Page 82 of Heir Of Sun And Moon
“Well, it’s about time you show your handsome face around here again, boy!” She laughs as she rounds the desk and moves right to Flynn, who she pulls in for a hug. He towers over her but receives the embrace with a smile on his face. “And who do we have here?” she asks, tilting her head my way.
“A friend I’m bringing home,” he answers after a few seconds.A friend.
She studies me as my mind starts to spiral once again until I notice how her eyes slowly begin to widen. The smile on her face morphs into something else as her jaw falls slack. She gawks at me, her hands gripping her dress tightly as her gaze roves over every part of me and lingers longest on my eyes. I look like a complete mess after traversing through the forest, but she scrutinizes me like she can’t accept what she is seeing. The tense silence goes on until even Bella is disturbed by it and comes to sit by my side.
“Do you have a room for me?” Flynn inquires, cutting through the haze that this woman seems to be in.
She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts and rounds the desk, grabbing a key off of the wall and handing it over to him. “Your usual room upstairs is ready. Everything you’ve asked for is there as well.” Confusion wrinkles my face as I look up at Flynn. How did she know we would be coming?
“Thank you, Immie.” He says her name with a fondness that I don’t understand. “How’s the gang since the last time I stopped by?”
“Din was taken by the Cruel Death last week,” she rumbles quietly, a solemn frown pulling at her lips.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man,” Flynn says. He moves around the desk to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort.
“Each week, more and more are falling ill. All so young too. It makes you wonder why... Anyway, why don’t you two go get settled.” Flynn nods his head in agreement, a grim weight heavy on his brows, as she waves her hands in front of her as if to physically clear the air of any sadness. Immie gives him a knowing look and a small smirk before she shoos us to the stairs. “Food will be brought up momentarily. Does your fox want to go rest in the gardens outside? I can make sure she eats as well,” she says, pointedly looking at Bella. I tense, feeling uneasy at being separated from her.
“She is safe here. We all are,” Flynn assures, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I turn towards Bella, her golden eyes piercing mine as she tilts her head to the side. Walking to her, I give her a tight hug before letting go and watching her and Immie walk out the front door. “I promise, she’ll be alright. The only danger is the children who may want to play with her.” He smiles and reaches for my hand again before leading me up the stairs.
At the top is another hallway, the doors spaced out on either side. Windows are cut every few feet into the ceiling, letting light filter in and illuminate the way as Flynn walks us to a door at the very end and places the key into the lock. Everything about the inn so far has appeared small and compact, but it’s because all of the space is given to the rooms. Our room is large, my eyes drawing up to the high ceiling as the sun shines in through a wall of windows directly across from us. An intricately patterned dark blue and gold square rug lies in the center of the room between the largest bed I have ever seen and a small wooden table and chairs. It’s simple in its layout—in the decor that adorns the space—but it somehow is still infinitely more welcoming than the stone tower. Flynn steps over to the table, taking the satchels off of his broad frame, but my attention again goes to the four-poster bed. Sheer white gossamer crisscrosses above it, connecting to each corner post and then draping down to the floor. A bright white comforter is pulled taut across the bed, and if I wasn’t so filthy from our journey, I would crawl on top of it and attempt to sleep.
I step farther into the room and notice a door off to the side. “That is the bathroom,” Flynn supplies, stepping back up to my side. “Do you want to shower? Immie should have left us a few days worth of clothes to choose from.”
“How did she know we would be coming?” I ask as that small seedling of doubt takes root again.
“I sent her a message about a week ago,” he states simply while turning to step in front of me.
I shake my head, my brows drawing together. “But, we didn’t leave until a few days ago,” I’m puzzled at how he could have possibly known to send her a message that long ago.
“Yes, but I have been planning on helping you escape for a while,” he replies, his gaze earnest as he looks into my eyes. “Ever since you said you wanted to leave. It’s why I was so upset when you attempted to do it on your own.” His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek.
“You had been planning?” I ask, laying my hand on top of his. He nods, black strands of his wavy hair hanging loosely over his forehead. I don’t know what to say. Every feeling and thought is battling for dominance inside of me, and it is exhausting. I am just soexhausted.
So instead, I slip away from his touch and walk over to the table, sorting through what I assume to be clothes for me. I find a pair of slim black trousers and a slightly oversized but lightweight cream-colored undershirt—similar to the one that was Alexi’s. There are also what look like brand-new undergarments, more lacy than the cotton ones I am used to, and though Flynn doesn’t see them, I blush all the same. I gather the clothing and then let Flynn show me how to use the shower. Water coming from a spout in the ceiling is incredible, and I should be more awed by it, but I’m just tired. Like even something as instinctual as breathing takes more effort than it should.
Water sprays onto my skin, though the warmth of it doesn’t begin to touch the bitter cold that settles inside of me again. I still don’t understand why everything has to be such a struggle. Why can’t I just be happy and grateful to be out of that tower? Why does it still feel like I am caged behind guards of gold and walls of stone, unable to find a way out? Deep within, a weakened and dark part of me wonders quietly if it is just easier to not exist at all. If constantly fighting against these thoughts and feelings is worth the effort.
