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

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

ALEC

T he moment I get back, I trash the room to match exactly what I saw in Mhaylene’s vision. After feeling certain it is right, I put the alcohol to use and start to drink. I revel in the burn as whiskey scorches a path down my throat. It brings me a moment’s reprieve, briefly filling me with the warmth I am so desperately craving, but it never lasts long.

I just chase it with another.

Making the scene match will not make Ellya come to me any sooner, but it brings me a semblance of comfort knowing that the setting is right. I leave briefly during the day to bathe, change, or see to my kingly duties, only making brief appearances at council meetings.

Before Father died, but was too overtaken with his own ideas, Mother had gotten used to ruling in his stead. I am eternally grateful for her, as well as my youngest sister Cescily for stepping up for me during this nightmare fiasco. They have done so happily, with nothing but grace. Everyone was devastated on learning what Locane had done. We grieved together over his mental deterioration and when he fled; we grieved together again over his recent treachery.

Although there is a long history of kings losing their minds in this family, a positive is the gift that is passed through the line. The magic of the Vahnsing’s allows for someone else to sit the throne while everyone sees the face of the king they expect and hear his voice.

The King of Quinndohs finding a queen is a crucial decision. Queens often end up taking over in the end. The title of king being more of a figurehead nearly as often as not is a well-kept family secret. Mother teaching Cescily, and some of my other siblings, the ways of ruling was an added insurance. Mother does not have the mental gift that was passed from Father, but there is always an heir around to extend the magic when needed. Another thing our family is known for, having many children. I am the second of nine.

My duties as king have been my priority since taking the throne, making a point to rule and not fall back on the women of this family who do not get the credit they deserve. It is cruel. Just another reason why I was so adamant on Ellya carving her own path after I briefly entertained the idea of having her raised here. Ellya may just end up sitting in the same place Mother has one day; but the Fates made that choice for her.

Making a point to uphold my responsibilities during the day, I often find myself drawn back to the study even before the sun has gone down. Every night I anxiously hope that it will be the night. I am met with disappointment again and again.

I have essentially lived in this gods forsaken study for going on three moons.

My fear and anxiety grows with each day that Ellya does not come, worried that Mhaylene’s vision was somehow incorrect. Or perhaps I will be waiting here for Ellya for years. The animalistic rage that I felt in the first moons cycle has faded. The madness that I thought had come for me in those first days has long since abated. But much more of this agonizing anticipation will surely drive me right back to it.

I regularly curse Mhaylene for even telling me, often wondering if being completely unaware would have been better. This waiting is torture. The days drip by like cold molasses, and I am unable to focus on anything to try to pass the time.

Sleep still eludes me. When I do manage to drift off it is only during daytime hours, and I only allow it to take me under while I am in my study. My fear is that if I fall asleep elsewhere, I will not wake up in time and will throw off the trajectory of what is to come.

Cabin fever is well and truly setting in now; the pressing of the walls have me jumping at the slightest movements. Mhaylene staged an intervention from my mother, Cescily, Kraeston, and my brother Caison. All of them begged me to leave the palace for a day after I got angry with Mhaylene for not being willing to commit to being in the study every night like I have. Her excuse of, “Everything will happen as it should, when it should,” finally sent me over the brink. I screamed at her in a fit of rage, throwing my glass of whiskey against the wall right by her head.

When I came down from my raging, I was filled with ugly shame over the way I had reacted to Mhaylene. None of this is her fault, and though it pains me to hear the words every time she says them, I know that it is true.

I am not acting myself.

Because I felt like it was the only proper apology to Mhaylene after my outburst, I begrudgingly left this morning, applying a glamour to not be recognized. While I love my people, I am not in the mindset to socialize as king. Although I did not stay out long, I can admit it helped. My head is lighter and the suffocating claustrophobia of being inside too long eases. When I do go back into the palace, the walls are no longer closing in on me.

I pass the rest of the day reading and writing in a sitting room downstairs—my bottle of whiskey not far away. Cescily joins me briefly before moving along to more enjoyable company. As the sun begins to fade into the promises of dusk, I am calmer than I can remember being since starting my vigil, not heading back to my post with the haste I usually do. The sun has nearly set by the time I go upstairs.

Opening the door to the study, I am surprised to see Mhaylene there waiting. She takes me in and smiles. “You look a little better than you did this morning. I’m glad the fresh air helped.”

