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

16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I t’s quiet when I go inside.

Standing in the foyer, I consider what I should do first and opt to head up the stairs to my room. In the armoire, I find a leather backpack. My numb and shaking hands pack it with two changes of clothes, a cloak, and an extra pair of shoes. I will have to figure out something for coin, but I don’t let it deter me from my potential plans. Grabbing the handwritten journal off my nightstand, I shove it in the pack as well. If I have a chance, I will grab supplies from the kitchen, but I’m not too hopeful. Luckily, my wooden training staff is already propped by the front door. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Collecting clean clothes, I then head to the washroom. After a quick bath I dry, dress, and lace up a pair of boots. Leaving the bathroom, my gut clenches in a tight knot. While I’m not particularly hungry now that I’ve prepared myself to leave, I know that I need it.

When I make it downstairs, I still don’t see or hear Locane. I throw my bag over my shoulder and go into the kitchen. Packing a small sack of food, I’m mindful to only take what will travel well and fill two water skins in the sink before placing them on the breakfast bar, the wooden roll partition still up from the first night we came here. I then make myself a quick sandwich of peanut butter and honey on sourdough.

It tastes like ash in my mouth and is difficult to swallow, but I force it down knowing that, no matter what I do, I need my strength. I’m almost finished when I finally hear Locane come through the front door. My heart begins to patter in my chest rapidly. I watch the door, waiting for him to enter as I hear his heavy footfalls coming down the hall. Closing my eyes and steadying my breathing, I’m ready to confront him; I’m ready to leave depending on his answers.

He stops just a few feet short of me and asks accusingly, “Going somewhere?”

My lids slide open, ready to say all the things I have been practicing in my mind the last hour—but I stop short with a startled gasp when I see him.

“Fucking Mother, are you okay?” Concern is overriding everything else previously running through my mind.

Locane looks awful, absolutely awful. His cheeks are gaunt and his eyes are surrounded by bruised circles. His hair has lost its shine entirely and hangs limp at his shoulders. His skin has a sickly, waxy appearance. The paleness he’s had since coming here has morphed into a concerning green tinged gray.

He’s thin, too thin. But just hours ago, I felt his full, taut body on top of me, ran my fingers over healthy tissue and defined muscles that are suddenly just… gone. Locane is emaciated; like he has been sick for a long time; like the Lady of Death is lurking at his door. I take him in fully, scanning him head to toe and notice something dark staining his fingertips and hands.

My feet carry me to him in quick strides, picking up his hand and inspecting it closer. “What is this, soot?” My fingers rub at the darkness, but it doesn’t budge. Bringing my eyes to his face again, concern for him bleeds into concern for myself when I take in the murderous rage he wears.

Utterly fucking deranged.

The expression would be terrifying at any time, but paired with the sudden, drastic change in his appearance, I’m downright petrified.

I was already wavering on regret for our earlier encounter, knowing something had changed. I teeter now straight off the edge of that cliff—realizing that our intimacy was a horrible, irrevocable mistake and whatever has changed is not anything good.

“I said, are you going somewhere?” he seethes through gritted teeth, grabbing my wrist. Locane’s grip is too hard; his hand is shockingly cold. I stifle my squeak of pain and rip my wrist out of his grasp.

“What happened to you?” I whisper in fear.

The taint of our familiarity fully engulfs any lingering possibilities that there is any coming back from whatever has happened with us. I understand now why he didn’t want to tell me the truth of what went sour between us. I don’t know what happened, but I know that it is unforgivable.

Locane takes a menacing step toward me, dead eyes roving over me. “What do you mean?”

“You look awful! I saw you, I felt you hours ago, and you were fine. You were fine! Now… Now you look… You look like you’ve been ill for a long time. And what is staining your hands?” I struggle to get my words out. Panic rises in me rapidly, gripping my throat in a tight vice, making it hard to breathe.

Confusion crosses Locane’s cold, fearsome face before he has a moment of clarity. He glances down at the hand I tried to rub the mystery substance from and raises it in front of his face. His eyes go wide before he screams, “Fuck!”

My eyes flinch at the volume.

Locane rushes to the small washroom beneath the stairs. I follow, stopping just outside of the door. He yells the curse again before the sound of glass smashing.

Locane strides back to me, blood dripping on the floor from his shredded knuckles.

