— considering that I don’t remember any of my training that matters.

One of Locane’s tells quickly becomes noticeable, his left foot turning out every time he goes for a fake out move. I let him attack a few more times before using that to my advantage to switch my position to offense.

Locane goes for an attack, poised to swing up, but that foot shifts ever so slightly. Smiling wide, I duck low as his stance changes and he swings wide.

My staff slaps against the backs of his knees, sweeping his feet out from under him. His sword arm goes flying as he falls back into the grass. As soon as Locane is flat on the ground, I place a foot on his sword wrist and jab down with the staff, my face contorted in a mixture of passionate anger and joy of my impending victory.

I stop just short of smashing his throat and instead lightly tap the bottom of his chin.

“I think this means I win,” I tell him smugly, stepping off his wrist and reaching a hand out to help him up.

Locane takes my hand gently, seemingly taking me up on the gesture. He yanks me down, and I fall on top of him with a yelp of surprise. The staff goes flying somewhere to my right and he has me rolled over on my back in an instant. I’m breathing heavily while he looks down on me.

“You’re good. But you have more tools than that wooden staff in your arsenal. Maybe next time I can truly fight you without having to do a beginner’s lesson.” Locane flicks my nose then gets to his feet, offering me his hand in the same way I just had him. I furrow my brows at his comment, but don’t have the energy to ask what he means.

“I didn’t ask for a beginner’s lesson. Actually, I didn’t ask for a lesson at all! I asked for a conversation. And you found a way to deflect. Again.”

Ignoring Locane’s hand, I roll over onto all fours before pushing myself up. My hair is a tangled mess around my face with stray leaves stuck in it.

“You may not have asked for the lesson, but you needed it. Follow me.”

My breath is still heavy when we make it back into the house. I go to sit on my new favorite couch before he stops me. “Don’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re filthy. That’s a nice couch. You should go get cleaned up. I’ll make us dinner.” Locane tells me as he goes through the door into the kitchen. I scowl at the closing door when he disappears behind it.

My steps rush up the stairs, and I slam the bedroom door closed when I get there. My eye catches on my reflection in the vanity. Locane was right, I am filthy. I smile to myself and then make quick work of getting my things ready to bathe.