“Someone stop her!” Nymane shrieks.
The rest of the Councilspirits rise from their thrones like the blackened trees of Veltuur, their limbs writhing and frantic. They shout commands at each other and the shadows that lurk in the room, calling on them to recapture me before I can slip away from Veltuur.
But they are too late. I can already feel it. The shackles that have kept me bound to the underrealm have been broken. The crow at my feet dissipates like smoke with a soft, peaceful sigh.
As I lift my chin to the Council above, Veltuur shatters out of view and I am sucked back into the realm of the living.
24
Home No More
Acari
“I can’t do this,” I say to no one but myself and the horse I’m riding, the one I found just outside the bandit—I mean, the Guardian camp. Its body jerks beneath me, but I do my best to hold on tight.
Yes, you can do this.
“No, I can’t.”
Yeah, you’re probably right. You can’t.
“See? Even my own mind agrees with me. I wasn’t made for this.” I groan before adding, “The Divine Lorik must be laughing down at me.”
Though the Reaper I met in the woods never gave me an exact deadline, I get the feeling like I don’t have long to end this before they send someone to take Gem. Besides, the longer I wait, the more I’ll think about the repercussions and the greater risk there is that I’ll talk myself out of doing this. I can’t let that happen. I have to do this, for Gem. She is better off alive and without me than she is dead.
I dig my heels into the mare’s flanks, and she whinnies, her hooves galloping harder, faster.
As we approach the kingdom, we settle into a calm gait, but being on a horse draws more attention than I need. I can’t let word reach my father that I’ve returned. He can’t expect me.
I tie the horse off at the first tavern we come across.
After being knocked unconscious on the forest floor, an encounter with wolves, and riding a horse for far longer than I ever want to again, I realize I must look awful, but I play that to my advantage. No one recognizes me as their former future king. Instead, in my rags, in the bloodstained tunic that has thankfully dried to a dirt brown, I manage to blend in quite well. It is, however, the first time I actually pay attention to the grime caked on my skin and under my fingernails. With a grimace, I wipe my hands on my legs, even though they too are covered in dirt.
Maybe once I’m a Reaper, being dirty won’t bother me anymore. Not dirt, not spiders, not my own shadow. It might be the only thing I have left to look forward to: I will no longer be the awkward coward that I am. I’ll be…
Well, I imagine I’ll be more like Sinisa: fearless and brave and powerful and—oh, Divine Altúyur I cannot think about this right now.
Unseen, I make my way to the palace amid the crowd of peasants and merchants. Instead of risking going through the main gates, I take one of the secret entrances, the same one Gem and I raced out of not two days ago.
I close the hidden door behind me, turning around to abruptly run into a servant with a heaping tray. As I stumble to the ground, she manages to pivot and spin, catching the weight of every glass on her platter without a single one of them falling.
“Sorry. I didn’t see—”
“Acari?” Hayliel whispers, and my gaze snaps up to meet hers.
I never thought I’d see her again. My mouth is agape, ready to launch into the hundreds of things I’d like to say to her, but instead they clog my throat and I just sit there, staring, taking every inch of her in like I am seeing a spirit.
Tears fill her green eyes, and she’s on the floor beside me before I can even stand.
“What are you doing here?” she asks slowly, setting the tray down on the marble floor. “Did you save your sister?”
“Not yet,” I admit, steeling myself against what needs to be done. “But I will. It’s why I’m here.”
She draws back. “What do you mean?” The distance gives her a better view of the state of my dirty clothes. She peers behind me. “Where is she?”
“She’s safe, for now. But I don’t think she has much time.” I pause when more servants walk by, their arms overflowing with yarrow, jugs of wine, and trays of decadent figs, chutneys, and other treats.
When they’re out of earshot, Hayliel helps me to my feet. We both stare at where our hands have entwined themselves together, and she is the first to break away, her head lowered.
“Your father, he…he won’t be pleased to see you have returned. Especially not on the first day of the Festival of Wings.”
A dark chuckle escapes me. “No, he really won’t be.”
“What do you mean?
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I just—I have to do something, and he isn’t going to like it. But I don’t think I’ll be able to move around the palace like this,” I say, looking down at the dirt and blood caked on my chest and legs.
“No, you won’t,” she says, before jerking her head. “Come. Follow me.”
Hayliel guides me down the open-air corridors, past curious and worried onlookers, and into the palace’s launder. I don’t normally have use for this place, so I had honestly forgotten it even existed. She grabs me a fresh pair of servant’s garb from a nearby hanging line, and I dress in the far corner of the room, all too aware of my bare skin occupying the same room as hers—not that her skin is bare too or anything, just
