Chapter 135 135
I have learned how to leave without being seen.
Theron thinks the palace holds me.
He forgets I used to sneak out of higher walls than this.
Tonight, the corridors are quiet. The guards at the eastern wing are half-asleep, lulled by routine and false security. I move in dark linen instead of royal crimson, my hair braided tightly down my back. No jewels. No scent of court perfume. Just me.
And the bundle in my arms.
Herbs wrapped in cloth. Dried lavender. Crushed moonroot. The incense I grind myself because I do not trust anyone else to prepare it. A small vial of oil infused with rosemary and ash.
Everything I need.
Everything a mother needs.
I slip through the servants’ passage and into the cool night air. The moon hangs low, not yet full, but bright enough to paint the stone silver.
For a moment, I pause.
The Scarlet Witch’s voice drifts through my memory like smoke.
Daevir will not stop until you are dead.
I tighten my fingers around the bundle.
She had looked almost pleased when she said it.
I exhale slowly.
Daevir has tried before.
He failed.
I shake the thought away before it can root too deeply. Fear is a luxury I cannot afford. Not tonight. Not when I am walking toward the only place that still feels honest.
The path to the shrine is muscle memory now.
South. Through the low trees. Across the narrow stream. The earth smells damp, alive. Crickets hum softly in the grass.
This forest does not judge me.
It does not demand alliances, vows, or power.
It only remembers.
And so do I.
The shrine appears gradually between the trees, stone worn smooth by wind and time. Vines curl along its sides. I built it with my own hands. Every carved mark. Every placed stone.
For him.
My child.
I step into the clearing, and my chest loosens just slightly.
Everything is as I left it.
The small stone altar still stands. The circle of white ash remains undisturbed. The wooden charm tied to the branch above sways gently in the breeze.
I kneel.
Carefully, reverently, I unwrap the herbs and lay them out in order. Lavender first. Then the moonroot. Then, the incense is placed in a small clay bowl.
My hands move with familiarity.
I pour the oil into the shallow dish and strike a spark.
The first curl of smoke rises slowly and thin, carrying the scent of memory into the air.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
The words feel fragile.
The forest answers with silence.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into it. Into the ache that never leaves. Into the quiet grief, I only allow myself here.
There was no politics, no men who think they can control fate.
Just me.
And the child I lost.
A sound breaks the stillness.
A faint rustle in the bushes behind me.
My eyes open instantly.
I rise halfway, turning sharply.
“Who is there?” My voice is steady, but my pulse quickens.
Silence.
The leaves settle.
Perhaps a fox. Or the wind.
I scan the tree line carefully, every shadow suddenly heavier than before.
Nothing.
I wait another breath.
Two.
Then I turn back toward the altar.
I kneel again, forcing my shoulders to relax.
You are imagining danger, I tell myself.
Fear makes ghosts out of branches.
I reach for the incense bowl…
And then I heard it closer this time. Footsteps.
This was no animal.
I whirl around only to see
Shapes step from the darkness.
One.
Then two.
Then more.
My stomach drops.
Men.
Daevir’s colors.
Steel glints faintly in the moonlight.
I stagger back instinctively.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, though I already know.
No one answers.
They spread outward in a slow arc, closing the circle around me.
My breath sharpens.
He sent them.
I take a step back.
Another.
“You have no right,” I say, though my voice wavers now.
Still no answer.
Only the sound of boots against grass.
I turn sharply and run.
I barely make it three steps when an arm catches my waist from behind.
Strong. Unyielding.
I twist violently, elbowing backward, trying to break free.
“Let me go!” I snarl.
Another hand clamps around my wrist.
I kick, scratch, claw.
For a heartbeat, I think I might break through…
Then something presses against my face.
Cloth.
Sharp scent.
Bitter.
My lungs seize as I inhale instinctively.
No.
I jerk my head, trying to turn away, but the grip tightens.
The smell floods me.
Heavy.
Sweet.
Wrong.
My limbs begin to weaken.
The forest tilts.
The shrine blurs behind them.
I try to focus.
Try to fight it.
But my arms feel like water.
My knees buckle.
The last thing I see before darkness swallows me is the thin curl of incense smoke rising into the night sky.
Everything goes black.