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

24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ELLYA

T he next few days, I don’t leave my room.

I only get up to relieve myself, otherwise staying curled up in bed with blankets around the top of my head. Even when I’m awake, I lay there hoping to go back to sleep just to avoid my thoughts and ebbing reality.

At some point, all the clothes I threw out the window returned to their original spot. I learned that making Kraeston go fetch some in the first place was pointless—as there’s a whole dressing room filled with clothes attached to my bathing chamber.

Nana has taken to sleeping on the couch of the adjoined sitting room after I had a fit of screaming the night I sent Alec away. I’m not sure if I was asleep or awake, but the overwhelming sense of being lost hit me, and I began clawing at the walls, unsure of where I was. I came to with Nana shaking me. She held me and assured me that her arms were reality.

It took a while for me to believe her.

I haven’t fought back about her sleeping in my room. I’m not sure I have any fight in me currently for anything. Other than when she tries to make me eat. It always ends with me taking a few begrudging bites just to convince Nana to leave me to my solitude for a few hours.

On the fourth day, I’m woken by a sharp tap on the top of my head.

“Ow!” I yell, rubbing the spot.

“Rise and shine, Elly!” Kraeston says merrily. I shoot him a glare before wrapping back up in my satin cocoon. He hits me on the top of the head again. “Time to get up.”

Turning over, I glower at him.

Kraeston taps me on my forehead with whatever implement he’s holding—a wooden staff. “Time to get up,” he repeats.

“I don’t want to.” My body wiggles deeper into my nest, making no effort to rise.

“Oh, come on, Elly. You’ve never turned down a fight. Show me what you’ve got. It’s been a long time.” He taps me again playfully.

“I don’t want to,” I say with more emphasis.

“I know you don’t, but staying in bed forever is not an option.” Kraeston goes to my exposed wardrobe, flips through the garments, and chooses something for me to wear. He throws the clothes to me and says, “I’ll wait outside while you bathe. You stink.”

“You can’t just barge in here and demand that I bathe and follow!” I bellow with incredulity.

“Should I send your mate in here to convince you to get out of bed then?” he asks with a knowing smile. “Or Mhaylene? From what I’ve heard, you’ve been enjoying her conversations nearly as much as Alec’s.”

The little color I have in my face drains.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll give you twenty minutes before I send them in. Maybe together. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall the last time that happened.” Kraeston chuckles to himself as he makes his way out of the room.

After the door closes, I don’t move and consider ignoring him. As much as I dread leaving my small safety net, I dread even more the idea of being alone with Alec. Especially after our last interaction.

I take little time to bathe and change. A sleeveless, heather gray shirt and matching cotton pants hang sadly off my body, proving everyone’s concern with my lack of appetite is founded, but I can’t stop my stomach from being filled with leaden acid every time I try to eat. I’ve practically been living off honeyed tea and small bites of fruit for the last several days.

I’m sure physical training will be a blast.

Twisting my wet hair, I pile it on top of my head, securing it tight—the mass of hair feels heavy on my weakened neck. When I swing the door open, it bangs against the wall, showing my displeasure in a childish fit.

Kraeston is unbothered.

“Happy?” A sneer curls my lips.

“Getting there,” he answers cheerfully and then extends something wrapped in brown paper. “You can eat on our way to the training pitch.”

“I’m not hungry.” My arms cross over my chest, refusing his offering.

Kraeston unfurls a hand and plops the paper down, closing my fingers around it. Inside the paper is a fluffy cinnamon roll.

“Yes, you are. Eat, or again, I can get Alec to come convince you.”

Shoving Kraeston’s arm, I begin walking towards the staircase, taking the lead despite not knowing where I’m going .

“We will get some protein in you when we finish.” Kraeston claps me on the shoulder—buckling my knees—and strides ahead of me.

I’m seething.

When we reach the ground floor, we walk for several minutes through a maze of halls and corridors while I choke down my food. Kraeston offers me a small glass water bottle with a smile. He is still carrying the staff in his right hand, using it as a walking stick.

I’m already weak before we make it to our destination; my sedentary lifestyle and lack of food have taken a toll in just a few days.

“Where are we even going?” At least fifteen minutes have elapsed, and we’re still walking.

“We’re almost there, Princess. You can jump back. You need to drain some magic anyways, and I’m not sure blasting electricity through the ground is the best idea for you right now.”

“Why didn’t we just jump over here if that was even an option?”

“Because I’m bringing you over here to train, not nap,” Kraeston laughs.

“And we just have to do this in some official training ring?”

“No, but we’re going to.”

Only moments later we make it to a large, wooden door that Kraeston pushes open. I squint and shield my eyes from the bright sun as we walk out onto the balcony of a sunken circular pitch. Curved stone walls surround the pitch covered in black banners with the Vahnsing family crest—a silver and gold dual faced sun with the moon covering the right half.

