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

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

D arkness has fallen by the time we make it far enough away from the docks that the overwhelming smell of fish has subsided. The sweet saltiness of the sea continues to permeate the evening air. A subtle lightness in the breeze signals the coming change of seasons, but somehow, I know that true autumn never hits anywhere in Quinndohs, the Kingdom keeping a stifling daytime temperature year-round.

Absorbing the city, I use the sights to take my mind from my racing heart, the rampant and erratic thoughts of my addled mind. The road we are traveling down is narrow, the street is lined with well-kept townhomes made of sandstone.

Large palm trees jut up from evenly placed spaces along the edge of the sidewalk, their fronds draped like protective arms to provide much needed shade. Flicker lanterns of different shapes and sizes line the steps into the homes, casting different colored lights down the street. There’s no traffic and few people outside; the strange emptiness is hollow, only adding to the ominous atmosphere of what lies ahead.

There’s no way out of this situation. My magic has been stifled, slumbering deep within me, until gods know when with the effects of the iron dart. I have no weapon to try to defend myself against these men, and I would be horribly outnumbered if I did .

Locane warned me I would be grabbed immediately by those who imprisoned me, and he was right. I tasted mere minutes of true freedom before they were there. How did they even know where to find us? Either way, Locane was right.

Kraeston called me princess, but he also called me Elly, and I can only assume that princess is just another nickname. Why would a princess have been imprisoned?

My mind is so drained from everything that has happened in the last few moons, I don’t want to think. Answers don’t seem important anymore; I just want to sleep and turn it all off. I don’t care to know who I am or about gems or god power or any other fucking plans for me thought up by someone else. At this moment, even bringing myself to care that I may be about to see Nana is impossible, if what Kraeston said is true. Was her love and care ever real? Or was I just a pawn for her as well?

We turn down several streets until modest townhomes start to morph into grander buildings with plush, green lawns and small front gardens. Decorative gates guard the entryway sidewalks into the large homes and ornate porticos with thick columns adorn the faces.

A tall pergola spans down the sidewalks of both sides of this street and flows with decorative ivy and blooming, purple wisteria, swaying on a gentle breeze, beckoning us towards our destination. Even in my forlorn state, I can’t help but appreciate the wealth and beauty of it.

I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve left the docks, but it doesn’t seem like long enough when we reach an intersection to another more affluent street. A large gate is apparent—a great gaping mouth waiting to devour me whole—with more silver and black clad guards. I know it’s the entrance to the palace. Apparently, a private entrance, based on the surrounding area.

They were expecting our arrival.

Color leaches from my face as we pass through the gate. An impending doom that I can’t explain sits heavy on me, constricting the shallow breaths in my chest. Kraeston has been silent the whole ride, but he suddenly turns tense behind me. I can sense that even he dreads what is to come.

The horses clip-clop over the inclined, dark brick road winding up towards the palace. More palm trees line the wide private drive. Hung between the palms are strings of flickering lights dancing in the deepening twilight hour.

The incline plateaus to flat ground. Palm trees thin to make way for a decorative floral garden and a spanning yard. Everything is lush and exuberant, a living portrait of vivid color and texture. Leaves of palms and sweeping figs swish, their soft whispers carrying across the breeze around bright blooms dotted throughout vibrant greens. The drive circles around to come under an elaborate, looming porte cochere; my stomach twists tighter throughout every step of the gentle curve.

Closing my eyes, dancing flames from lanterns splash orange beneath my clenched lids. I’m desperate for my reality to change when we are under the cover of the porte cochere and all the horses have stopped, the sudden silence jarring.

Kraeston dismounts. Several people talk in soft, hurried tones. A dense blanket of tension coats the atmosphere of the palace; it makes my own coil tighter. My under arms are coated in oily sweat, giving off the pungent honey and onion smell of my terror.

It makes me gag .

Kraeston places a gentle hand on my arm, bringing me out of my fear induced daze. I keep my eyes closed and shake my head. “Please…” I beg pitifully.

“Come, Princess. It will be over soon,” he croons softly, as if trying to coax down a stubborn child. I do feel so like a child right now.

When I don’t move, he gently grabs me by the waist and pulls me down. When my feet hit the ground a single, strangled sob escapes my mouth. My feet falter, tripping heavily over themselves when I try to take a step. My central nervous system has gone haywire, my basic functions don’t want to work.

“Come on, Elly. I’ve got you,” Kraeston says, strong and sure.

He grabs me around the waist and holds my hand, supporting my weight fully and practically dragging me through the double doors. Another pathetic sob breaks free when I take in the stained glass of the open door on my left, slivers of green palm fronds interlaced with yellow beams coming straight from the sun in the top corner.