I scowl at her. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

She grimaces then shakes her head back and forth considering her words. “Not a compliment. Maybe praise? But you could have changed.” Mhaylene wrinkles her nose in distaste at the unkempt state of my clothing. I have been an absolute mess.

My glare conveys how much I do not appreciate whatever her intention was.

I grab the ever-present decanter of whiskey, pouring myself a healthy drink.

“Oh, pour me one as well, then.” She pushes an empty glass towards me, and I pour two fingers of amber liquid.

“Why are you here, Mhay? I have been hard pressed to convince you to come at all lately.” I walk to the window, taking in the pool below surrounded by hibiscus and lotus flowers, the pinks and whites intermingled together.

“Well…” she starts off cautiously. “We haven’t talked about what happens when Ellya returns to us. You have been a little too distant—and let us say touchy—for anyone to bring it up.” Mhaylene pauses. “I am sure we can expect her to be traumatized.”

She says this like I do not already know. I open my mouth to retort angrily that all that matters is that Ellya returns, and we will take whatever comes, as it comes, but metal armor clanging noisily and heavy footfalls thudding down the hall stop my words.

I turn in time to see a guard run through the door.

“My king,” he pants, his face red and shining. “We’ve found her. We got them both at one of the ports.” I turn wildly to Mhaylene. “But…” the guard starts hesitantly.

“But what?” I demand.

“We think the damage is worse than initially expected.” The guard seems fearful, recoiling away slightly.

“Show me,” I demand, taking a step towards him.

He holds a hand up to halt me—a bold move that sets my teeth on edge.

He is terrified of my outrage over his denial to willingly allow his king to see into his mind. “Kraeston advised that I warn you verbally first,” he croaks out quickly, the sweat of his brow increasing.

My face drains of color and a bout of dizziness takes me over. I swing towards Mhaylene again. Her face is pinched with worry at the hint of damage done if Kraeston believes I need to hear the words to prepare myself for what I am to see.

“Go on,” I implore.

“Princess Ellya doesn’t recognize Kraeston, and she was confused when he called her Princess. She was fearful when he told her the king would be happy to see her, and…” His face is turning a sickly shade of green, and I can tell he does not want to continue.

“Tell me now, or I will bleed you slowly after I rip the scenario from your head,” I snarl .

“Well, when we came upon them, they didn’t notice us at first. They were embracing. And they shared a quite passionate kiss. Kraeston iron darted Princess Ellya to keep her from jumping. He nearly got your brother but barely missed. It doesn’t matter though, Locane can’t do anything. He’s in bad shape. When they were caught, the princess was reluctant to release Locane. She looked at him quite affectionately.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing. “They are on their way. Kraeston had your brother put in steel rather than iron chains because he believes the princess is still under Locane’s control, even with the iron dart.”

My lungs heavily fill with molten hot lead. “You may go,” I choke out, unable to bring myself to see the scene he painted for me. The guard leaves, closing the door behind him, but it does not latch and swings back open a fraction.

I did not think it could get any worse, but it fucking has.

“Alec.” Mhaylene’s voice is far away—as if my head is submerged under water.

My back hits the cool glass windows behind me as I stumble backwards. Blood rushes noisily in my ears while I steeple my hands and bring them to my face, covering my nose and pressing into my eyes. Swallowing down the bile burning its way up my throat, I loosen a shaky exhale that rattles my head.

I did not think there was any part left in the cavity of my chest to hurt, but a brand-new heartache has reared its ugly head with possibilities I had never even considered.

Ellya’s last words to me were spoken out of anger, but has she truly chosen him?

Or does Locane’s manipulation run that deep ?

Both possibilities are gutting. The prospect of either feels like jagged steel ripping through my sternum, turning my very existence into living agony.

I fight the urge to be sick on the floor.

“Alec!” Mhaylene is before me now, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I understand that you’re experiencing new levels of hurt and betrayal, but Elly is coming.” Her voice is urgent.

Rubbing the tips of my fingers roughly against my eyes, bright spots erupt behind my lids. “Fuck!” I scream. Removing my hands from my face, I roll my shoulders. “You are right,” I admit. “Yes, you are right.”

Striding over to the desk, I throw back the remaining contents of my drink, then Mhaylene’s immediately after. She follows me and plops down in the desk chair, watching me with worry as I refill a glass. I hastily toss it back as well before I place my hands on the desk and lean forward. My eyes close while I take a moment to compose myself the best I can, trying to quell the darkness that churns within and aches to be let loose.