“I’m fine.”

He says it so blandly, dropping all the anger he was just exuding. Dropping any emotion at all—nothing short of detached. I gape at him, open mouthed in terror, as I watch him walk nonchalantly into the kitchen and run his gushing hand under the faucet.

“You are not fine! What the fuck happened to you in the last several hours?”

Every instinct is telling me to run, to leave, but I find myself rooted to the spot unable to move.

“Nothing has happened, Ellya. I am fine. Just a little under the weather, that’s all.”

The laugh crawling up my throat holds a hint of hysteria as I follow him into the kitchen. He’s still standing at the sink, his uninjured hand gripping the edge, knuckles turning white with the strain.

Keeping as much distance between us as I can, I stand on the other side of the island—watching his back. Locane’s moods are always unpredictable, but this one is downright dangerous.

“What, from fucking me with your fingers? You ran off pretty quickly after that.”

“Oh, don’t start with that. ”

The edge is back, the blank mask already slipped. His words hit me like a blow to the chest, but there are bigger things at play than my bruised feelings.

“I’m being serious right now. You have had a drastic decline since that happened, and I can’t think of any obvious reason why.”

Locane closes off the flow of water, pushing the handle so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break off. He turns around and raises his leg, bending it at the knee, and kicks hard at the island. It scrapes across the floor a few inches with a deafening screech of wood against wood. I scream and stumble backwards towards the door.

“Everything has to have a fucking explanation with you!” he roars so loud my eyes flinch.

Tears spring to my eyes, born from terror. But I can’t help myself, I stay where I am. “Why are you so angry?”

He ignores the question and rushes towards me. I cower away, trying to keep the distance between us.

“What? You’re afraid of me, Ellya?” Locane asks with a menacing smile.

He stalks forward another step, but this time I stand my ground. He puts his sickly face in mine and exhales. He no longer has the comforting smell of leather and salt, but now smells like what I can only describe as decay and despair.

“Is that why you think you’re leaving?”

“I’m leaving because you won’t be honest with me,” I tell him defiantly and dash away the lone tear that managed to escape. “You’re using me.”

Locane cackles a cruel laugh and moves closer. He rubs his nose against mine and whispers with reverence, “I fucking made you.”

His words hit me hard, slamming into me to increase the crushing weight on my chest. I say back weakly, “You didn’t. I already knew everything I do now before I met you.”

My words lack conviction, and he laughs at my self-doubt.

“You were wandering half-naked for weeks, not knowing who you are or what you can do. I reminded you of what you are. And you need me for what’s ahead. You don’t have the strength to handle this on your own.”

“I’d rather take my chances on my own than continue to listen to you and your lies. I don’t need you.”

Turning on my heel to walk away, Locane grabs my arm, and turns me to whisper in my ear in his gentle, manipulative tone, “I don’t know why I thought gifting you with an orgasm would unwind you enough for you to stop acting like a selfish child.” He gives me a hateful sneer before adding, “You really are such a disappointment.”

I try to shake my arm free, but Locane holds me tight.

“Let me go,” I cry through tears of utter hurt, shame, regret, fear. A mountain of negative emotions rushes over me like an avalanche. He shoves me away, and I lose my footing before falling hard on the floor.

“Remember who you are!” he condescends.

Hearing his reminder sets me over the edge. I pull my spools as tight as I can and unleash. Electricity zaps from my fingertips, coming without the need of earth around my hands in self-preservation. My magic hits the kitchen island, and it explodes with enough force to throw Locane backwards.

He is still flying through the air as I run through the kitchen door and make for the front door .

I didn’t hear him when he landed from my blast, but I hear him now, thumping menacingly down the hall behind me. The sound of his gait tells me he’s injured, and I’m grateful for it, hoping it will give me the advantage I need.

“Ellya!” Locane screams after me, and his voice sounds strangled, laced with panic and fear of his own.

A ragged cry escapes my throat, knowing he is following me with a new determination. I continue running for the front doors and throw them open. My breathing is nothing but panicked sobs drenched in my terror by the time the sultry late afternoon air hits my lungs.

“I’m sorry! Please, stop!” he wheezes behind me, coming through the door, his pace increasing. I continue to run, pushing myself harder as I cry, frantic and hysterical.

