Page 53 of Between Despair and Hope

I ignored him, looking out the window of the carriage. I couldn’t see anything but open plain, and I had no idea where we were. We must have been in Folterra still. Perhaps closing in on the Cascade.

“Are you missing a tongue, girl?” The king rapped a cane over my knees, and I cried out in surprise before I glowered at him.

“Eat shit, you moldy, old…turnip.” I was annoyed turnips were the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s no way for a princess to speak, though I appreciate the creativity. I’ve lived many years, and never have I been called a vegetable.” He gave a wheezy chuckle as his beady eyes tracked over me. “My sister had a mouth on her like that. Didn’t do her any good. Your grandfather killed her anyway.”

“Lord Kennon?”

He ignored me.

“I think your aunt cursed me, you know, which I might have deserved. But I was avenging my sister and protecting Declan,” he muttered to himself. Cyran had said he was losing his mind, but I hadn’t expected this.

“Lucia wasn’t even born when your sister died, was she?” I argued. Cy had told me little, but King Soren had been married to a Folterran princess at one point. I remembered that, at least.

“No, and that’s the rub, isn’t it? Born as the Beloved, a threat to Declan, and paid for the king’s mistakes in blood. The gods are vicious, are they not?”

I was pondering over what he’d said when I blinked, and suddenly I was seated on a lush pillow inside a tent. What happened? Soft, amethyst fabric rubbed against my legs beneath me, and I was cold in only a thin cotton dress. The dress was white, paired with sensible brown slippers, and I was confused because I hadn’t been wearing it before. King Dryul paced around the tent, using his cane to support him.

“Those useless twits. Don’t they have any respect? I want to be the one who kills the Beloved,” he wheezed. I watched him stumble over a divot in the grass below us. We were clearly in a meadow of sorts, the light smattering of wildflowers a dead giveaway. I moved to stand, but he’d attached my wrists to my ankles. I couldn’t walk if I tried. The king’s cane got caught, and he stumbled, falling to a knee.

“I don’t think you’ll be killing anyone, except maybe yourself.” The king’s eyes snapped to mine, and shadows plumed around him, filling the tent; I couldn’t see. He shoved something into my mouth, and dust went down my throat, the makeshift gag unclean. I wasn’t sure where it came from, and I tried not to lose the contents of my stomach. I tugged at my wrists, reaching for the fabric.

I heard a strange sound before King Dryul spoke.

“I wondered if my useless sons would send my message.”

“I’m here, what do you want?” I gasped when I realized it was Mama, and I shouted through the gag in my mouth.

“It seemed like an interesting bookend. I killed your sister who we thought was the Beloved, so it only makes sense for me to kill you too.”

I couldn’t see a thing in the dark before the explosion. A bright, white heat knocked me backwards, and I looked up to see blue sky above me, the tent on fire. King Dryul laughed, and I scrambled up. Seeing Mama facing off against the man who now sat in a chair, laughing maniacally, gave me untold hope alongside depthless fear. What if she died trying to save me?

Feeling a soft touch on my shoulder, I nearly jumped out of my body. Before I could even turn my head, a man was face down on the ground next to me, his body twitching. King Dryul looked past me and spoke, drawing my attention to the presence behind me.

“My, you devious thing. This is the only time I haven’t doubted you’re mine.” And he laughed, but Cyran dove forward from behind me and began struggling with the rope holding my legs together.

His eyes met mine, and I wished I had kissed him that night.

Cy felt something for me, or else he wouldn’t be here. The way he’d looked at me when his brother took me—I knew it then. And, if we made it through this, if he saved me, kissing him would be the first thing I did.

Mama attacked Dryul again as Cyran finished unbinding my feet. When he took the gag out of my mouth, his thumb traced over my lip, holding my face in his hands for just a moment. It looked as if he was memorizing me, his eyes roaming slowly.

“Cyran, help me; we don’t have time for this.” My eyes caught with Mama’s over his shoulder, and I called out to her when I saw the shadow figure standing behind her.

“Mama, watch out!”

The shadow figure didn’t do much damage as Mama’s fingertips burst with light when she gripped its arms. The ground started shaking right before Dryul launched his body onto her. Cyran hadn’t moved from the spot in which we sat, fingertips tracing my jaw and tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Cyran, come on! We have to help her! I need my divinity!”

“It’s going to be alright, Elora. I’m fixing this. I’m going to wake you up. I promise.”

I looked back at Mama and the king tussling on the ground and screamed, tears running down my face.

“Shh, Elora. It’s alright. Everyone is alright. We are all going to be just fine.” He stood up behind me and pulled me to my feet. “I’m sorry.” His voice was loud, commanding, and it drew Mama’s attention. I was so confused; why was he sorry?

“It’s alright, go! Get her out!”

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