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

35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ELLYA

T he gambling house I’ve chosen is the perfect distraction that I need.

The air is thick with smoke, the sounds of laughter, and shuffling cards. Occasional dice click together before rolling across felt tables, and silver balls rattle through the divots of spinning roulette wheels.

Leave.

The word keeps hissing in my head over and over. I take another drink of ale—trying to drown it out.

I came here with no money, but I quickly caught the attention of a man who was willing to buy my drinks and cover my bets. The superficial rush is almost freeing. In the last several hours, I’ve easily moved from one to the next. I am now sufficiently drunk again and have won enough money to support my own drinks and games.

Sitting at a dice table in a private back room, the scent of stale liquor stings my nose while I watch my newest friend lose the game spectacularly. I groan exaggeratedly with him when his bet is off, yet again. Under the table, his hand rests on my knee.

I stiffen at the touch but smile at him anyway .

“Your parents must have thought you something special at birth to name you after the Mother.” He squeezes my knee gently. I smile like the perfect doll; though the perfect doll might have remembered his name.

“My mother died birthing me. My father blamed me and cares more about my brothers. I was raised by my grandmother because she felt like she had to. Maybe they named me Ellya because they knew I would live up to the disappointment the name became known for.”

He looks surprised and laughs, removing his hand from my knee and placing it around my neck. “A beautiful, cynical woman. Your kind is usually the most fun.” He grins at me suggestively. He smells like rosemary and pepper and his touch against my skin is like splinters of wood, chafing me raw and making me want to recoil away.

It’s all wrong.

Swallowing down the instinct within me screaming to be surrounded by leather and salt, to only be touched by the caring hands made for me, I offer him a forced smile.

Twirling a piece of lilac hair in my fingers, I try to ignore the fact that he’s nothing special. Just attractive enough, with a boyish face and matching boyish grin. He brings his face nearer to mine and nuzzles my hair before sticking the tip of his tongue against my ear. It’s slimy and abrasive. I cringe, my muscles seizing, and I fight to keep the grimace off my face.

As soon as the stranger’s wet flesh meets my skin, there’s a loud commotion outside the door. My gaze turns towards it.

My heartbeat quickens as a dominating presence seeps into the atmosphere—the shine of Alec’s aura—before his foot connects with the door. He kicks it in with force, making it bang against the wall.

My mouth drops, and my eyes widen.

Alec’s taking up the entire doorway, wearing his typical attire of all black and an expression of utter fury. My shock mounts when I see the amount of weapons he’s wearing, both swords strapped to his back and multiple daggers sheathed across his entire muscled body. He’s exuding absolute rage; the tang of it coats my throat and makes me tremble.

Alec’s eyes land on me, draped in another man with his tongue in my ear. His expression turns dangerous, deadly, before unsheathing a dagger in a blur of motion and throws it with expert precision.

The blade sings through the tiny fraction of space between the nameless man’s nose and my cheek, barely a flash of silver, before sinking into the wall.

The man pulls his face away, his tongue rolling back into his mouth.

“My king!” a few people exclaim in near unison before everyone in the room drops to a deep bow. Everyone except me and the man—who may have returned his tongue to his mouth, but is still holding me in his arms.

The patrons gasp audibly.

They sense the bond between me and their king who has just kicked in the door to see his mate being groped and licked by someone else. The one in question’s color has drained, leaving his complexion a sickly green. Still, he doesn’t move.

“Get out,” Alec hisses .

Everyone moves quickly at the command. They work past him standing in the door with great difficulty, taking care not to touch him—his molten eyes never leaving mine.

The man touching me finally breaks out of his fear induced paralyzation. He begins to stand, but Alec shakes his head with a sneer, light bouncing off his dark hair. “Not you.”

I’m too stunned by his sudden appearance to say anything or move at all. A warm glow of satisfaction purrs around my heart at his show of possession.

The man sits back down and whimpers softly, making my skin crawl.

Alec gives the man a disgusted glare before turning to me with hurt and disbelief. “Really, Elly? You would desire for that to touch you? In a hundred lifetimes, he could never touch your worth.”