Locane says he thinks I’m capable of the jump, and I’ve never been angrier with myself than I am right now for being so agreeable when he told me it was too dangerous to try. For being so agreeable with everything. In the last hour, his manipulation has become so obvious to me I feel like an absolute fool for falling for any of it.

What is wrong with me?

How could I not see before how he manipulated my emotions to elicit specific reactions out of me that he wanted? How he would criticize me so harshly and then throw me miniscule morsels of compliments, sometimes within a few breaths of each other. How he tried endlessly to convince me that Nana, the only person in my life I know who cares for me, didn’t care for me at all, and tried her best to hold me back.

How did I fall for any of it?

The answer hits me like a battering ram. He told me weeks ago how. Locane has been pulling my strings this whole time. He told me he compelled me to make my escape. Has he been compelling me to feel what he wants me to feel?

But of course he has. Too many times I’ve found my mind suddenly blank, no real thoughts of substance. And oftentimes those instances came at times that would have been very convenient for him. When I would ask too many questions that he didn’t want to answer. When my distrust began to take over. He’s been pulling my strings this whole time, a puppet master with his perfect little marionette doll.

And his appearance…

My thoughts stop with my feet. I’m planted in place, crying harder at the knowledge that my chance of escape is over. Locane is using what vestiges of power he has left to keep me within these wards.

He catches up to me quickly and grabs my arm, spinning me around until I’m flush with his chest. My hands are crushed between us. I make fists and try to punch him away from me as I cry hysterically. His arms encircle me, and he holds me in a vice-like grip so I can’t move. I pull at my reluctant feet, wanting to start kicking him when he screams over me.

“Stop! Stop!”

Instantly, I do, his power just barely able to pull me back into his hold. Tears continue to stream down my face as I’m rendered motionless by his compulsion.

But I can still speak.

“You’re fucking tapped! That’s why you look like death is calling for you. You’ve stretched your magic to the max for months, fucking months! Making me do and think and say what you want!”

The realization sends a hurt through my body unlike anything I could ever imagine, branding an ugly scar into my heart and soul. A warm drop of Locane’s blood plops onto the top of my head. A nosebleed caused by pushing out one last burst of mental power in a desperate attempt to keep me from leaving. Blood begins to drip from my own nose.

“Yes.” He says it so simply, as if he hasn’t brought the only world I know crashing on top of my head.

“You knew you couldn’t hold it much longer.” I’m crying harder now. “You knew!”

“Yes.”

The grip of Locane’s compulsion is loosening as another drop of blood falls on my head. My muscles scream and protest against his weakened magic—desperately trying to break free. I cry into his chest as I say the words of his latest manipulation tactic out loud, making it so horribly, painfully real.

“You knew you couldn’t hold it much longer, and you were intimate with me hoping that would give you a hold on me in a different way.”

Silence. And then Locane sighs heavily, “Yes.”

I’m wiggling against him as his mental bonds continue to loosen. I’m so close to being able to get myself loose and be free of Locane for good.

“Are you the reason I can’t remember anything of my life before you?” My hysteria is increasing with the crushing weight of all that is coming to light.

“Yes.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask pitifully.

“I’ve told you the truth now. Please, don’t go. Please. If you leave, they will come for you, Ellya! As soon as you leave the safety of the wards, they will come for you. ”

Stilling against his chest, I lean into him ever so slightly before I spit, “Why would I ever stay?”

Locane’s hold breaks as a gush of blood escapes his nose, drenching the strands at the top of my head as I push away from him.

He’s spent. Nothing fucking left. And in so many ways, there’s nothing left of me.

Whoever is after me may come, but at this point I’d rather risk death or a life locked in a cell than spend any more time with this man who has used me for ends that I’m not fully aware of. At this point, I’d rather be a pawn for someone else in this game than be Locane’s.

I run.

My legs scream in protest, but I fight past the heavy weight trying to hold me back. He’s following behind me, but I know he doesn’t have much physical strength left either.

I don’t have an immediate destination in mind. I’ll search for the emerald in the cave before I continue to the Mother Continent somehow on my own. I don’t feel wholly confident, but that’s all I have to go on. I’m certain now that he was so cryptic and vague because he wanted me to need him.

Well, fuck him.

“Where are you going, Ellya?”

