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

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ALEC

T he first days following Ellya’s capture are a surreal blur fueled by animalistic rage. We have every available guard and tracker of both Quinndohs and Brhadir searching for them in every corner of both Kingdoms. We even send some to Salhaas.

There is no telling where Locane might have taken her. The only positive is that he can not jump her across the sea. If he plans to take her to the Mother Continent or Bokhaii, they will have to sail. We have every port up and down the coast watched.

We attempt to keep it quiet that the Princess has been kidnapped, knowing if we shout it Locane will certainly hear and lie low. I hold onto hope that he will immediately attempt to sail away with Ellya, trying to put as much distance as he can between us. He no longer has ties here after abandoning his title, Kingdom, and family.

But Locane is chaos and unpredictability personified, even before he tainted himself with dark and forbidden blood magic. Channeling the unnatural magic will increase power but make it unstable. The stain that shows on the hands also seeps into the mind, quietly eating away at humanity. A catastrophic combination paired with a fanatical obsession to obtain god power. I do not allow myself to think of the ramifications if Locane achieves such power.

Not yet.

Sleeplessness grips me tight. When I try to rest—when I stop moving long enough for thoughts to form—my mind races to dark places with the possibilities of how Locane may be forcing Ellya to bend to his will. She is strong, but that gives me only slight comfort compared to the dangers of a desperate man who has everything to gain and nothing to lose. Ellya’s training in mental shields has not yet begun, and she only has a basic understanding of minimal blocks. Against Locane’s vast power, she is virtually unprotected. Every time I mull over what Ellya could be enduring at any given moment, fury I have never known takes me over and drives me to want to inflict physical damage.

The ability to compel another; see into their mind; alter or implant memories; spin an illusion of any reality I wish does me no good in my raging desire to burn and destroy until what is mine is returned safe and whole. I have never wished for a different gift until now. The swell of power that comes with my fear and rage threatens to incinerate me. I drain the well by making long jumps to search every area until I find Ellya.

I will rip the world to shreds to get her back.

What brings me the most fear is that while I still have her gentle, pulsing glow inside of me, I can no longer grasp our tether pulling me in her direction, that tug that begs me to go to her. I pull on that connection constantly, trying to find my way to her.

Why can I not follow her? Nor is anyone able to find any sign of her at all.

New levels of desperation and despair claw at me as it has been half a moons’ cycle without a whisper. But Milo tracks me down to tell me that his pack of kyniors—said to have been created by Dhystros, God of Creatures, as a gift to the Rhydelle line—had tracked Ellya down. She is gone by the time Milo informs me that the kyniors had found her.

My furious rage bursts free from me in a bellowing roar that shakes the treetops. Milo takes me to the spot where they lost her, and I use my gift on the beasts, searching their memories for anything that might lead me to her. It is always a flip of a coin if my gifts will work on animals or creatures, but I will try anything.

To my relief it works; I see her. My solace blows away like leaves on a wind when the kyniors images of Ellya imprint into my brain. She is filthy, thin, and nearly naked. Her feet are bare with streaks of dried blood marring her skin. Even more alarming than her general undress is the vapid expression she wears. She is completely unaware of anything as she digs in a blueberry bush, absentmindedly pushing them in her mouth without picking away the stems or leaves that come away with them.

Then it is as if a light is flicked on behind Ellya’s eyes, her awareness coming to fruition. Her sudden fear as she hears the kyniors nearing is smothering when she attempts to hide from them in a thicket of littaweeds.

I am utterly confused by Ellya’s reaction. She knows these beasts. She has spent her entire life surrounded by them, knowing they are nothing short of docile, loyal puppies for her family. The kyniors would sooner combust into flames and burn to nothing before harming her, a princess they were created to protect. The implications of how deeply Locane has affected her by the simple unrecognition of her lifelong pets punches me in the gut and bile creeps up my throat.

But it is not over .

Ellya begins to run in her panic, but she trips. Then Locane is there, appearing from nowhere before grabbing her nightgown by the neck and pulling her to her feet. The way Ellya looks at Locane tells me she has no recognition of him either. And then they are gone.

Staying with the kyniors after that, I cling to the possibility that they may track her down again; but this time I will be there.