A style I recognize.

We move through a wide foyer. One wall is made up of arched windows that run nearly floor to ceiling. There are paintings and pictures adorning the walls in between that seem like they have eyes, assessing me with scorn. I avert my own from them, lowering my gaze instead to the shiny, light hardwood floor with an ornate blue runner. With each inch we move, my body quakes and trembles.

We enter a long hallway with multiple doors. One is open to an empty, darkened sitting room that appears to have recently been in use. A half empty drink sits next to a crystal decanter with amber liquid on a low coffee table. An untidy stack of books and loose papers covers the rest of the surface, sitting abandoned.

“This is the residential portion of the palace?” I ask, the ambiance of the building setting in.

Kraeston gives a soft, kind smile. “One of them.”

And gods, it is as silent as the grave.

“You aren’t taking me to some kind of throne room?” I ask, my voice shaking with effort.

“No, Elly.”

Glancing behind me, Locane is still surrounded by three guards. Everyone else is gone. He’s wearing his stoic mask and doesn’t look in my direction, ignoring me completely. He doesn’t convey that he’s at all confused by what’s transpiring, or the fact that he’s in chains—their soft clinking rattling my shaky head—or the fact that I am not.

We trudge up a stone staircase, each footfall heavier and more forced than the last, like desperate hands are pulling me back, trying to save me from what lies ahead. Our footsteps and the ting of metal armor bounce around us in the too quiet residence. We arrive at a large landing on the second floor and turn down another long hallway.

At the end of the hall stands an imposing set of grand double doors, one slightly ajar, as if it’s eager to suck me in to my Fate. My heart pounds, the sound ringing through my ears and drowning out everything around me. My anxious sweat increases, and a drip runs down the length of my arm. I know in my soul that whatever is waiting for me in that room will be my death. A part of me prays to the Mother and all the gods for that relief.

We are only a few feet from the door when any semblance of my composure I had left leaves me, and my steps slow. I start to turn and go back in the other direction, but Kraeston holds me tight and guides me to the door. He drops my hand to grab the brass handle, but he pauses.

I tremble uncontrollably and give him desperate and pleading eyes. I shake my head, causing a welling drop to break loose, a streak scorching a path down my cheek. Kraeston’s lively eyes hold infinite sorrow; but he nods once and squeezes my waist before pushing the door open.

He pulls me into the room, a large study with high ceilings. A mezzanine runs above us; I think it should be filled with people, looking down to judge me.

But the room is nearly empty, save for two.

There’s a large, dark wood desk in the center of the room, littered with books, paper, half empty glasses, and decanters of alcohol. Sitting behind the desk is Nana in all her ageless glory, the same as any of my memories. Her head snaps up, and she leaps to her feet at the sight of me. “Oh, Ellya,” she runs to me, crying freely, and cradles me in her warm embrace.

But I can’t bring my hazy, burning eyes to Nana. Even as she pushes my hair from my face, wipes at my tears, and kisses my forehead. I can’t tear my gaze from the person standing at the wall of windows, his broad back to me.

When he turns, just slightly, to show me his glorious profile, my knees weaken, the floor reaching up to snag me down where I belong. Nana falls to the ground with me, holding me tight, whispering in my ear through her choked sobs that I’m home; I’m safe.

King Alec Vahnsing of Quinndohs turns to face me fully, utter devastation lining every facet of his beautiful, masculine face.

A face that matches Locane’s in every way .

When Locane had his glamour in place to hide whatever sickness ails him, standing the two in front of each other would be the same as standing one in front of a mirror. The only stark difference in their appearance is the length of their dark hair. Where Locane’s is long, Alec has his shorter, pushed back from his face in a perfectly tousled way.

The magnitude of being face to face with Alec hits me like a shockwave, and the most important of memories washes over me when his warm, dark eyes meet mine. Whatever magic Locane used on my mind is no longer able to hold this memory back, the power of this bond shattering through Locane’s dark shadow to remind me of the first thing the Fates had in store for me.

I’m five years old, playing with Nikhos and Lahndro in the courtyard garden while Father, Angelise, and Nana drink their tea. Angelise rocks the baby and coos. Father married Angelise sometime after my mother died.

“Elly, now you throw it to me! You don’t just keep the ball,” Nikhos calls.

I put the ball behind me and whine back, “But I want to keep it.”