Locane is stumbling behind me, keeping up better than I would have hoped given his broken-down state. Pushing myself harder, I run faster. Tears are still streaking down my face, drying as quickly as they fall with warm air rushing past my skin, as I run for my life towards the wards.

The sun hasn’t fully sunk beneath the trees, and the sky is the most mockingly breathtaking watercolor of pinks, purples, and oranges—a true masterpiece of a sunset that laughs in my face with its unrealistic beauty.

The transparent shimmer of the wards becomes clear, and my legs start to shake with effort. A horrifying thought occurs to me as I remember Locane cutting my hand the night we arrived, adding my blood to the wards. I wonder, too late, if that has somehow trapped me here. But judging by the increased desperation of Locane’s yells too close behind me, I don’t think that’s the case.

I make it to the barrier, the anticipation of being so close to being free makes a strangled cry break free. I go through the cold, resistant veil, like wading through thick, sticky taffy. I trudge through the frigid barrier of magic that steals the little breath I have for a brief moment before breaking through on the other side.

I stumble as my momentum picks back up, and I’m not prepared for it.

A memory comes to me on the spot, the visual of a crowded port on a glittering turquoise and green bay packed with ships of all sizes, masts pointing proudly to the endless sky. The word home whispers through my mind. I will my next footfall to land in the black void that will grab me and take me where I want to go.

But my stumble cost me precious seconds, and right before the void pulls me in, a thunderous roar sounds behind me and a tight grip locks on my ankle. I jump with so much conviction, trying to ensure my success, that I easily pull Locane with me.

We are sucked into suffocating nothingness that abates before the discomfort has a chance to take hold.

Gulping in deep breaths of warm, briny air, my eyes scan multiple docks with a few people milling about, finishing the tasks of the day. The squawk of sea birds caw in the sky. The chatter of multiple people calls over the hiss of ropes being dragged against wood. I turn my head to take in the rest of my surroundings.

I’m standing on a crescent shaped, stone path. Opposite the docks and water is a long row of market stalls, most closed for the day. Wide roads leading into the heart of the city break through between several stalls.

A broad smile cracks my face with pride over my accomplishment, but then I hear a gasping breath and remember my unwanted tag along. I glance down at Locane still clutching my ankle as if it’s the only thing that tethers him to life. Shaking myself out of his grasp, I stare down on him with disgust and fury. He scrambles to his feet and places his hands on his knees, hunched over and panting.

“You should go rest. You look awful,” I tell Locane unkindly and begin to walk away.

Now that we are away from his secluded home and there are other people around—watching us curiously—I’m infinitely less frightened of him. My preference to face anything else rather than bend to Locane’s whims and plans are still holding strong.

“Please. I’m sorry. I can still help you,” he pants out on labored breaths.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say determinedly.

A couple of sailors glance in our direction but don’t engage.

“Please, Ellya. I’m begging you. We must leave here. We can go to my ship in Brhadir. I will tell you everything when we’re safe.” He gives me a desperate, pleading expression and grabs my hand in his cold, black one. “If we don’t go now none of this matters. In the Mother Continent, I have homes, connections, and more fucking coin than we could ever need to accomplish everything ! We need to get out of Quinndohs, now. ”

His tone is ebbing away into his usual impatience. I laugh with stark disbelief, and rip myself free from his grip. I turn and begin to walk away.

“Quit being difficult because I hurt your fucking feelings.”

Locane’s words hit like daggers, digging in deep in the way he does so well. I close my eyes and turn around, opening them again with fury etched across my face.

“Do you feel powerful now, Ellya? You hold all the cards. Please, take us away from here.”

Locane walks towards me slowly, hesitating before wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes the apology against my skin, and I begin to crumble, instantly wrapping my arms around him in return. He whispers another apology into my neck before pulling away with a gentle expression. He brings his lips to mine, kissing me softly, affectionately.

I pull my face back to his for another tender kiss, but a faint whizz catches my attention before a light prick sticks in my neck. I reach up a shaking hand, pulling out a small dart as another one whizzes past my head, narrowly missing Locane’s forehead when he sags in my arms—his energy finally fully drained. I look down at the small dart in my hand.

A small gasp escapes my lips when the golden light powering my spools of magic within me dim, making it impossible to summon any of my magic.

Iron .