Kraeston finds me on a particularly hot afternoon, apologetic and beside himself at his failure. He and two guards under him were stopped off in Glehsdor, a small village at the base of the mountain. A group of women found them to report they saw the princess on the road leading into the village, disheveled, trying to hide beneath a cloak, and traveling with a menacing looking man. One woman said she knew it was the princess because she had accompanied her father to a meeting with King Milo that the princess was present for. Kraeston and the guards saw Locane on the road just in time before he turned and disappeared into a break in the trees.

“We didn’t see Elly, so we tried to follow him quietly, hoping he would lead us to her,” Kraeston tells me.

“And did he?” I grit, balling my fists at my sides and willing myself not to break Kraeston’s jaw. I have increasingly been allowing my anger to bleed and swipe out at every undeserving person around me. This encounter is no exception.

“Aye, he did, my king. But he caught on to us before we saw her. We had to chase Locane through some dense woods. We shot darts at him, but he dodged them all. In a desperate attempt to stop him, I threw a lasso of flames at him, but he reached a clearing where she was waiting and grabbed her. I had to pull my flames back in to keep from hurting Elly. Then they jumped. ”

I have known and been friends with Kraeston since we were children, and he has been my personal guard since my coronation. “I understand if you replace me, Alec. We are all failing you. Failing her.”

My hands shake with my new wave of disappointment until I consider the name of the village, Glehsdor. In my sleep deprived state, I did not initially make the connection, but I know where Locane has taken her.

Guards scouted to the country house my mother had built in the early days of her marriage when her heart yearned for her homeland, and it was cleared at the time. I frequent the house and send crews to clean and stock the place for when I stop to break up the travel. Ellya uses it just as often when she comes to me.

It is just bold enough to make perfect sense for Locane.

I am about to tell Kraeston I know where they are, but a sharp pain sluices across my palm, making me hiss. I glance down to see unmarred skin, realizing that Ellya is hurt, when something horrifying happens. That light encasing my heart that I cherish so dearly starts to dim, like someone slowly turning the key on a flicker lamp, the bright flame fading with each throbbing turn until there is nothing left but the wick. Clutching at my chest, it is as if my heart has ceased beating—ceased existing—with the absence of Ellya’s light.

Ellya is not dead. I can sense that she is still alive, our bond not entirely severed. My knees weaken and hit the soft forest floor beneath me. Hunching over with one hand on the ground while the other claws at my chest, a strangled scream wrenches from my throat. Whatever dark magic Locane has dabbled in, I am now certain that he has invoked some on my precious mate.

But to what extent ?

Kraeston drops to my side with a tight grip on my shoulder. “Alec!”

Not bothering to placate him, I grab the collar of his tunic, pulling him with me straight to the grounds of the house. Kraeston knows me well enough to lean his magic into mine for the combined jump, and we effortlessly fade into the void, Kraeston’s weight slipping through nothingness along with mine. I am ready to tear down whatever wards Locane has placed around Ellya to hide her from me and dampen our bond, reducing her flame in my heart to nothing but shadow.

We land out of sight of the country house, barred far from where it sits by Locane’s wards. I run in the direction it sits but quickly hit an invisible barrier, dark magic sizzling and burning my skin like acid. Great bubbling blisters appear on my hands. They do not start to heal immediately like they should. Pacing the perimeter of the wards, I run my hand along it, hoping to find a break. I pay no attention to the pain and flaying of my flesh with the denial of my intrusion.

I let loose an animalistic roar, causing a flock of birds to flee screaming from a nearby tree, the beat of their wings pounding against the air like that of my racing heart.

“Fuck,” Kraeston hisses behind me. “They’re in there.”

Not answering him, I continue my failed assault on the wards, muttering every incantation I can recall while knowing that they will fail. A portion of the barrier makes me stop in my tracks. On the warm night breeze I catch a fresh whiff of a scent that I would know anywhere; the distinctive smell of cloves wrapped in jasmine, confirming that Locane cut Ellya’s hand, drawing her precious blood to keep me from her .

Where I was an animal before, I am now feral. Screaming at the skies, I bring my fist crashing into the poisoned wall of magic over and over, warm air that whistles with the force of my throws connecting with my exposed knuckle bones. A zap of pain shoots up the nerves of my arm and ignites my shoulder joint with fiery agony while the dark magic crackles and smokes, denying my entry.

