Page 43 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

Mármaro would want to take her back to the Vráchos lands. He’d already said so.

But as crazy as it sounded, as crazy as it might have made her to believe the voice floated on the wind, something tugged at the heart of her. A feeling more potent than any she remembered having, save her revulsion for the deplorable Mr. Barnabas.

Millicent waited patiently until the break of day, vacillating between chewing on her thumb to repeatedly biting her bottom lip and back again. All in the hopes, with fingers crossed, that the handsome—though not as handsome as the Forfex man she had seen yesterday—Mármaro would not awaken before she could make her escape.

The thought of sneaking off from her friend pained Millie, yet she knew he would never let her follow the words she had heard, to find the white horse.

While he remained sleeping, Millie cautiously stuck her head out of the cavern. Her nose cleared the brush cover and she watched as the morning sun filtered down, burning off the akylis mist until nightfall revived the specter once again.

Upon the mist’s dissipation, the leaves on the trees unrolled, as if stretching out their wake-up for the day, causing the forest to darken once again. She cautiously moved through the bramble away from the cave, knowing her actions could end up a colossal mistake.

Feet already beginning to sting from the cold, hard ground never given the chance to thaw, she pressed on. The forest remained quiet. In her mind, too quiet. Where were the birds and tree animals? The prowlers to the forest floor?

Something did not sit well with Millie. And that something she soon discovered when the beauty of the wood suddenly and abruptly stopped. The dead and dying, trees of all shapes and sizes, some tall enough to have stood a millennia, withering along the edges of a large clearing in a way that did not appear natural.

Millie leaned down to inspect a dying elm, shriveled at the roots, which should have been thick and alive sticking out of the soil.

Along with the shriveling tree roots laid out in a desolate path, there was evidence of a fire. But there was more. Tracks of some yet unknown to her machine, possibly a train without tracks, ravaged the muddy clearing.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the charred scent, and although this seemed to compound the foolishness from last night, she could feel the trees, the soil, the outliers themselves, weeping, begging for her help.

And when Millicent opened her eyes once more, due to the clearing’s now unadulterated view, she saw him. Majestically standing atop a far-off bluff—the white horse.

Without taking even a second to reconsider, Millie set off through the mud, keeping her eyes keen on the stallion. And with no roots to impede her progress, what would have taken her hours to traverse took much less time. Mere minutes, twenty at most. Though in the background she could hear the worried cries of her friend, no doubt searching her out.

She could apologize later for causing him worry. For now, she moved as if dragged by some unseen force. Her feet were unable to stop their forward momentum, even if she commanded them with all the authority of King George himself.

At the base of the bluff, the rockface with all its hard angles and sharp edges, sharp enough to slice through flesh, began to soften and smooth over. Footholds and handholds opened up, providing the easiest assent to the top. Leading her, it seemed, exactly where she needed to go. The holds were sturdy enough to support her weight, yet malleable enough to cause her no harm.

At the top was long, soft grass. Greener than any green she could remember seeing, with roots strong and sure that covered the land spread out before her. It went on for miles. In another un-Margaret move, she lobbed her leg, bending it at the knee up over the edge of the bluff.

Only the horse wasn’t alone.

“Equo, my friend,” said the Forfex man with the rose gold hair and silver-gray eyes. The most beautiful man Millie had ever seen spoke to the white horse. “I wondered where you’d gotten off to.” And there it was again, that tinny quality around the fringes of each word. The sound of two swords clinking in battle. A most peculiar sound indeed. Yet strangely comforting. Warm.

He hadn’t yet noticed her hanging on to the Cliffside. So mesmerized by him, she almost forgot that she lay perched atop a rocky bluff and one wrong move would send her careening to a painful death.

Though despite this, she could not get herself to move. Could not look away. Equo, the stallion, shook his head, moving the reins to fall down within reach of Millicent. At that moment, her body jolted to action. On faith alone, Millie let go of the handhold and reached up over the edge to grasp the leather rope. Secure in one hand, she let loose the second hold, firmly grasping the rein below her first hand and slowly, slowly the stallion lifted up his front hoof and opposite back flank simultaneously, taking backward steps to pull her up over the edge to secure, hard ground.

Hastily pulling herself right, Millicent neglected to notice that not only had the man noticedher, but that he’d moved closer, until he spoke. “What is a Vráchos woman doing so far from home?” His voice came out harsh.

Millie whipped her head to look in the direction of the voice as he approached with sword drawn. When they locked eyes, the man stopped short, tilting his head, actively taking her in. His eyes moved, taking in all that was Millicent.

“You are not Vráchos at all.” He spoke less harshly now, his voice holding a curiosity as he sheathed his sword. “From where do you hail? And why are you dressed as Vráchos?”

Not knowing what else to do, having been warned by Pétra and Mármaro not to expose her true identity, especially to a Forfex, Millicent stood straight and asked, “Why do you think me not Vráchos?”

“Your eyes,” he simply stated.

Her eyes. Blue, not clear as a gemstone. Not topaz.

“You will answer me,” he said. “I am the prince of the Forfex. I can make you.”

“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked, angling slightly away and crossing her arms over her chest, a look of defiance on her face to disguise the way her body tremored with fear.

“Depends on your answer. Though, I would go with the truth. I can tell if you’re lying.”

Millicent took a moment to answer, her mind filled with all the prince could do to her. Then she swallowed. “I’ve been accused of many things, Your Highness, yet being a liar has never been one of them, I assure you.”

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