Chapter Four
They stopped to rest properly a few hours later. A corona of red appeared in the sky through the break in the trees, signalling dawnnight. Bethany carefully wove heat into their clothes, helping them to stay warm. Yelena, exhausted, curled up and slept straight away. So did Ronan.
Neither of them had discussed who would be guarding. And Bethany wasn't quite stupid enough to fall asleep as well in the middle of a swamp, with creatures potentially lurking in the darkness and the possibility of survivors from the camp searching for them. Which left her staying awake, cautiously using her lightweavings to illuminate patches at a time. The night horde creature didn't like light at all. That might be her only defense against them, though at the same time, the light also attracted them. An odd situation. From a distance, it probably didn't hurt. Close up, it did.
The corona continued to smudge above, though everything still draped itself in heavy darkness. So Bethany took the time to examine her rather odd traveling companions. A shape-changing man from Kanthus. Probably one of the so-called “gods” themselves. And a hidden talent lightweaver, daughter of the man who had taken Bethany into slavery, killed six of her ten escorts, and tortured Ronan relentlessly.
Nothing made sense right now. Barely one, two nights ago, she'd been traveling down the well-lit path, Jason talking to her, whilst she dreamed about meeting her grateful sister and mitigating whatever drama might be unfolding at the Dome of Delights. She'd defied her parents, though it took every ounce of courage to do so, and she arranged for the Kanthians to take her in, though it terrified her to end up marrying one of the monsters.
Except, well—she was supposed to do that anyway. Until her parents changed plans at the last moment, and sent Kiara instead.
Rendering Bethany unimportant. Leaving her trapped in a home with no real prospects. Nights, she wanted to go to another kingdom. She just wasn't so sure she wanted it to be Kanthus.
That glorious dream still floated in the back of her mind somewhere. Her attention now drifted to Ronan. This poor, battered soul, tortured by a sadistic camp of bandits for three years.
A miracle he hadn't fully broken, with his mind snapping beyond repair. Bethany didn't think she'd be half as strong as him. A week or two tops of torture, and she'd probably be gibbering and weeping.
No. Best not to think about that. Not about those kinds of things... her mind changed path, instead examining the curves of Ronan's face, his arms, the glint of flesh exposed from his chest. A part of her wanted to reach out and touch him, to check that he was real. As for Yelena, she tossed and turned, her forehead scarlet from the mild fever that developed.
Her mind reflected back on the awful thing she had done. Siphoning all the light, committing a crime of such epic proportions, it was a wonder the Fjordans hadn't turned up to arrest her already. Of course they didn't, but she still felt that edge somewhere, that the constabulary's eyes were upon her, focusing on her, shrinking her into a box and locking it shut.
Bethany didn't feel as though she'd be easily forgiven for the things she had done.
On top of all this, no one expected her yet. So no one would miss her, be searching for her. And this filled her with a kind of melancholy floating, making her less brave, less heroic than she wanted to be.
Heroes didn't do what she did. They didn't leave people behind. And she left four people in those cages, while the invisible flames burned. She didn't think she'd find herself getting to sleep so easily, reflecting on that.
Bethany stayed awake for about two hours, until Ronan finally awoke, and she was able to fall asleep, a little troubled, knowing that someone watched. Even with the bad thoughts, her exhaustion dragged her down.
Too much stress in the short time since she'd been taken. Too much to worry about. Too much of that feeling of a rubber band tightening around her heart, leaving a nameless fear that made everything inside heat up and burn. Such a hard sensation to breathe with. And her mind also felt trapped in a kind of vice, struggling to stay on something rational.
Ronan shook her awake with a grunt. Her eyes popped open and she stared groggily at Ronan. Hadn't she only been asleep for about a minute? But no. The red had vanished from the sky.
Been down for some time, then. She yawned, and saw that Yelena was awake as well, peeling off the skins of odd-looking fruits she had found in the dark woods. Impossible fruits that shouldn't grow, but nonetheless did.
Yelena tossed one to Bethany, who found her stomach growling. She gave Yelena a tentative smile, though the girl didn't return it, and bit into the apple-like fruit. A little bitter, but edible. Ronan didn't eat anything offered. He kept scratching at his shaggy beard, anxious about something.