Nikhos looks like he’s about to scold me, but instead he smiles at me and says, “You can keep it, Elly.” He ruffles my hair affectionately. Other than Nana, Nikhos is my favorite person. He always sneaks me extra sweets and reads me faerie stories about pretend princesses.

I abandon the ball, letting it roll away to get lost in the shadows of bushes, not really wanting it anymore, and run to Nana. I eagerly climb on her lap. “Are you hungry, darling girl?” I love it when she calls me that.

Smiling, I nod my head. She grabs a plate of fruit and pulls it towards us, telling me to eat what I like. I dig into the apples, my favorite, while the adults talk about silly things .

“When is he supposed to be here, Milo?” Angelise asks Father, talking quietly. The baby must have finally fallen asleep.

“Tomorrow evening, I believe. I was surprised when he sent word that he wanted to visit. It’s been many years.”

“I don’t know why you were surprised,” Nana says. “I told you when I saw him a few months ago that he expressed interest in coming.”

“Well, I didn’t think he would. I’ve lost count of how many years it’s been.”

“Have you heard from the brother?” Angelise asks.

“No, I haven’t heard from or seen Lo since their father’s funeral,” Father says, his voice drooping.

“I saw him in Bokhaii, but we didn’t speak. I don’t know if Alec spoke to him that night or not. But from my understanding, they’re still estranged,” Nana says. Now she sounds sad. I’m about to go play somewhere else. I don’t like it when the adults are sad, but Nana hugs me tight, and I decide to sit a moment longer.

The small gate to the courtyard swings open, a sound I know well since my brothers and I play out here often when I’m at the castle. Father’s sadness goes away, and now he’s surprised. He stands, smiling big and putting his arms out. Angelise smiles too but doesn’t get up. Nana slides me off her lap and stands. Taking her seat, I get back to my apple.

“Alec! But you’re early!” Father walks over to his guest, and I hear them slap backs while they hug. Men are strange. “How are you, old friend? It’s been too long.”

“Alec, I’m so glad you came,” Nana says. I hear a light kiss connecting with a cheek.

Father sits again and asks his friend, “How is kinghood treating you?” His voice is playful, but something about it doesn’t sound real.

A low laugh reaches me, and it’s the happiest sound in the world—as warm as fresh honey dripping from its comb.“It has been an adjustment. Quite different from my last line of work, but it is beginning to settle. It is good to see you, too, Mhay,” the loveliest voice says, his words tilting in odd places that I’ve never heard before. “I apologize for being so early.”

He stops talking when I finally turn around to see who owns that voice, and he’s looking at me. My face splits wide when I see his dark eyes.

“You’ve met my wife, and my two boys over there. This is my daughter—” Father stops talking when I leap to my feet and run towards the man they call Alec. His eyes go wide before he drops on one knee, opening his arms wide to catch me when I jump into him and wrap my arms around his neck.

I don’t remember meeting him, but I know him.

Alec lets out a gasp before I let go of him to see his eyes up close. They’re the same color as melted, dark chocolate and are shiny, but he beams down at me with obvious joy. His smile is so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners before he then glances quickly behind me at the other adults. I follow his stare.

Nana, Father, and Angelise are all standing and staring at us with their eyes and mouths wide open, Nana clutching a hand over her heart. They look funny.

Even Nikhos and Lahndro have stopped their game to see what’s going on. Nikhos starts laughing while the adults still stare, not saying anything.

I turn back to Alec and grin. “We’re going to be best friends!”

He laughs, but a small tear leaves his eye. “You know, I think you are right. ”

Lahndro looks around at everyone acting so strangely, and Nikhos continues to laugh. “What is happening?” Lahndro asks.

Nikhos slaps his knee, hunched over in a fit of giggles before he stands erect. “Ellya has a mate!”

My eyes open as the memory reaches completion and meet the beautiful, depthless brown eyes of my mate. They shine with a light that his twin’s lack, alive and soulful and loving.

Alec absentmindedly brings a large hand to his chest—right above his heart—and rubs softly. I know that he has just relived my memory with me. The weight of our bond has snapped right through whatever magic has made me forget, reminding us that we belong to each other.

As I witness Alec massage his chest, a blinding light within my own flares to life. It fills the shell of an organ that hollowed the moment Locane sliced open my hand and dragged me within his wards. My hand lifts to my chest, mirroring Alec’s action as the intensity of the ancient, living magic of our mate bond makes itself known to me again.

A quiet instinct radiates from that glow, a subtle whisper rolling through my being.

Mine.

With that reminder, so many things begin to make sense. The familiarity I so often felt with Locane, the certainty of knowing him, it was my connection with Alec. I was recognizing the pieces of Alec in his identical brother, the two of them having split from each other in the womb.

