Page 37 of A Brat's Tale
“Yes.”
I roll my eyes at his back. He’s as insufferable as Bayaden, but the resemblance lifts me. Takes the edge off the pain of leaving him. We travel over hard roads and even some treacherous passes, but we don’t see anyone, not a soul.That’s not right.
When darkness falls, Uncle Taj dismounts. “We will rest here for the night and take turns on watch. Tomorrow will be the hardest part and then your husband isn’t far. He will take you the rest of the way.”
I don’t know what to do with all that. Not only is Corrik close, but he’s waiting for me. How long has he been out searching for me? How long has he been away from home?
My gut churns.
Corrik’s going to be furious, he likely wants to burn Aldrien to the ground by this point; he just needs to get me out of it first. Which brings another question to the table, why hasn’t anyone shown up on Aldrien’s doorstep?
It’s an uneventful night and thankfully warm. When I sleep, I put on a warmer shirt and use my pack as a pillow. Uncle Taj has things for us to eat—dried fruits, meats and cheese and plenty of water. He surprises me with campfire chat, maybe because I’m heartbroken. “You know Tristan when Bayaden was a little boy, he was a happy little spirit; I never had to spank him as often as his older brother. But when their mother was killed, it changed him. He stopped smiling. He threw himself into his duties. As much as Andothair is a spoiled brat, he sees people, I think his intent—if by poor design—was genuine with his brother. He knew you would heal him, and you have.”
My body heats head to toe, thinking I could heal anyone let alone Bayaden. My head turns to look in all other directions, anywhere but his eyes. “He had an effect on me too.”
“Why does it embarrass you so, to think you could heal someone?”
“It’s not a crown I feel I wear,” I say.
“You are humble is all. That’s a good thing.” He nods. “But you have. He hasn’t smiled like that in a long time.”
“Then why are we doing this? Take me back.” The fire is warm on my skin, but inside my body is cold.
“Aside from that my brother will kill you, it’s not right. You were taken, Tristan.”
“I was taken anyway. With Corrik it was only mildly more consensual.”
“Still angry about that are you? Take my opinion for what it’s worth—very little these days—but while it’s true the children of royals are pawns, it doesn’t change that you belong in Mortouge, or your responsibility to the contract, unless … are you willing to endure the consequences for breaking it?”
I’m not. I stare into the fire, feeling like a coward for not being able to let go of my parents’ expectations of me. “How will I face him, Uncle Taj?”
He smiles and pokes the fire. “Like any other battle, I wager. But that is a problem for another day, we must talk about tomorrow.”
“I imagine there’s something dangerous?”
“Yes. There’s little I’m allowed to tell you. I swore an oath through magic. You’ll need to follow my lead and have your sword out.”
I nod. “I can do that.”
“Bayaden wanted to come, but he thought it for the best if when you made it to the other side, he wasn’t there.”
“He was right.” Corrik will probably want his head.
“I will take first watch. I chose this place because we are safe enough here, but once we pass through, we’ll keep going until we get you to safety.”
Ibegin the day cutting my hair. It grew back in the night and while I doubt we’ll see anyone where we are, I have nothing to tie it back with and I’m no longer used to keeping it out of my face while I ride. For now, it’s easier to cut away—it will grow back again by tonight anyway.
Our surroundings are eerie, the sky a purple haze, as we move into the dense forest. Nothing in here is alive, but it’s not dead either. We maneuver our horses carefully through the brush, the brambles, and branches thick with thorny limbs. I get scratched to shit, I would pull my sword to cut my way out, but Uncle Taj is trying to be quiet; I follow his lead best I can. I know he can’t tell me what this place is, so I don’t bother to ask.
Instead, I observe and keep a watchful eye.
The necrosis isn’t the only thing disturbing about this place; it’s the lack of sound and stale air that unsettles me. We should be able to hear birds flitting by, or the creak of trees as tiny creatures run up them, but it’s just nothingness. The breeze should bring a myriad of forest scents, but it doesn’t.
There’s not even a breeze.
Everything’s still, like it doesn’t know where to go even though itdoesn’t want to stay, locked within this moment forever. Whatever danger does inhabit this place is lying dormant for now as we make our way through at a decent pace. After two hours of riding, we approach a large stone megalith. It surrounds a small body of water, tall stones lined up around the edge with thick ones laid horizontally on top of the vertical ones. A pathway, also made of stone, extends across the water. “Are those made from sarsen stone?” I recognize them from a book I read back home in Markaytia.
He grunts his acknowledgment.