Alec turns back to the man, voice deadly again. “Are you particularly fond of having hands?”

“I’m sorry, my king. I didn’t know,” the man stammers.

Alec stalks towards him, a predator savoring the fear of his prey.

“Your king asked you a question.” His tone is calm and smooth, brushing over my skin like buttery rays of sun on a spring day.

A dark spot appears at the front of the man’s pants as he pisses himself.

“Yes, yes, my king. I like having hands.” The man is sobbing in earnest.

“Perhaps you should not touch what does not belong to you, lest you find yourself without them.” Barely a twitch is discernible above Alec’s eye, contradicting his calm demeanor.

In a blink, the crying man has pulled a dagger from a sheath at his thigh while laying his left hand on the green felt table. “Please, no! ”

Alec stands, unmoving, as he watches the scene of his own making unfold with delight.

I leap to my feet just as the man swings the blade down, severing his own left hand at the wrist. He wails loud as blood spurts, splattering the table. He cradles the stump to his chest, spraying his chin with each pump of his heart.

“Alec!” I scream.

He ignores me, chest puffing and nostrils flaring hungrily at the sight of blood before he clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Oh dear, it appears as if I will have to take care of the other one myself.” Alec unsheathes a dagger as he casually strides to the man. He tosses it once by the handle, the sharp metal zinging with the flick of his wrist.

He swiftly pins the man’s right hand to the table and brings the blade down, cutting off his other hand.

The man gives a strangled gasp followed by a high-pitched cry as he looks down at both bloody stumps.

Alec’s eyes are filled with cold fire when he brings them to me. “You may attempt to find a Healer to cauterize your wounds before you bleed out,” he tells the man, his gaze staying fixed on mine.

The man gets to unsteady feet and walks a few zig zagged steps before falling unconscious in the doorway. My eyes are saucers, watching the man bleeding out on the floor while Alec stares down at the pitiful heap with boredom.

“I realize I promised you entrails. It can still be arranged, if it would please you. I admit, I got caught up in the moment.”

I stare at Alec in outraged horror. “Why did you do that?”

“Spare me, Ellya. You have killed for far less offenses.” Alec stalks towards me now, radiating fury. “What was it like?”

Another menacing step forward .

“What?” I splutter.

“Tell me what it felt like to have his hands on your body. How did it feel to have his mouth against your skin?” Alec grits through clenched teeth. I gape at him as he throws my words back at me. “Did you like it? Did it feel good?”

Alec closes the distance between us with another slow, deliberate step. He pauses, and then pushes me against the wall roughly, grabbing each of my wrists and pinning them on the wall next to my head.

“You said I wasn’t your prisoner!” I scream.

“And I meant it.”

“You told me you’d let me go willingly!”

Alec’s face leans closer to mine, and I’m blasted with the consuming scent of his leather and salt. “I fucking lied.”

Our bodies are now flush; the warmth of his skin over tight muscles leaches through his clothes.

“You can try to find a life without me all you want, my clove. I will not stop you from running. Just know, every time you run, I will follow you, I will find you, and I will fight for you. I will fight for you until you accept me, or until the bitter fucking end. Whichever comes first.”

Alec watches me, eyes blazing. “You made Cescily a promise today,” he says, breaking me out of the trance of his intensity.

“Fuck you!” I scream.

He pushes me against the wall harder. “Yes, Elly. Fuck me,” he says quickly, spitting the words with a sneer. “But you will fulfill that promise. You will come home—“

I cut him off abruptly. “Your palace is not my home!” I bring my knee up, attempting to connect with his balls. But Alec moves quickly, putting one of his knees between my thighs and wrapping his leg around the back of mine to hold it in place.

I screech in frustration.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Then go back to Brhadir.” The words have no right to sting, but they cut deep into my soul. “Either way, you will not continue to isolate and harm yourself.”

“I’m not hurting myself,” I say shamefully.

Alec releases one of my wrists and in a blink has sunk a blade into the wall next to my head. “Do not lie to me,” he hisses.

