Her eyes squeezed shut against a fresh swell of loss. She held on to Luce for dear life—longer than she’d ever hugged him, and tighter than she’d ever dared. Hunger, exhaustion, and emotion shook her body from the inside out.
Luce’s canine spine twitched. His tail brushed her leg and red glitter and silver smoke spun around them both. She hugged him throughout the transformation: as his long muzzle shifted to masculine features—sharp cheekbones, nose with a shrewd, pointed tip, and a stern yet pretty mouth; as shoulders, slender and solid, came into being to cradle her temple.
When she finally opened her eyes, they were both on their knees and his arms held her—a warm, comforting wreath of human flesh and bone. Together, the two of them filled the nest of roots. She snuggled into the shirt that was just moments ago a white strip of fur between two forelegs. His talisman of braided hair, the one that matched hers, pressed into her cheek. A reminder of Crony. A reminder of family and safety.
“There, now . . .” Luce’s voice held a note of bewilderment. He stroked her scalp, bestowing a tenderness he rarely showed. “We hurt you, but that was never our aim. The secrets we kept were meant to help. One day soon you’ll understand.”
She gave no answer, but her body settled into a melting numbness. Once she stopped quaking, he stretched her to arm’s length.
“Let’s have a look.” He gently examined her, studying the new burns, scrapes, and punctures. He winced, his orange eyes glimmering bright. Glancing at her clothes, he flicked a glare to her face. “You’ve no business being out in the ravine in such a state.”
Stain assumed he referred to her lost boot and looked down. Her vest was almost completely burned away. Underneath, her damp white shirt—threadbare to near transparency—hugged her skin. Humble as her attributes were, her femininity was unmistakable. The rips in her clothing must’ve been a result of the explosion in the bog. Too much was going through her mind when she roused to even consider her appearance. She’d been preoccupied with finding Scorch and distracted by the prince: touching him as he slept . . . arguing with him when he woke . . . laying across his chest with nothing but threads separating their flesh.
Gasping, she folded her arms over her shirt.
The points of Luce’s teeth broke through his downturned lips. He peeled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Did anyone see you, other than your Pegasus?”
Stain didn’t know how to answer that.
“Dammit. Tell me. Does anyone know you’re a girl?”
The ravager, she signed, moving only her fingers and keeping her arms in place. The prince, she corrected.
“Wait, you know he’s a prince? And he realized you’re a girl?” Luce’s fox ears perked forward; he almost seemed thrilled at the prospect.
Stain nodded, confused by his reaction. But he would’ve known anyway. Even if he hadn’t shredded them . . .
Luce’s cheeks burnished as red as his hair. “The prince did that?” He gestured to her ragged clothes hidden beneath his jacket.
Stain nodded, but before she could explain the explosion, Luce interrupted.
“The prince ravished you?” There was nothing silken about the sylph’s voice now. It was the sound of a storm: thunder, hail, and cracking gales. “I will maim him. And then I will kill him.”
Stain shook her head and stirred her hands to action. No. He’s noble . . . important. He’s the prince of the prophecy.
“I’m well aware. That’s why I intend to maim him first. Then once he’s served his purpose, I’ll kill him. Nobility is just as vulnerable as any other human. I’ve experience in the matter.”
She meant to ask for details—if he referred to the Eldorian princess the shrouds had mentioned—but he was already on his feet. Fed by his anger, his otherworldly incandescence bathed the roots and tree trunks in celestial light.
You’re misunderstanding. Stain attempted to reason with him. The prince didn’t mean to do this. It was an accident. Scorch . . . She stopped then, her shoulders slumped. There was no reasonable way to finish that explanation.
Luce snapped his fingers. “I knew it! I told Crony that flying donkey would be the undoing of everything. He fought with the prince again, and you had to break them up. I hope His Highness got another good stab in. It’s time that jackass learns some manners.”
