I sank deeper into the bath. I let the water cover everything but my nose and mouth. I could hear nothing but my own breathing in the water.
Without the sounds of the outside world, I could work on controlling my breathing and my runaway thoughts.
The gentle scent of roses drifted through the air and to my mind. They were comforting. Sweet. They reminded me of my mother’s garden in our little backyard.
The air would smell of flowers always. The spring was the most fragrant, with the scent changing every week or so. By early summer, though, the shifting fragrances were gone, and only one lovely scent remained.
Summer roses.
My parents were nearly six hundred when they decided to have a child. They were unsure and had kept putting it off.
Immortality had its advantages.
I smiled. No, I had not been as lucky as some in S’Kir to be hundreds of years old and still have their parents. But the years I did have them had been amazing.
Best of all, I had roses to remind me of them.
Reality was going to intrude soon, but I floated there in the silence with my breath and the scent of roses as long as I could.
Eventually, the water cooled, and I went to bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Gwynnore
Cape Argent, Nunavut, Canada
Atlantic Coast
I patted my face. Soft fur tickled the pads of my fingers. I asked curiously, “What do I look like?”
The Arch of Sight had done its work on us.
Lord Cato opened his mouth, the inside purple. I was pretty sure he was grinning, but it was really hard to tell with his black scaly snake-face crinkling in an unbecoming way. He stated, “You’re a wolf.”
“Oh.” I crossed my eyes and examined the black, furry snout I now had. “I think I like that.”
Lord Pippin’s normal face continued to flicker in and out of existence, there one second and gone the next, like a faulty television. “Better than me, that’s for sure.”
Lord Otto poked at his right cheek. “What about me? What kind of freak do I look like?”
The fur on my face twitched, as my mouth turned down into a frown. No one else spoke, not wanting to answer him. I cleared my throat, and grumbled, “You look like you. But you have scars all over your skin. Ugly ones.” They were deep too, but I didn’t mention that.
He pulled his blond brows together. Silent.
That was pretty much how I thought he’d take it. The image of his face was…private. The asshole Overlord was obviously damaged by the life he’d had.
Lord Xenon looked down at his own body. “At least, the blood isn’t ruining my clothes. They don’t appear to be affected.” The Overlord was drenched in blood. His head. His throat. His hands. Any exposed skin was covered in it. The dark crimson gore ran down his face, the flow never stopping, but it didn’t pool at his feet. The blood disappeared there, gone as if it never was. His black eyes lifted to our silent group. “I only brought two pairs of these shoes.”
I snorted. The mysterious lord was like me.
Pampered bitches at heart.
We were totally unashamed about it, too.
Our group turned inside the warm, black cave we stood inside and looked back at the Original druid and his two best friends. The three of them delayed outside in the snowstorm. They wordlessly scrutinized our forms.
Lord Belshazzar lifted a black brow on his red “devil” face. “We’re waiting, Master Niallan.”
The Original druid flicked a finger at my father, mumbling absently, “I knew he’d look like that.” He shook his head of blond hair and snapped himself out of it. The druid walked forward and passed under the archway, with his friends following on his heels. His stunning green eyes crinkled at the corners when he stopped next to me and winked. “Your majesty, might I say you look beautiful as a wolf?”
I sniffed and lifted my snout into the air. “No, you may not.”
Master Niallan’s skin was now the color of pure gold—with thick veins of red showing underneath and creeping over his face, pumping underneath in time to his heartbeat. The druid snickered and removed his heavy jacket. “It’s not surprising Lord Cato and you are vicious animals. Like father, like daughter, I suppose.”
Lord Cato smirked—definitely a smirk. It wasn’t any more pleasant to look at than before. I believed he was proud of the druid’s words, though he switched topics. “What do we do now? Keep walking?”
“Yes, follow me.” Master Niallan draped his jacket over his right arm and strolled deeper into the cave. “It’s another hike. Or, the same hike, I suppose I should say.”
I picked up my bags and quickly followed.
Ysander and Devin tracked their ruler while the files they held were shuffled in their hands for an easier hold. The two druid pricks looked like skeletons, all white bone. Their bony fingers drummed on the file folders—tap, tap, tap—while they sauntered along, completely at ease. All-in-all, their images freaked me out the most, or, more like, how they weren’t bothered by it.
They were the dead. And they didn’t give a shit.
Perhaps I wasn’t so tolerant.
Master Niallan should positively kill both of them.
The cave gradually opened to a cliff. Stars twinkled overhead, and waves crashed against the jagged, deadly rocks below. A bridge jutted out from the edge and carried over the Atlantic Ocean and stopped at a familiar road—sans snow storm. The gentle wind caressed my fur, and the scent of salt water pleased my snout.
Master Niallan pointed a finger. “Once we cross the bridge, the Arch of Sight is done. We’ll be beautiful once more.”
I adjusted my heavy bags in my grip. “Is that the road we started on?”
He nodded once in affirmation. “We’ll travel the same path to the heart of my stronghold.”
Awesome. These bags would weigh a ton by then.
The weather was pleasant, at least. Not too hot, not too cold. It was perfectly delightful.
I set my cumbersome bags down and took off my winter jacket. I chucked it at the Original druid—all the Overlords’ hands were full carrying their own luggage. “Hold that for me. And try not to ruin it.”
Master Niallan’s lips curved into a sinful grin. He draped my coat over his jacket on his arm. “Are you positive you don’t want Ysander or Devin to carry your bags?”
“I’m sure.” I didn’t look at them, a shiver already stealing up my spine at their ghastly forms. I lifted my bags again. “I’m ready now.”
He winked. “As long as you’re ready, your majesty.”
I cast a squint in his direction.
The Original druid’s lips twitched. “You actually look frightening when you scowl with that wolf face. Should I be frightened, your majesty?”
“Always,” I grumbled. I shuffled on my feet, weighed down by my bags. “Can we go already?”
He snickered and sauntered onto the bridge. “They really can carry your bags for you.”
“I’d rather take a header into those rocks than have them touch anything of mine.” I huffed and slid beside the “devil” as we walked over the bridge. “Why don’t you have a car waiting for us? Or a helicopter?”
“Because I like nature. It’s in my blood. Automobiles ruin the environment that we live in.”
Damn druid.
We eventually crossed over to the road.
I stumbled, and my hair—not fur—fell down around my face. We were back to normal. I pushed on, griping, “How about some servants? Can’t they take our—”
“Your majesty, give me one of those bags,” Lord Cato stated calmly. “I can carry it, no problem.”
My feet came to an abrupt halt. “Really?”
“Really.” My father set his luggage down and took one of mine from me, somehow, maneuvering it under his left arm and picking up his own luggage too. He didn’t appear hindered by it, and his smile barely showed. “Ready now, your majesty?”