“We've still got a ways to go before we reach Kanthus. Our best bet is to reach the main path and just go from there.”
“Makes us easy to see for bandits,” Yelena said. “My father's group isn't the only set to wander out here.”
Ronan's lips curled in irritation. Only so much one werewolf and two stray women could do. And on the well-lit path, Bethany couldn't risk someone from civilization seeing her light-stealing trick.
“Well,” Ronan said, “I wouldn't mind not getting captured by bandits for once. Or sinking into a peat bog. My beloved Kanthus did build in a rather questionable area, after all.”
“And I'm tired of being a mud monster,” Bethany said. She might not have been in that cage for a long time, but she never planned to go back to it. “Actually, do we know where we are?”
Ronan grimaced. “No. I was just running. But... finding the path shouldn't be too difficult, right?”
Yelena didn't appear impressed. “Don't see many footprints around. People don't come here often. Which likely means that it's a dangerous area as well.”
“Wonderful,” Bethany sighed, aggressively chewing on her fruit. “Just clumping wonderful.”
“I'd rather die in a bog then be tortured for more years. So I'm okay with that.” Ronan's yellow eyes twinkled in amusement. How could he feel amusement with this situation?
“You seem cheerful, dog,” Yelena noted, and Ronan grinned, baring his teeth.
“Wouldn't you be? I'm free. I can move. I can speak. I can live!” His eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm, the kind of excitement that only expressed itself in pure joy.
“Not free yet,” Bethany pointed out. “Bandits behind us. Night hordes around us. Did I mention the bogs? You miserable Kanthians need to find a better location.”
“Shush.” Ronan got up, stretching, and Bethany saw the glint of scars on his wrists.
Had he once tried to kill himself, to get out? He likely must have found the opportunity once. But it also looked like he healed fast in his werewolf form, too. She wondered if he shifted into that to protect himself, or if he couldn't change back.
As they prepared to move, Yelena said, “Can you transform whenever you like?”
“Hmm? Usually.” Ronan continued rolling his muscles, preparing himself to run. He looked less broken than before, more capable of carrying them a fair distance. And, well, he did run faster, even with them both flung over his shoulders, than what the three of them would be like together on foot.
“Usually? What do you mean?” Yelena's voice came sharp.
“Well, sometimes extreme stress and terror can make us transform. And it's harder to shift back in that case. Some of the younger ones back home need help getting through their first transformation. It can be quite a nasty experience if you're not prepared. So many new senses hitting you at once—and your instincts are sharper than normal.”
Yelena digested the information.
“Time to go. But, tell me more about yourselves. Who am I talking to?” Ronan picked them both up, which would make conversation a little awkward. She tried explaining anyway. About her life as a Fjordan princess, having everything taken care of for her. Just as long as she was a perfect, obedient woman. How she looked up to her parents and Violet once, how she loved her little sister, though sometimes found her a little trying. Bethany didn't leave too much out when it came to her sister. Kiara deserved the explanation, since so many people took Kiara's antics the wrong way. Just when she started describing how she had set off to help Kiara, Yelena interrupted with, “Did you really think it would work out that way? Taking such a small escort to Kanthus?”
“I brought some protection with me,” Bethany said stiffly. “And it's not like I expected us to be ambushed. You think I sit around in my castle and have any experience with that? You know how it makes my stomach churn to know that I broke my people's laws? Society's laws? With what I did?”
“No excuse,” Yelena said. “You undercut on your protection. You basically asked to be robbed.”
“Oh!” Bethany paused a moment as Ronan gave a great bounding leap over a murky patch of ground. “You think people deserve to be robbed if they didn't bring enough reinforcements? You ruffians shouldn't even be there in the first place.”
“Pretty much,” Yelena said. “Us 'ruffians' do have a policy of take first, ask questions later. And... laws?”
“With the light. I stole the light from the camp. All the light. I do that back home, and princess or not, I'm done for. It's one thing to manage your own light sources. But taking from everyone else? Stealing the light of fire?”
Yelena's lips thinned at this. “You can steal firelight?”
“Yes. But not the heat.”
At this, Yelena's eyes widened. “Nights,” she whispered. “I didn't realize it was that destructive.”
“Yes. Invisible fires. Not fun.”
“And...” now her voice went small, “I can do that?”