Loud footsteps, hoofbeats, and clanging armor barrel down the largest road leading to the city, heading straight towards us. I turn in horror to see royal guards wearing the same black and silver of the ones we saw outside of the small village. Locane had told me they were Brhadirian guards, but seeing them march towards us now with the golden crest of a dual faced sun on their gleaming silver armor, the crushing knowledge that these are Quinndohsi royal guards weighs me down.

Just another lie.

“Well, Locane, if you aren’t even able to hold onto a glamour anymore, I’m not sure the iron dart is necessary. You look terrible ,“ the largest of the guards says. Terror grips me when I see that it’s the exact same one from the village that threw a lasso of fire and yelled for us to stop.

With the large mans dark features—so similar to Locane’s—how had I ever believed he was anything but a Quinndohsi guard?

Locane musters enough strength to right himself again, and I clutch onto him tightly. “And you look as much the lapdog as you always have, Kraeston,” he says back without fear.

Of course, they know each other.

This Kraeston laughs before reaching a hand to me. I recoil away, leaning further into Locane. Kraeston’s brows knit together while he extends his hand further to me.

“Come, Princess. There is nothing to fear. Your Nana and the king will be so relieved to see that you’re alright.” His aura exudes kindness, and the energy he is giving off could only be described as bright.

Locane squeezes me, his face painted with intense adoration before kissing me again. I’m frozen as I process the royal guard’s words.

Princess.

Kraeston narrows his eyes with confusion as he watches us kiss and takes in how we hold each other .

“Princess?” I breathe shakily, my voice barely audible when Locane pulls his mouth from mine.

Alarm covers Kraeston’s dark eyes as he studies Locane and I further. Kraeston’s wide eyes search my frightened and confused demeanor and dart back and forth between us with suspicion. Finally, his face shows clarity and he releases a pained sigh.

I turn to Locane, incredulity coating my face. “Princess?” I ask again, louder, but still I don’t let go of him.

Kraeston runs a massive hand riddled with burn scars down his face. “Fuck,” he breathes before taking a deep breath and turning towards one of the horsemen.

There are twelve guards total, including Kraeston. All of them are staring at us with gaping mouths. Some appear confused, others amused as they shake their heads in clear disbelief.

Kraeston turns back to Locane. “What have you done, old friend?”

“The iron for him?” a timid sounding guard asks Kraeston, holding out another dart.

Kraeston shakes his head. “No. He’s still got hold of her. He’s too drained to do anything more,” he whispers under his breath, but I hear him all the same.

Locane still has hold of my mind, despite the iron coursing through my system. I shouldn’t be surprised that his manipulations aren’t over. I nearly left with him. And still I can’t bring myself to unwind my arm from around his waist.

“Go and warn them,” Kraeston tells a horseman wearily. He stops him short with a hand on his arm before saying quietly, “Warn him verbally first.”

The guard nods and turns on his horse, knocking his heels into its hind and making it take off at a gallop .

I don’t know what’s going on. What’s left of my pride won’t let me admit that any more than I already have in front of these men about to take us captive. Whatever is happening with being called ‘princess’ must be some kind of mistake.

It must.

Five of the guards come towards us. My grip tightens on Locane, paralyzed with fear of whatever is going to come next. Kraeston steps forward and gently, but firmly, unhooks each of my fingers from Locane’s arm before pulling me away. Locane gives no fight as the other guards shackle his arms behind his back with plain steel cuffs.

“I’m sorry for darting you, Elly. I hope you can one day understand why I did it and forgive me. Everything will all be alright,” Kraeston tells me reassuringly.

I’m in too much shock to say or do anything other than follow his lead and allow him to hoist me up to the back of his horse. He climbs up behind me and puts a respectful arm around my waist to hold me steady.

Breaking out of my silent stupor, I turn to him with uncertainty. “No chains for me?” My voice sounds childlike despite my attempt to be bold, and I fold in on myself, embarrassed.

Kraeston glances down at me with care that makes my stomach churn and shame swell. “No, Elly. No chains for you.”

Kraeston looks around at the party, checking to make sure Locane is secure and has a leather gag placed in his mouth before nodding his head forward. I follow the direction of his motion, towards the towering, glittering sandstone palace looming over the northern portion of the city.

“Let’s go,” Kraeston commands, and the convoy begins to move.