Again, Mhaylene was right. We should have spoken more—turned over possibilities—and prepared better for this moment.

But here we are.

Returning to the windows, I put my back to the door. The party is just visible from this vantage point as the convoy disappears under the porte cochere. My fists clench, and I place them behind my back, holding a wrist in one hand to keep from punching a hole through the glass of the arched window in front of me.

We spend the next few minutes in silence waiting for them to come through the house. My heart races, and my stomach roils. I have been waiting for this day for months, but now that it has arrived, I am terrified.

I hear them approaching in the hall. Ellya’s gasping breaths slice through me like daggers. The whisper of the door being pushed open reaches me, and I squeeze my eyes shut while they enter the room, allowing myself another few seconds to drown before pulling in my composure.

“Oh, Ellya.”

Mhaylene’s tone and following sobs tell me all I need to know about the state Ellya has returned to us in. I swallow thickly, one more time, attempting to push down my own overflowing emotions. My head turns just a fraction, catching a glance out of the corner of my eye—as if the action could ease me into what I was to face.

It did not matter.

Ellya’s erratic sobs increase. I turn to her fully and fail to hide my anguish. She is but a shadow of herself. She is thin—so thin. Her collarbones jut out sharply, the skin stretched over them as if they will puncture through at any moment. The ever-present rosy color of her cheeks is absent, and the areas surrounding her eyes are dark and shadowed. Ellya’s long, chestnut hair lacks its normal luster, and it appears the texture of straw at the ends. The blood dried beneath her nose and coating the top of her head adds to the alarming picture.

Ellya’s aura is bruised—jaded.

She wears complete shock, as if she was unaware until this moment who she would be brought forth to. Certainly not the identical brother of the man she has been secluded with for these moons. But even the lack of recognition is not the worst part .

The worst part is the confusion and fear that Ellya exudes. It coats the room so thickly that I can taste it in the back of my throat. Her mind has obviously been altered in ways we did not anticipate.

She does not know who she is.

Our eyes meet and finally, the recognition is there. My hope dares to reignite with the spark of Ellya’s light in my chest coming back with a flare. The flame is small and barely flickering; but it is there. I reach up and place my hand over the spot on my chest when the force of our bond barrels through the walls of Locane’s magic. I am overtaken by Ellya’s memory of the first time we met as she relives it, reminding her of what we are.

When it fades, I rub my hand over my chest, and she begins to cry harder, subconsciously mirroring my action. My composure begins to fold with the last vestiges of hers, and my sorrow shines through heavily. Suddenly, I am aware of the guards in the room holding the person responsible for the crashing of our lives.

I am on the verge of turning murderous, and I need them all gone—now.

“I will deal with him later,” I tell Kraeston as calmly as I can, taking in the steel chains around Locane’s wrists. “Use the irons now.”

Kraeston nods at me once, and they leave swiftly. My gaze trails back to Ellya being cradled by Mhaylene.

“Are you hurt?” I ask her, and my words are her undoing.

Ellya hangs her head, closes her eyes, and begins to shake. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

My feet move towards them slowly while Ellya tries to choke the anxiety threatening to drag her under, pulling in stuttering breaths. I fight my overwhelming urge to close the distance and hold her against me—feel her skin alive and warm against mine .

Mhaylene is holding Ellya the same way she used to when these same fits would take hold of her in the days of her Sight gaining in strength. When she would wake from her visions unsure of her reality, whispering to her calming words of assurance.

Ellya has steadied herself by the time I come level with her face, but she refuses to look at me. I cannot stop myself from reaching out to her. My fingers gently lift her face under her chin, making as little contact as possible while our pulsing bond screams at me to comfort her. She closes her eyes tighter, tears still managing to leak out.

“Look at me, my clove.”

I will not breathe properly until her eyes meet mine—until she sees that I am here. I will always be here.

When Ellya opens her eyes with reluctance, her green eyes meet my gaze.

“May I touch you?”

Holding my breath, that second stretches beyond infinity. When she nods at me, all the tension and fear I have been retaining for excruciating months vanishes. The absence of that crushing weight from Ellya’s simple consent dissolves my restraint when Mhaylene passes her weary weight to me. I selfishly grab her into my arms tight, crushing her against my chest and breathing her in—trying to pull her as close to me as I can.

Mhaylene walks towards the door to give us privacy, and I send her a silent request to make sure Ellya’s room is ready for her. She nods and wipes away her tears before leaving us alone.