Glancing over, I find his white knuckles wrapped around the handle of my dagger kept in my vanity.

My eyes close as hot drops begin to fall, wrenching my anguish from my body.

“You will take a step towards healing if I have to carry you over my shoulder and deposit you directly in front of someone to speak to.” Tears continue to stream down my face, and Alec brushes them gently with his thumb. “Cry all the tears you need, Ellya. I will always be here to help you dry them.”

The sudden tenderness in his voice wraps tightly around my heart, constricting my lungs.

I keep my eyes locked on his. “I fucking hate you.”

“And I love you,” Alec says with honest vehemence, brushing his warm, soft lips across my tear-stained cheek. “With everything that I am.”

My freed hand raises to slap him, but he catches it at the wrist before placing it palm down on his chest, over his heart, his large hand enveloping mine.

“It is yours,” Alec says simply, painfully, before dropping his head. “You know me,” he states, bringing his lips to my forehead, trying to touch what he can’t reach. “I beg you, see me. ”

Alec loosens his grip on my wrist still pinned to the wall and moves our hands to lay palm down over my heart, mirroring the position over his. His forehead falls against mine, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Does my light not still live inside you? Do you not feel me, right here?” Our racing hearts beat in tandem, as they have since the day I was born, each deep pump of mine matching his perfectly. “Because your fire still burns for me. Your light will always live within me. The day it ceases to exist, so will I.”

His flickering light dances in my chest, begging to be fanned and fed. It bounces and fights to grow in strength with his nearness while I try to extinguish it.

I don’t deserve its warmth.

“I feel nothing.”

Alec squeezes our hands tighter. “You are lying.” He pulls his face away to look into my eyes. “You may try to lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”

Alec pulls away, and I barely stop myself from leaning forward to deny the distance being placed between us.

“If tomorrow you wish to return to Crane Hills, we will go. But tonight I am taking you home . “ I don’t miss Alec’s emphasis on the word.

Without hesitation, he clamps a large hand around my arm and pulls us away, reappearing directly in my chambers.

Shoving away from Alec when we land, I waste no time stumbling into bed. I collapse, still in my revealing dress—now stinking and dirty—and my knee-high boots.

Without a word, Alec sits at the foot of the bed and unlaces both boots, sliding them off carefully and placing them at the foot of my bed. He fills a glass of water with the pitcher on my nightstand before handing it to me and brushing hair back from my face. I shy away from his affection.

“Do you lean away from my touch because it brings you physical discomfort? Or is it only the part of you that is trying to push me away?”

Alec’s true question is clear: if it would be counterproductive to keep giving me his soft touches. My eyes close, not bothering to answer. The bed dips next to me, and I wait for another connection, holding my breath for his warmth.

But he merely sits.

“I am staying with you tonight,” Alec states. His nearness is calming, his scent drifting across the empty space between us that’s too far; not far enough.

“You don’t have to do that,” I choke, warm tears dripping onto my pillow from the tip of my nose.

“Yes, I do.” Alec picks up my arm and traces his fingertips down the portion where I dragged a blade earlier today. He slowly brings his mouth to my arm, tenderly kissing the spot from beginning to end.

My eyes close tight, and I lose the fight in trying to deny myself the ease of his presence; the settling comfort of his peaceful energy that I so desperately need. As the minutes stretch on and Alec continues to stay next to me, constant and caring, I become too comfortable.

Before I have a chance to retreat into myself, I fall asleep.

The next morning, I wake facing where Alec sat next to me the night before and find myself alone. He must have gone to his own chambers sometime after I fell asleep. Relief mixed with the twisting sourness of disappointment coats me. Easing off the mattress, I stop short at the sight of something shining against the wall next to my door.

I leap out of bed and bound to it.

Leaning against the wall is a metal staff.

The metal is unknown to me, the color a dark gray with a pearlescent sheen. Etchings of jasmine and vines of ivy intricately decorate the long shaft. The metal continues, unbreaking, to a speared end pointing at the ceiling. Even without picking the staff up and inspecting it closely, I can see the three deathly sharp points and razor thin edges.

