“Corvan,” I gasp. “What’s wrong?”
He touches the side of his face and smiles wryly. “Too much time out in the sun. The effects of your blood must be wearing off. Don’t you think your magic is powerful, though? To be able to protect me from the sun for so long… and even against the glare of the snow… it’s quite remarkable. Just like you.”
“You should be taking this more seriously, Corvan.” I quickly unwrap my scarf and offer it to him. “Here. Put this on.”
“I’ll be fine, but I appreciate your concern.” He takes the sky-blue scarf and wraps it around his face, covering his peeling skin.
The tent casts a small shadow. “Step into the shade,” I urge, suddenly filled with worry. It’s strange to see him vulnerable.
We step onto the small wooden bridge.
A fish flips out of the water, creating ripples on the surface.
“Sweet Finley,” Corvan murmurs. He looks down at me, and although I can’t see his expression right now, I can feel his tenderness. He gently caresses the side of my face. I’m relieved he’s wearing gloves. I don’t want his hands to burn, too.
“What is it, Corvan?”
“I’m sorry.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “In such a short time, you’ve dealt with so much. The journey to Tyron. Your brother’s injuries. Your idiotic father. Me. And here I am, leading you into this immense truth when you aren’t yet ready for it. If I could give you all the time in the world, I would, but there’s no room for complacency. Things can become precarious too quickly, and your heritage is far too important to ignore.”
Everything is different now. I’m not just a simple baron’s daughter from Ruen.
I’m Aralya’s daughter.
And everything I thought I knew about her was a lie.
“Tell me everything you know about her,” I demand, wrapping my fingers around Corvan’s wrists. I pull his arms down and move closer, until our bodies are almost touching. “What is she? What am I?”
“Your mother was brought to Rahava from across the seas. According to your father, she’s a dryad.”
Dryad. The word hits me in the chest like an arrow. I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s the truth.
“What… what is a dryad?”
“A magical being.” His voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Born of the forest and attuned with nature. A true child of Eresus. Of the Life God’s direct line. The embodiment of life and rebirth, possessing power over the trees. That’s all I know, Finley. It's all I've been able to glean from the rare books in my library. There isn't much written on dryads. I wish it were more, but that’s the reason we’re here.”
A spark ignites in me; tiny but destructive. “Before… you said you were going to find her. If she’s alive…” A dark thought hits me. “Did he hurt her?”
Whatever shred of leniency I felt toward my father, it’s completely gone now.
I despise that man.
“Finley.” Corvan lifts his dark glasses, allowing me to see his eyes. He might be the imperious Kral, but he’s also the man who’s delighted me and made me feel safe.
Even though he bit me.
I can probably forgive that now.
He takes my hands into his and pulls me even closer. “I cannot say that your father didn’t hurt her. I can’t say that. I know for a fact that he brought her to Ruen against her will and then had her sent away after you were born. And it’s entirely possible that your mother’s still alive, held somewhere in Lukiria. If that’s the case, then time is of the essence. Now that we’re officially betrothed, it’s only a matter of time before the Rahavan Court finds out.”
“That’s why you’re in such a hurry. Why you’ve brought me into the mountains so soon.”
“Knowledge is power. I believe my father sent you to me for a reason. There’s something he isn’t telling me, either because he’s trying to manipulate me, or because he can’t. And there are others that might not want our union to happen. Unfortunately, I have a lot of enemies within the empire.”
“You’re an imperial prince. I wouldn’t expect any less.” There’s a little tremor in my voice. My legs feel like jelly.
He gently kisses the top of my head. For a fleeting moment, I feel the insistent pressure of his lips through the soft scarf. He radiates warmth and tenderness. “Are you ready to face them?”
No, I’m not.
But the world isn’t going to stand still for me. I need to move forward.
Or else, I’ll drown.
I look up at him; at a crimson gaze that burns through all my doubts.
I have to face this. Especially if there’s a chance my mother’s still alive.
“I am.”
He takes my hands. “I don’t know what the Khaturians will do once they learn what you are. I have no doubt they’re going to use magic on you. Rest assured that I’ll be by your side, and as long as I’m here, nothing bad will happen to you.”
His aura washes over me; powerful and protective.
Corvan isn’t a knight in shining armor. He isn’t a golden prince or a noble saint. His hands are stained with blood—as are his lips. He knows how to wield power, and I’m sure he has his own reasons for seeking the truth of my heritage.
Nobody’s all good; there’s shades of grey in between.
But he’s never betrayed me. He’s treated me more respectfully than anyone I’ve ever known.
And with all the power he has over me, he could have done anything he wanted.
Did I ever have reason not to trust this man?
36
CORVAN
We sit at the head of the room, in chairs made from the bones and tusks of pachydar, the massive white-furred beasts that roam the valleys and tracts between the mountains.
A low table with a lacquered black surface stretches the length of the tent. The elders are seated on the left, on low cushions. The shamans are on the right.
Sylhara sits at the other end, directly opposite us.
After all, she’s the Kiza. The one that speaks to the gods on behalf of the people. Sylhara herself told me that she almost died once. When she was a child, she fell through black ice and into the frozen waters of the Lake Beyond the Peaks.
She says the Goddess of Death spoke to her.
That’s why she’s able to look me in the eyes. According to Khaturian lore, she’s been anointed. The others won’t. They believe I’m directly connected to the underworld, and thus I can’t possibly be treated as a fellow human—to do so would open a connection to Hecoa’s domain, leading them to an early death.
I’m bad luck, apparently.
I glance at Finley. She’s terribly tense. It’s completely understandable.
I’ve placed a huge demand upon her.
I wonder if I could have done things differently; given her more warning, handled matters more sensitively. But I’m not in the habit of beating around the bush, and sometimes these things are best dealt with by confronting them directly.
It’s imperative that I know what she is before my enemies do.
Why her blood does this to me.