Stain scrambled to standing. Never speak another word against Scorch. There will be no more. She forgot her modesty and dropped his jacket, freeing arms, hands, and fingers to unleash an erratic stream of words. No more influence from his lack of manners. No more distracting me from my work. No more frolicking with him through the ravine when I should be tending flowers. We’ll never be together again! She sobbed—an airy scruff that scraped her windpipe. Scorch is gone. He and the prince . . . they’re . . . everything is gone. Are you happy?
Luce dropped to his knees, squeezing her shoulders. His sudden change in mood disturbed her as much as the admission itself. “The prince died? No, no, no. That can’t be. Did they kill each other? Stain, what happened out there?”
She tried to explain, her fingers taking Luce where her mind feared to tread. I don’t know . . . it’s hard to . . . She fisted her hands, then made another attempt. He’s not dead. Neither of them is dead. They’re just . . . together.
“Together?”
Their spiritual coalescence was still too raw and confusing to put into words. Besides, to dwell on the loss would only get in the way of what needed to be done.
We’re wasting time. Isn’t that what you said? I know about Crony . . . she’s being taken to Eldoria’s dungeon. Recalling the questions the prince asked her, Stain sought her own answers. Is she guilty of conspiring against the princess? Does she harbor ill will for her?
Luce blinked, as though to extricate himself from the dangling threads of their abandoned conversation about Scorch. “Ill will is the furthest from what Crony feels. And the only thing she’s ever conspired to do is what’s right.” He frowned, as though remembering their companion was a thief who’d stolen more than just memories from the dying. “Well, at least where it concerns the princess.”
Then you have to get to the castle and plead her case. The prince means to see her have a fair trial.
“Best intentions aside, there hasn’t been a fair trial in Eldoria since that bloodthirsty regent—” Luce curled his nose, like a dog scenting something foul. His gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t look her in the face. “Since the king’s death. I’ll be breaking Crony out of the dungeon before any trial.”
So, you have a plan?
“Yes.” He stood again. “Along the Crystal Lake’s banks, there’s a way to avoid the honeysuckle plague. It leads directly into the dungeon via a secret tunnel—a shortcut. I know where the door is hidden, and I’ve a key to unlock it.”
It was more than Luce’s height making her feel small now. It was her inability to leave this wasteland. Can I do something from here? I want to help. I would give anything to accompany you . . .
“If you want to come, then you will. Crony’s depending on it, in fact.” He gnawed at his lip, obviously rethinking. “She’ll want to see you, I mean to say. You don’t realize how important you are to her . . . how much happiness you’ve brought into her life. With the flowers; with your smiles; with those eyes that seek good and beauty in everything, and that brave heart that wishes to help others see the same. You are her family. She needs you.”
Stain stared, overwhelmed by the unexpected praise. He held her gaze for a beat before looking away. She sensed the rest of what he couldn’t say—that he shared Crony’s sentiments himself.
Hands twisted into silent knots, she glanced down. The sweetness of Luce’s faith nestled behind her long lashes, warming her eyes. For hours, her head had been telling her that Crony and Luce would never hurt her intentionally; now her entire self believed. In time, they’d explain their lies. The only truth she needed to know today was that they loved and depended on her as much as she did them.
Luce cleared his throat and burrowed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve a way to transport you through the sunlight safely. Dregs uses boxes lined with nightsky to bring his live shipments here. It’ll be a tight fit, but you’re young and spindly. He’ll even provide the wheeled cart that goes with it.”
Stain cringed. She wasn’t sure what nightsky was, but what concerned her was being shoved within a coffin again . . . the same way she arrived years ago. Though she couldn’t remember that grim journey, the thought suffocated her—made her lungs tight and the puncture marks on her skin pulse as if they were tiny mouths gasping for air.
Forcing her fingers apart, she asked: When do we leave?
“After we gather some weapons from home. I suppose I’ll piggyback you, considering you’re shoeless again. Oh, and I’ve arranged for an army.”
An army? Stain’s stomach interrupted with a loud growl, distracting Luce from her question.
“When was the last time you ate something?”