Around the center of the staff is a black silk ribbon tied off into an obscenely large bow.

Motherfucker , I think to myself.

Pinching an end of the ribbon, I pull it loose and let it flutter to the ground. Holding the staff up, my breath clogs in my throat when I notice the end that was resting on the ground. I turn it around, putting the spear against the floor and lean the staff forward, putting the blunt end at eye level.

The shiny metal is twisted and pulled to resemble a thorny nest. Cradled in the center is a large, uncut emerald.

The emerald .

I drop it immediately, the staff clattering loudly against the stone floor, not sure what to think.

Did Alec retrieve the emerald after that night in the library?

How did he find it? And why has he gifted it to me in this spectacular weapon? I question if it was him at all, and not maybe Nana, but the massive silk bow after our argument is a glaring indicator that the gift came from him .

Inspecting it closer, I circle my palm around the center and glide it up. The etchings give a tiny bit of friction; the perfect amount to make for a firm grip. A beaming smile graces my face at the intricacy and the thought that went into making this weapon. It was clearly designed and created just for me. I weigh it in my hand, amazed at its perfect balance despite the gem on one end.

Studying the emerald again, light refracts through its depths and sends glimmering beams of green across the floor. Though obviously precious, I’m surprised by how unassuming it is. Upon closer inspection, it appears no different from any other ordinary emerald. The thought crosses my mind that perhaps it is.

My eyes wander to my vanity where another flicker of green catches my attention.

Propping the staff back against the wall, I walk to it. On the surface lies a black leather-bound book, wrapped with a green bow. I slowly pick it up, plucking the fabric loose and letting it fall. The book flops open to the first page, and I let out a soft, “Oh,” of surprise.

On the page is a picture with black lines and sepia tones of Alec holding me as a child while I look through brass opera glasses and smile at the miniscule decorations in Winter Solstice faerie baubles in Crane Hills.

Flipping to a random page, I find another picture of us, Captured from behind as we walk through a garden at Rhydelle Castle, both of us laughing. I continue flipping through the picture book. One picture portrays me asleep, while Alec sits by my bed reading. One shows Alec smiling fondly at me as I smell a large peony. Another shows me tucked tightly under Alec’s arm after I killed the woman in the square .

I snort a laugh at the precious memory—and how he clearly encouraged me to kill her.

Throughout the book is a montage of mine and Alec’s memories together, witnessed by Kraeston who must have used his gift to create these pictures. A visual history of our friendship and eventual courtship, with me at varying ages and Alec’s appearance always the same as it is now.

A physical reminder of all the things I have been made to forget.

I know I should put it down. I know that I should stop looking through these portraits of a girl who no longer exists. But I consume every last one, taking in the great details despite myself. Emotion coats my throat as I finish perusing the picture book and gingerly place it back where I found it.

My shaking hand angrily dashes away a tear as a sea of mourning flows within me. A grief I can’t fully grasp as I have no recollection of these memories, of this carefully built relationship. I angrily try to quell the cresting wave that is steadily threatening to pull me under.

It’s then I notice hanging off the end of my exposed wardrobe is a vest of sorts with leather straps and I dive headfirst into the distraction. It has a small rolling clip that is meant to be worn on the back. I slide the straps over my shoulders, and reach back to secure the staff, relieved to have a distraction from the book. My staff slides into place easily with a light click. I shake hard, trying to dislodge the weapon from its holster. It doesn’t slide an inch.

My eyes scan myself in the floor length mirror.

The gift is undeniably beautiful, and I’m eager to use it, to see what the power of a god can do. I remove the holster and place it on my unmade bed while I run to shower. After I bathe, I dry quickly and change into one of my new outfits: form fitting, high waisted, leather pants and a gray low cut sleeveless shirt. I apply my makeup the way Makhoi taught me, dark kohl lining my eyes and mouth painted wine red.

My lips tilt smugly at my appearance, my new weapon making a perfect accessory. Lacing up my magicked boots, I pause, grinning with an idea.

I twist my hair up into a tight bun and secure it before wrapping it with the large section of black, silk ribbon—tying it into a large bow.