There’s a lot of noise coming from below, grunts and groans interlaced with the ring of steel against steel. I sidle my way to the edge of the balcony to watch the ring below with Kraeston right beside me.

A sharp inhale breezes past my lips when I see who is causing all the noise.

In the center of the fighting is a shirtless, sweat slicked Alec, wielding a large sword in each hand. It’s him against eight guards, and he’s winning.

“So much for your promises,” I tell Kraeston.

He laughs. “I never promised Alec wouldn’t be here. I just said I wouldn’t bring him to you. But for what it’s worth, I didn’t know he’d be here. Forcing you out of bed today was my idea.” Kraeston doesn’t seem guilty in the slightest. “You can’t avoid him forever, Elly.”

Peering back down to the fight, it truly is a sight to behold. Alec is utterly savage as he kicks a guard in the chest—sending him flying—and turns to clash swords with two more. He disarms one with a lightning quick swipe, the sounds of sliding metal slicing through the air, while he cuts into the leg of the other, the guard shrieking loudly.

With three down, Alec turns to the rest.

Two of them stop dead in their tracks with just a piercing glare from Alec and begin fighting each other instead.

Another drops his weapon and removes his helmet, putting his head in his hands as he falls to his knees and lets loose a bloodcurdling scream.

The noise makes the hairs on my neck stand in my pebbled skin.

Alec rounds onto the last two guards, twirling the sword in his right hand before dropping into a stance of defense, waiting for them to charge him .

They hesitate, but not out of fear of hurting their king, but more out of fear for themselves. It’s clear the guards Alec’s fighting with haven’t been holding back on him. He’s just that skilled.

Alec’s sweaty onyx hair is falling over his forehead, a different messy look from his usually pushed back style. Blood flecks his fists closed around the hilts of his swords. At this moment, he’s completely barbaric.

My skin flushes at the sight.

Frustration cuts through Alec’s raging determination at the guard’s hesitancy to attack.

It’s only now that I notice the brutal scars covering the right side of his chest. When the remaining guards finally charge him, he releases a roar and returns the attack, showing me his back and where the three jagged lines run over his shoulder, ending just below his shoulder blade. The strong muscles of his back ripple in effort as sweat glistens on his skin.

The sight of it all working together is nearly too much.

A gasp leaves my parted lips.

Kraeston laughs at my reaction. “And it’s all yours, Princess,” he says, taking me off guard, and I splutter. “Don’t act like you weren’t admiring the view, Elly.” Kraeston quirks a brow, watching me with an odd look of expectation. “I can’t help but admire it myself sometimes.”

Fire seeps into my veins, tinging my vision red, and the spools of electric thread in my belly wake—humming and ready to attack. I bare my teeth at Kraeston, and he bellows a laugh.

My irrational fit of jealousy instantly dies, and I pull my composure back in.

“It will give your mate a semblance of hope knowing you got jealous of me calling him attractive. ”

“Do not tell him that!” I snarl.

Kraeston shakes his head, laughing, and beckons me down the stairs that lead into the pitch as the sounds of fighting die. “Alright lads, fix yourselves, or go find a Healer.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my eyes glance timidly towards Alec to catch him guzzling water from a glass bottle—his neck working with each pull.

Pushing down my own swallow, I force myself to look away.

Kraeston walks to a rack of weapons and begins inspecting an impressive assortment of staffs.

“I’m capable of choosing my own weapon,” I shoot and walk towards the rack.

Weighing a couple of different options, the fire of Alec’s stare prickles the back of my neck; that gentle tug in my stomach pulls at me. My muscles work of their own accord, and our gazes meet for a brief second. Longing burns clear in his dark eyes, but he tames his expression and nods at me once before leaving.

“What happened to his shoulder?” I dare to ask Kraeston after I’m sure Alec’s gone.

Kraeston smiles at me fondly while I stretch. “You should ask him yourself.”

My eyes roll as I walk to the center of the ring with a weapon that’s comfortable, nearly identical to the one Locane made for me at the country house in Brhadir.

Not Locane . The thought hits with a twist in my gut.

He never made that staff at all. Alec had all of that there for me. I shove the thought from my mind and shake my head at Kraeston. “I’d rather not. ”

He’s facing me in the center of the ring now, preparing his stance. I do the same, practicing a basic spin to get my hands acquainted with the weapon.

“I know you’re angry with him, Elly—and rightfully so—but you should talk to him.” Kraeston comes at me with a lazy jab that I quickly smack away.

“You’re not even trying,” I deflect and catch him with a strike on the shoulder.

Kraeston pretends to be wounded before smiling at me. “We’re just warming up, Elly. You need to build your stamina back up before we really fight.”

He swings a strike, matching the one I just used. I quickly block overhead, the wood clacking against each other loudly.

Moving with swiftness, I come at him with a cross strike. Kraeston matches it with one of his own, determining my movements before I make them.

Maybe I’m the one who’s not trying.