“Fuck!” I bellow at the stars, wondering if she could somehow hear me, wondering if she could somehow feel my rage and devastation and know that it means I will not stop until I reach her. The dark hole in my chest tells me that she does not. I try to pull on our tether, but it is lax and never ending, as if it now has nothing to connect to.

It is only when I cannot catch a full breath anymore that I stop my senseless raging and sink to the ground, grasping my hair in my bleeding hands as I frantically attempt to gulp down air.

“We know where she is now, my king. I will go now to get every guard available to surround the perimeter. He will not get away with her again.” Kraeston disappears.

Sitting in the deafening, lonely summer sounds of crickets chirping and a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves of trees, I wallow in my uselessness to help the woman that I live for who is just out of my reach; in how thoroughly I have failed her. The anguish that engulfs me is exacerbated knowing that it is caused by the person I have loved most in this world, other than Ellya.

That closeness of Locane and I throughout our lives is so far away with the years that have elapsed since we had our falling out, long before Father died. Still, I never would have believed he would be so willing to crush me for his own gains. The betrayal when Locane disowned himself from our family—from me—cuts deep, but there was hope for reconciliation.

But this… this is insurmountable.

While I sit alone under the starry velvet sky, I grieve the bond with my identical twin that I had hoped all these years could be restored. I grieve Locane as deeply as I grieve the light of my love that I can no longer find within me. Hanging my head in my hands, I weep. Great, racking sobs that shake my whole body as the weight I have been harboring for weeks crashes down on me.

The absence of Locane felt like a death in and of itself. The absence of Ellya at Locane’s hand fills me with sorrow so deep I will surely drown in it.

I have not moved by the time Kraeston returns. I expect more to show up after him, and I do nothing to stop my tears. But no one else arrives, and the footfalls are much too soft for the large man who’s gait I know well. Lifting my heavy head, I see it is not Kraeston, but Mhaylene who has come and come alone.

My eyes watch her imploringly, waiting for whatever reasoning that the place is not being surrounded at this very moment. Mhaylene looks as if she is sleeping poorly and stress lines her hazel eyes.

“We have to go back to Quinndohs, Alec,” Mhaylene says softly.

The infinitely wise and knowing tone of her voice grates at my ears and irritates me irrationally. My head snaps up at her with disbelief. “Why would I do that when I know that she is in there, Mhay?” I point in the direction of the wards.

“Because Ellya will come to us—in The Capital.”

Mhaylene is telling me without saying that she has Seen it. Standing to my feet, I stride towards her. Without bothering to ask her permission, I clamp my hand around her arm and look into her mind. My gift does not require touch, but it will produce a clearer and more detailed picture .

An aerial view shows my personal study in my residence at the palace of The Capital, as if standing on the mezzanine. Mhaylene is sitting behind my desk, the surface scattered with papers and alcohol. I am standing with my back to the door, gazing out the window at the darkening sky beyond. Kraeston leads Ellya into the room with an arm around her waist to support her weight and guide her forward. A group of guards walk in after, surrounding Locane who is in chains.

It is over as quickly as it began.

Mhaylene’s visions are not nearly as detailed and descriptive as Ellya’s, nor does she see from anyone’s perspective. In Mhaylene’s visions she is always an uninvolved bystander unable to hear the thoughts of anyone. This vision is unusually short and nearly silent, but the details are clear.

“That is it?” I ask disappointed, pulling my arm away from her.

She nods grimly. “That’s it.”

“Any inclination of when this will happen?”

There are no clear indicators of when this will take place, other than Ellya wearing clothes suited for warm weather. That means little given that it is always warm in Quinndohs. Ellya will not age much past where she is now for centuries to come, and Mhaylene is wearing the exact same loose, purple dress she has worn every single day that I have known her—no variation. She told me many years ago that she does this on purpose, giving herself less reason to look forward to something based on her clothing. I curse myself for having very little variation in my own wardrobe outside of my royal regalia for official functions.

Mhaylene places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You could sit here for years trying to get in. But you already know that will not change what is to come. Everything will happen the way it is meant to, when it is meant to.”

With all the respect I have for this woman, I do not have the patience to listen to her infuriatingly true words on how what has been Seen cannot be changed.

Taking one last moment to stare in the direction of the house, my heart longs painfully to hold what is just beyond my reach. Even to be able to just see Ellya—to put my eyes on her and see that she is alright.

Turning back to Mhaylene, I nod once before making my way to my study at the palace.