Bethany examined the girl more intently. Unsure whether Yelena was hostile, or just making conversation. Some of her words bit, others came out dismissive of what had happened. “Perhaps. You'll need training. But you do have something there, Shining One.”
“Don't,” Yelena muttered, eyes clouding over. “Don't call me that.”
“Why not? It's a nice name.”
“My...” Yelena spluttered as Ronan jerked to the side, temporarily winding her. She tried speaking again. “... My mother called me that.”
“Oh!”
And just like that, an icy silence coated. The kind that stifled willingness to talk. And they didn't need that right now.
“You're going to need to talk about that at some point, Yelena. Hard to solve your issues if you won't even come near them.”
She shook her head stubbornly, though the hint of tears welled up in her eyes. Angry, frustrated tears. Her two glow necklaces bounced against Ronan's back.
Seriously, this girl needed to stop being so damn emotional all the time.
Perhaps that was a harsh thought to have, but Bethany felt her patience wearing thin. They just didn't have time to handle any personal issues. Bethany needed to swallow hers, after all.
What use was complaining about not having servants, not having nice clothes, and feeling in sore need of a nice, warm and relaxing bath? What about decent company where they could talk about courtly matters, or be able to experience a hug from her sister and tell her everything would be okay?
None of it mattered right now.
It seems, when placed into a stressful situation, I try to suppress everything and work on a solution. Bethany regarded this information about herself with a smile.
So she wasn't weak. Wasn't useless. Maybe Kiara would cope better in this situation—that girl did spend an awful lot of time in the woods—but for a preened and pampered royal, Bethany did alright.
She wondered if she would have been married to someone like Ronan. If she made it to Kanthus the way she was supposed to. What lay under all that hair on his face? Not that... features should matter, but she hungered to find out what lay underneath. It was like he wore a mask, with only those piercing yellow eyes standing out like glittering topazes in his head. What would he be like at his best, in proper clothes, gallivanting around the court?
If only he talked in his werewolf form. She wanted to know more about him. How exactly did a werewolf get raised in society? Sheltered from the population? Paraded and worshipped? Or feared, and avoided?
So many damn questions. Not relevant to arriving in Kanthus safely.
Eventually, Ronan needed to take a break, and he put the girls down, before placing his back to a tree and morphing back into human form. Sweat beaded his face, and he took deep, sighing breaths. “My stamina's not as good as it used to be. Bah. In my better times I could have run with you both for ages without stopping. Not that I've tried running with two women over my shoulder, but you know.”
“Glory times,” Bethany said with a smile, carefully threading light through the clearing to better see where they were.
“I wouldn't be too free with that light,” Yelena said. “It attracts all sorts of things in these parts.” She indicated the dark, hanging trees, with branches partially sunken in dark green moss and mud. One section of the ground to the left of their small clearing displayed a strange, uneven ground, where a kind of noxious bubbling frothed over the surface. Along with the slorp and blop noises, as if something was slowly sinking into the depths.
“Quaking Bog,” Ronan helpfully informed her. “We're nearing that section now. I think. You get all sorts of pleasant noises like that.”
“So we're... not anywhere near the path then?” Bethany frowned, crossing her arms, allowing the lightweavings to die out from the leaves she had infused. Would be nice to have a living light she could direct to places, but she needed to content herself with illuminating established objects.
“I don't know,” Ronan said, whilst Yelena said, “No.”
“Do you know the way then, Yelena?”
The bandit girl appeared rather sullen as she said, “No. I wasn't allowed to explore much. Just to scout around the base to get food. Dangerous grounds, after all.”
“You could say that...”
Yelena grinned.
Ronan's eyes fixated on Bethany to such an extent then, that it made her uncomfortable. She busied herself with eating another one of the apples, letting her eyes dart around the clearing, trying not to imagine what sorts of things lurked in the endless dark. And all the while, the bog slorped and schlopped beside them.
“If it hadn't been for you, Bethany, I might have died in that place. Without hope. Without anything.”
His words carried over the bog noises, and her face flushed. Lucky he couldn't see it so well with the thin light she threaded around her. “According to Yelena, if it hadn't been for my stupidity, I never would have been caught in the first place.”