IfIam worth the effort.
Chapter Forty-Two: Bahira
Lastnightaftermydiscovery of the new plant life in either Haylee’s or Erick’s bottle, I cried on the floor of my workshop for a long while. It wasn’t the first time tears had fallen there, but they were the first tears not born of frustration. Going from the lowest of lows to the mountaintop of highs had left me feeling emotionally spent. When I awoke this morning, I found a rose waiting for me outside of my bedroom door with a note from Daje, and reality came crashing back into me. It wasn’t even important, just a few words about how beautiful I looked last night, but I’m frustrated that I can’t even get the time he allotted to consider his ultimatum without getting input from him.Probably not a good feeling to have for a man I’m considering marrying.
I groan internally, the weight of this decision stealing all of my focus. There is a different kind of safety in marrying him, one that pulls on my heart a little stronger than anything else. I won’t ever have to question if he is choosing me because he truly loves me or because he can get something else out of it: status, recognition, bragging rights. Or any other myriad of reasons that may make a male decide that being a magicless princess’ consort is worth it. With Daje, we grew up together and his father is already on the council. He wouldn’t have anything to gain except forme.I know that his feelings for me are true and born of something that began while we were children. It ismyside of the relationship that is a struggle.
There is also a chance he might get chosen as the mage to go to the shifter isle, and my stomach twists unexpectedly at that. Perhaps that would provide a loophole to this ultimatum. Unlikely, but not impossible. It would certainly give me more time to figure out what I want and what I am willing to lose. My lips flutter as I blow out an exasperated breath and return my attention back to the magnifier.
I click the next glass lens into place, adjusting one of the knobs on the side to clarify the enlarged image before I peer down with one eye through the scope. When I look at the dead leaf laying on the slide, it takes two more levels of magnification before I can see them on a cellular level. The cells of the brown leaves have no movement, the normally hexagonal shape of the cell walls crumbled and shriveled in. Sliding my journal and spelled pen over, I write the magnification level and descriptions down, and then replace the slide with one of a freshly picked healthy leafnottreated by magic. The cell walls are plump and bright green, the healthy chloroplasts moving within. Jotting down that observation, I then grab the slide containing a leaf that is spelled with my father’s magic. It has been two days since the experiment, but looking down through the scope, I watch as the chloroplasts move with strength. My eyebrows furrow as I click another lens into place, zooming farther in. Yes, the chloroplasts are thick andalive, but there aresomany of them that they push on the cell walls. The normally straight lines of the hexagon cells are bowed and crooked.
My eye strains again as I increase the magnification even further.There.In the center of the overfilled cell, squished between two healthy chloroplasts is a decayed, crumpled one. I slide the tray over just a bit and the new part of the leaf shows the same thing. There are still plenty of healthy chloroplasts, but some have started to break down—the weak, brown crumbling cells speckle throughout the healthy ones. There are not enough yet to change the outward appearance of the leaf to the naked eye, but thereareenough that it shows the magic is wearing off within the cells. I write down my examinations and then place the final slide on the magnifier—the one spelled with either Haylee or Erick’s magic.
When I stare down into the scope, it takes a second for my eye to adjust to the intense magnification of the leaf. I observe the bursting cell walls, similar to the ones I saw feeding off of my father’s magic. The chloroplasts inside are moving and wiggling, like they have more vigor. Like they aren’t just wiggling side to side, but they are purposefully moving tocreate life.I slide the plate a little to the side to look at a new portion of the leaf. More cells, more healthy cell walls, more moving chloroplasts and mo— A small gasp escapes me.What in the gods above is that?I force my eye closer to the scope as I stare at something that definitely should not be there. Mixed in with the wiggling chloroplasts of the plant are little circles of red. They are smaller than the chloroplasts, easily slipping into spaces between them— No, wait. They areattachedto them. As if the chloroplasts are somehow feeding off of them. Or being fed off of.
“What the hell am I looking at?” I whisper as I click the very last magnification lens into place. After focusing the image, it indeed confirms what I am seeing.
The circular red organellesare attached to the chloroplasts. I watch them move for a long time, sliding the tray to the left and to the right. My mind whirls with more questions as I study whether these plump red organelles act the same throughout. And they do. Quickly, I grab the pen and my journal and draw everything that I see, listing out their descriptions and all of the observations that I make. I don’t know what it means. I don’t even know what I am looking at, but it doesn’t stop the flutter of excitement that bursts free in my chest. These leaves aredifferent,and I have proof of it. I will have to ask Haylee and Erick to come back to test their magic again. This time, I will wait here in the workshop until I see the change happen myself. Carefully, I put the small glass slides with the leaf samples on a wooden plank, labeling each one and placing it carefully on the back counter behind me.
My hands tremble slightly with excitement before I pull my long, curly hair over one shoulder and start to loosely braid it as I leave my workshop. Those little red organelles consume my thoughts for the entire walk back to the palace, my journal tucked safely under my arm. This is the first time that I have found something new to work with in all of the years that I have spent researching. I sort through all of the data stored in my mind, everything that might possibly explain how this could have happened or what it means. But it’s like trying to put the pieces of an imageless puzzle together—I need more information.