The memories that felt like they were missing pieces, tiny shards of importance flecked away and lost, the distorted voices, the invisible calming presence, it was him. It was Alec. He was there all along but hidden from me .

A tug pulls in my gut, so strong my back physically arches forward, begging me to go to him. The same sensation I felt so many times before I was put behind the wards of Locane’s making. Realization washes over me that all the times I felt that tug and thought it was Locane guiding me, it was Alec reaching for me, trying to find me while his brother somehow kept us hidden from each other.

I take in Alec’s appearance, almost the same as that day all those years ago when we first met. Only today he’s significantly more worn down. His hair is disheveled, like he can’t stop from running his hands through it with those long, slender fingers. Alec’s eyes are exhausted and red rimmed, like he hasn’t been sleeping, and stress lines crease them at the corners. His black shirt is wrinkled and partially untucked in the front, the long sleeves pushed up unceremoniously past his elbows, and the top three buttons are undone, giving a peek at his dusting of dark chest hair.

I notice the other differences between him and his brother, aside from the hair and obvious decline in health that Locane has only just displayed. Alec’s shoulders are broader, his arms bulkier and more muscled. Even in Alec’s distressed state, he oozes vitality. His dominating presence charges the air, and I can feel his liveliness from across the room. Every inch of him sparkles with life, something that Locane is devoid of. Alec holds himself in a way that screams power, exuding a maturity and stability that Locane is severely lacking. Seeing the two in the same room, Locane’s aura is muted and smudged where Alec’s is bright and enticing, begging to envelop me.

How could I not have known?

How could I not have seen the difference, recognized the manipulation? I was manipulated so thoroughly that I allowed someone who was not my mate to touch me in such an intimate way. A wave of guilt and shame takes me under while I look my mate in the eye and remember how I willingly let his brother touch me; how I enjoyed it; how I begged for it. I’ve committed the greatest betrayal to the person hand selected by the Fates to love me and be by my side for my entire existence. The bond of true mates surpasses any other known connection. Incredibly rare. Infinitely precious.

And I destroyed mine.

The wave hits me again, and I cry out, unable to contain the ripping at my chest any longer. It shouldn’t be possible for a single person to experience all the things I have in such a short span of time. The pressure of it all is enough to explode, and as I accept my reality, I think that I might.

At the sound of my cry, heart wrenching pain crosses Alec’s face, the devastation etched in his handsome features deepening further. That image will haunt me through to true death.

Alec turns to the guards holding Locane and says calmly, the sound of his refined accent soothing me inexplicably, “I will deal with him later.” Locane’s chains clink as he’s being ushered out of the room. Alec adds, “Use the irons now.”

Alec’s hands are clasped behind his straight back, and he stays still and silent until the door closes. It is just us and Nana now. Alec’s throat bobs before he looks at me, eyes shining, and asks, “Are you hurt?” His voice holds such gentleness and care that I can’t breathe.

I’m physically unable to answer. Instead, I hang my head and grab my forehead, trying to shield my eyes, trying to keep him from seeing what I’ve done. What I’ve ruined within myself. What I’ve ruined for us .

“I don’t know what’s happening,” I cry, tremors racking through me. My frantic breaths grow ragged, verging on hyperventilation.

“Alec!” Nana yells with urgency, no doubt knowing what’s coming. She’s sitting behind me, pulling me between her knees and guiding me to the position I need to be in. She gently pushes my head down as I struggle to remember how to breathe.

I don’t hear Alec move to me, but I know he’s there when his comforting scent of worn leather and sea salt surrounds me like a protective hug. A scent so like Locane’s, yet so different. So right .

Somehow, I manage to fix my breathing before the panic attack takes hold, a feat considering all the things warring and raging inside of me. Alec is kneeling in front of me and gently lifts my chin with his thumb and forefinger, barely a whisper of contact on my skin. He drops his hand as soon as my face is level with his. I screw my eyes shut again.

“Look at me, my clove.”

My heart plummets further with his term of endearment, but I reluctantly unpeel my eyes. He swallows a shaky breath.

“May I touch you?” Alec asks me gently. His tear rimmed eyes are pleading, telling me that he needs it.

Unthinking, I nod my head frantically, in this moment needing the comfort and safety of his embrace as badly as he needs to feel me alive against him. Nana pulls away from me right before Alec scoops me into his arms, pulling me close to him. He loosens a shuddering breath, the heaviness of his sorrow releasing with it, before he begins kissing the top of my head repeatedly and whispering to me over and over soft apologies that I do not deserve.