“Funny how things work out,” Ronan said mildly. What a wonderful voice that man had. Soft and lilting, but with a hint of steel behind it. The kind that would have been music to her ears, and gravitated her towards the speaker in a court, just to see who produced those enticing sounds.
She didn't usually associate men's voices with beauty. They usually had a kind of harsh resonance to them, something that stopped you short. An interruption in a wreath of music, a discord that tumbled into a ruined silence.
Or maybe that was just the grating and nasal Fjordan accents.
Yes. That had to be it. He didn't have the sharp clips to his vowels, the question at the end of every sentence. He spoke as if he never intended to stop, so when he did finish a sentence, you waited eagerly for the next one.
“Not for me,” Yelena said. “Nothing worked out for me.”
Bethany closed her eyes. She didn't want to deal with the Yelena issue, though it stuck out like a sore thumb. She was the one in their group that might make or break it. The one who they couldn't be entirely certain wanted to escape, who didn't yearn for her father, and long for him to find her.
“I know what you're thinking,” Yelena said then, folding her arms in a belligerent way. “You'd be stupid not to think it. You want to know if I'm trustworthy. If I'm not just thinking of slitting your throats in your sleep.”
“Yes, actually,” Ronan said, halting Bethany's automatic assurance that this wasn't the case at all. “You may not have personally tortured me, but you are the daughter of the man who ran that camp.”
“Hmm.” Yelena looked skyward for a moment. How pretty she was. Even with the unflattering way she had her hair and clothes. Shove her in a dress, bit of blush on those pale, smudged cheeks, touch of lipstick—she'd be killing it at court. A surge of mild jealousy went through Bethany. Along with frustration at such wasted beauty.
She should have been at the court. Yellow eyes. Highborn. Yelena was highborn.
“What I don't understand,” Bethany said slowly, likely voicing Ronan's own question, “is how a highborn like you ends up falling through the cracks. Those yellow eyes don't lie. You have noble blood. You belong to the nobility.”
Unless she's a bastard child. But best not to mention that.
“My mother was highborn,” Yelena said. “She fell in love with my father. They ran away together—she wouldn't have been allowed to marry such a lowborn person. But... she was young. Really young. Like, twelve, and he was twenty or so. Charming. Irresistible.”
And illegal, Bethany thought, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Imagining Kiara when she was twelve, still so young and innocent, running away with some adult who had lured her into his arms. Nights, she would have murdered that man.
And likely, Yelena's grandmother had the same issue. Any mother would have had that issue, if they even cared one millimeter about their offspring.
“She fell pregnant at twelve. Gave birth to me at thirteen. Their relationship... was strained, to say the least. But there's one thing I remember quite well. I must have been, oh, six. And I remember hearing yelling downstairs. So much noise. My father was angry, I think. And when he came into the room, he was covered in blood.”
Bethany exchanged a look with Ronan. Thinking the same thing, not wanting to voice it.
“He told me that a bad, bad monster had taken my mother. And he took me downstairs to show... a werewolf, lying on the ground. Dead with silver in its heart. He said the bad wolf had killed my mother. It broke in and ate her. He wept real tears, acted so distraught. The bad monster took her.”
“Oh no...” Bethany whispered.
“I thought it strange, horrible, but I just accepted my father's words. And then... I saw him change into a human.” She jabbed her finger at Ronan. “And I realized that the 'bad wolf' was my mother.”
No amount of words could describe the utter loathing and disgust Bethany felt, at the idea of a child, a child being lured into false promises of love at such an age. Forced to look after her own child. Dead by eighteen, nineteen.
“She went through her first transformation without help,” Ronan said quietly. “She must have been scared, confused. And she was so young. She probably wouldn't have hurt anyone.” His eyes glinted. “I'm sorry, Yelena. But if I ever, ever get the chance to meet your father again, I will personally gut him alive.”
Bethany sat there with hands clenched, tears of rage building in her. That hatred, nights, so powerful. Flooding her with bile. She never thought she could hate someone so intensely in that moment.
Yelena simply closed her eyes. “I... I'm having a hard time processing this. All my life I believed the werewolf had killed Mother. There was something wrong about that story, somehow. But I believed it. But... I know now it's a lie. I know he killed Mother.”
“I hate your father,” Bethany said, in an attempt to express that boiling rage inside her. “I blasting well hate him.”