I attempt to throw him off with a quick spin behind my back before coming at him, but he quickly blocks me.

I throw the staff in frustration, already prepared to give up this fruitless endeavor.

“You’re out of practice, Princess. It’s been months. Don’t be hard on yourself,” Kraeston tells me as he hands me water.

“It hasn’t been months, it’s been a few days. And I had no problem besting—“ I cut myself off abruptly, “my last opponent.” I try to recover the slip, but the damage is done. I expect Kraeston’s expression to turn gentle again, but he merely shakes his head.

“That doesn’t count. You weren’t in control and were unwillingly riding the coattails of that insane dark magic. Besides, Locane’s a shit fighter. Always has been. If that’s all I had to train with, I’d decline in skill too.” Kraeston takes another swig of water before smiling at me. “But don’t worry, Elly. We’ll help you get back to where you need to be.”

I suspect he doesn’t only mean physically.

“Where is he?” I ask, my eyes cast down.

Kraeston searches my face for a moment. I don’t expect him to answer, but he does. “He’s in the dungeon under the palace. Heavily guarded and dripping in iron.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “He won’t get you again.”

I angrily shake off the gentle touch. “I don’t want your platitudes.”

“I’m not sure I’d call that a platitude, but sure. You’re right. No one can really promise that until Locane is dead.”

I stop in my tracks—an uncomfortable squeeze clutching my gut. “Is he going to be executed?”

Kraeston gives me a searching look. “Would you be upset if he was?”

That’s a good question. I wouldn’t say I developed a loving affection for Locane. In fact, he often made me feel terrible. About myself, about the world, about everything. He’s utterly deranged and dangerous; the idea of him with godlike power makes me shudder. I haven’t asked anymore about the gems since I argued with Nana and Alec. I don’t currently have the capacity to care.

But do I want to see Locane dead?

“I can see your brain working, Princess. To answer your question on if he’ll be executed, Alec is waiting,” Kraeston states simply.

“Why?”

“Because your opinion on what happens to him matters, but you’re not in a place for those decisions yet. Even though I can’t promise, I am very confident that Locane won’t get out. ”

Movement across the pitch breaks my attention from Kraeston. The constriction of my throat eases when a familiar form draped in purple waltzes through an open set of doors and begins walking across the training ring.

Nana smiles wide as she closes the space between us. “Elly, I was hoping I’d find you here when you weren’t in your room.”

“Did you need something?” I ask with a bite.

She gives me a soft smile. “Only to ask if you’d like to train with me today.”

Clearly Nana and Kraeston both had similar agendas to pull me from my solitude.

My shoulders sag, and I open my mouth to turn her down.

“Come on, Elly. Mhay is a much more worthy opponent than me with a staff.” Kraeston gives me a reassuring smile.

With minor reluctance, I show my agreement by going back to the rack of weapons and choosing a simple wooden staff. Nana follows suit.

“You don’t have your fenwood staff?”

“Oh, it’s here. But it wouldn’t be fair for me to fight you with that while you use this sad, little stick.” I chuckle and Nana lights up.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just happy to be spending time with you.”

We stretch for a minute before facing off. “I’ll try to go easy on you, Nana,” I quip.

She laughs. “I doubt that very much.” The purple sleeves of her dress drape towards the ground.

It will never cease to amaze me how Nana fights so effortlessly in all those trailing layers of gauze. Brief glimpses filter through my mind of her insisting I train in a dress—sessions that I found to be miserable. An involuntary smile tilts my lips at the memories.

We both do a quick twirl before dropping into a fighting stance and smile at each other.

Nana lunges for me.

She fights hard on the offense with multiple attack strikes, back to back to back—the purple fabric of her dress floating around her like storm clouds.

It’s all I can do to block her swings. I don’t even try to put in any attacks of my own.

She quickly snags the inside of my staff with a downstrike, disarming me.

“Now, Elly. Remember your strengths,” Nana says calmly, handing the weapon back to me.

She hasn’t even broken a sweat; I’m red faced and beginning to pant.

We begin again, her attacking hard, and me focusing all my energy on blocking.

Remember your strengths .

When Nana comes at me aggressively, I bend my body backwards, supporting my weight on my weapon to hold my back parallel to the ground. I spring forward while she’s catching herself from her missed strike and land a harsh blow on her shoulder.

“Yes! That’s it. Use your speed and flexibility,” Nana praises me, and I beam, instantly reinvigorated.

We continue for over an hour.

Nana bests me often, but my fight and skill comes more naturally to me today than it did during those long days in the woods with Locane. When we finish, I’m sore and shaking from the exertion but more confident in my abilities than when the day started .

Hunger churns in my gut, demanding to be rectified, and I groan happily when I return to my chambers and find a tray of food with soft curls of steam wafting from it. I eat a few small bites of spiced chicken and a piece of charred, garlic flatbread before collapsing on my bed and fall asleep for the rest of the day.