She doubted anyone wanted to hear that someone hated their father. But Bethany just couldn't stay quiet and polite about this one.
Ronan nodded, though he seemed entranced by Bethany. She probably looked quite a sight, muddy and tattered, but eyes gleaming with rage, lips twisted in contempt.
Not exactly an attractive quality in a princess, to be fair.
They stayed silent after that. What could you say? Nothing had prepared Yelena for that punch in the gut. Bethany and Ronan just wanted to run, to get away from the place of their imprisonment. And he'd been so close to killing Yelena.
Bethany shivered.
“You know,” Ronan said, now easing himself into a crouching position, “if things were normal right now, you would have to marry me, Bethany.”
Instantly, her senses went on full alert. “What?”
His bushy blond eyebrow raised in amusement. “You see, since you were supposed to be heading to the Dome of Delights, the rule there is that if you lay eyes upon a werewolf's human face, that automatically betroths you to him. We wear masks to stop that happening. It didn't really matter in Golubria, however. They like to see faces. And I'm a big boy. I can get over it. Twenty-nine years.” He patted his chest proudly.
What? “You... have to marry someone just by looking at them?” Bethany blinked rapidly at this insane rule.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose it would be between the two of you, but I'm sure you're not planning to get married to a werewolf yet, isn't that right, Yelena?”
The bandit girl rolled her eyes. “Technically, we can't see your face, so I don't think that's a valid way to get yourself with a princess.”
“Oh, no! I'm just saying,” he said, stumbling over his words, “that, you know. It's what happens.”
Bethany and Yelena snorted at this reaction. “She's right,” Bethany told Ronan. “We can't see your face. All that stuff is in front of it.”
“Anyone got a knife?”
Bethany's heart twitched in a painful way. Not that she wasn't convinced he meant this whole statement as a joke, but the thought of her seeing his face just after he had confessed to her what it meant made her want to run away into the bushes. Which would probably result in her being sucked up by the unstable ground.
“Me.” Yelena tossed the knife over, and Ronan checked how sharp it was, before going off to find a water source to help trim himself.
Yelena and Bethany waited anxiously for him to return, though it didn't take too long. He sauntered back into the clearing, saying, “We shouldn't drink any of the water here, we'll need to go further.” He rubbed at his now stubbled face, though there were a few nicks from where he cut wrong.
Bethany gaped at the man beneath the fur. Without the mask of hair obscuring him from view—he'd even sliced some of his scalp hair off—she stared into a face that made her weak in the knees. He had a strong, solid, square jaw which complemented the plump lips that stretched into a smile. They looked pale and kissable, shadowed by a rounded nose, smooth high cheekbones, and eyes sunk deep and penetrating in his sockets.
He might have been the kind of figure who stood and waited as the sculptors worked hard on capturing the essence of his face, chipping away to get that perfect angle of his lips, and the slight indent of his temples.
“Cleans up nicely,” Yelena noted, in what had to be the understatement of the year. She accepted the knife back from him, before adding, “I hope this doesn't mean you have to consider me for marriage.”
“Wait. That custom is true?”
“Yes.” A teasing smile played upon Ronan's lips. He had transformed into a completely different person with the removal of all that hair. “Though, I should also mention that in the case of rescuing like this, there are exemptions. But I couldn't resist letting you have a look for all your efforts.”
I bet you couldn't, Bethany thought. Now acutely aware of the fact that if Ronan had been trapped for three years... that also meant three years without sex. Three years being beaten without any hope of warm arms to hold him at the end. He probably had to let go of his dreams of getting married, having children.
And, by the looks of him, he appeared very, very interested in Bethany.
Flattering. If a little embarrassing. Her face colored at the notion. Yelena observed the tension and gave another protracted eye-roll. Yelena might be eighteen years of age.
Certainly wasn't innocent, though.
Crack.
The sound of something breaking sent them all on full alert.
Ronan's jovial expression dropped into a snarl. Bethany's heart beat faster, not from embarrassment and slight attraction, but from fear. Yelena gripped her knife tightly and crouched in a feral way, lips curled.
They huddled together, and Bethany extinguished the light.
Breath trembling, she waited in the dark, nothing but black painting her eyes. Nothing but fear holding her still.