Chapter 109

Is it because I haven’t eaten properly all day? Elise bit her lip hard, a metallic tang blossoming on her tongue. Strength seemed to be draining from her with every labored breath. She couldn’t afford to collapse yet. Not until they were safe.

Everything had, against all odds, unfolded flawlessly so far. If she could just muster the magic for this second spell, the escape route would be open. A sliver of hope, fragile as spun glass, flickered in her chest.

“So, we just wait for the carrier pigeon to return, Your Highness?” asked Ivetsa.

“Yes,” came Elise’s strained reply. “Once it finds a suitable location and lands, it should return quickly…”

“Then you should rest,” Ivetsa insisted, her voice laced with concern. “Goodness, you look like a ghost. Your face is the color of curdled milk.”

At some point, unseen in the blur of activity, a fire had been coaxed into life, casting flickering shadows across their faces. A pot bubbled merrily over the flames, the scent of water tinged with something savory filling the air. Ivetsa, ever resourceful, had even procured a clean towel from somewhere. She soaked it in the warm water and held it out to Elise.

“Clean yourself up first,” she said gently. “I’ll whip up some thin soup to settle your stomach.”

Elise accepted the towel with a weak nod, the simple act a monumental effort. Her body, once strong and agile, felt like lead, heavy and sluggish. As she wiped away the grime, the night’s events played on repeat behind her eyelids. She paid excruciating attention to scrubbing the insides of her thighs, where the memory of the man’s touch – the press of lips, the fetid heat of his breath – lingered like a stain. Every inch that had been touched, she scoured with a fervor bordering on madness, driven by an insatiable need to erase not just the dirt, but the past six months, to wash them away like a bad dream.

Her thighs and hips throbbed with a dull ache, a constant reminder of the arduous journey and the night’s passions. The truth was, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t in pain.

Exhausted but resolute, Elise finally peeled the last traces of Rezette away with the rough cloth. The worn dress Ivetsa had laid out felt foreign against her skin, a stark contrast to the finery she’d been forced to wear for so long. Dressing was a laborious task, her trembling hands fumbling with the fastenings and her long hair, a shimmering cascade down to her waist, constantly getting tangled.

A dark thought wormed its way into her mind. I don’t need such cumbersome things anymore.

With newfound determination, Elise pushed herself upright from the cot, ignoring the dull ache that protested every movement. She rummaged through the meager belongings she had managed to salvage, finally pulling out a small dagger.

The sound of metal scraping leather made Ivetsa whirl around. The sight that greeted her froze the breath in her lungs. Elise, her face etched with a mixture of defiance and despair, was savagely hacking at her own hair. Silver strands, once as lustrous as moonlight, rained down onto the floor like fallen stars.

A strangled cry escaped Ivetsa’s lips. “Heavens, what are you doing, Your Highness?”

A humorless laugh, laced with a sliver of relief, erupted from Elise. She held up the severed hair, a length easily three times the width of her hand. “Do you think this,” she croaked, “could be worth something?”

“No, your beautiful hair…!” Tears welled in Ivetsa’s eyes as she rushed towards Elise, the ladle clattering to the ground. “Oh no! Give it to me, I can at least make it neat for you!”

The cascading silver that once flowed past Elise’s hips now lay in a tangled mess on the floor, a stark reminder of the life she’d left behind. Even in Argon, she’d only ever allowed minimal trims for the annual rituals. Now, it was just another casualty on the path to freedom.

Ivetsa’s voice hitched with a bitter truth. “As if that would hide your beauty.”

She was right. Elise’s breathtaking looks, once a source of admiration, were now a liability. A simple disguise wouldn’t suffice; a hood could be easily dislodged, a mask only attract unwanted attention. 

Elise’s stomach lurched. Even with the hair gone, a nagging worry gnawed at her. Her face. During the Harvest Festival, she’d briefly shown herself to the entire estate. Is there a way to alter my appearance just enough? she thought, desperately flicking through ideas. A minor burn, maybe? Or some kind of rash?

A sudden crunch of footsteps outside shattered the fragile silence. Both Elise and Ivetsa, who had been meticulously brushing the severed hair from Elise’s cloak, froze. Muffled voices, laced with concern, filtered through the flimsy cabin door.

“This whole day’s been a mess,” one voice grumbled. “Barely found anything decent out here.”

A shaky breath escaped Ivetsa from behind Elise. “Just herb gatherers,” she whispered, the tension easing slightly from her voice.

But relief was a fleeting luxury. The snippets of conversation that drifted in sent shivers down Elise’s spine.

“Knights swarming the village like angry bees all day long,” the other voice replied. “Something big must’ve gone down at the castle.”

“Another border skirmish, maybe?”

“With the Grand Duke himself there? Whoever it is, they’ve got guts.”

“They must be looking for someone.”

“Someone hiding their face, moving around suspiciously,” the first voice confirmed. “They said to report it immediately.”

“A runaway maid who pinched some fancy jewelry, perhaps?”

Elise’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat threatening to drown out all other sound. The protective barrier around the cabin, though invisible to human eyes, wouldn’t prevent someone from stumbling upon it – a misplaced hand reaching out, a stray kick in the dark.

A sliver of hope flickered amidst the growing panic. The herb gatherers, thankfully, paused just short of the cabin. Their voices, though muffled, remained clear.

“The castle gates are all closed. They’re thoroughly inspecting everyone at the outer walls too. It’s going to be hard to come and go from Rotiara freely for a while.” 

“Do you think there’ll be a reward if we report her?” 

“The Grand Duke isn’t stingy. We’d get something, for sure.”

The rhythmic thud of tools against earth intensified Elise’s anxiety. The herb gatherers were disturbingly close, their presence a constant reminder of their precarious situation. Time stretched into an agonizing eternity, each second punctuated by the distant groans as the men heaved themselves upright.

Finally, a breathless whisper from Ivetsa shattered the tense silence. “They’ve left, Your Highness. Seemed to be heading down the mountain, thankfully.”

Elise offered a weak smile, but it failed to reach her eyes. A cold dread coiled in her gut. “We can’t afford to linger here any longer, Ivetsa. We need to move, and fast.”

With newfound urgency, she clasped her hands together, her fingers intertwining tightly. A faint, ethereal glow pulsed from between them, the nascent form of a spell whispered on the wind by Andrei. The magic, however, remained stubbornly incomplete.

The pigeon, a frantic plea echoed in her mind. It needs to return soon. Every second lost puts us further at risk.

The second spell, the one designed to whisk them away to safety, relied on the carrier pigeon acting as a beacon. Once the white bird established itself beyond Rotiara’s borders, its location would finalize the coordinates – a vital piece of information missing from the current formula. Without it, the spell could deposit them anywhere – solid ground, a churning ocean, or even worse, right in the heart of someone’s unsuspecting courtyard. An hour, she’d estimated, should’ve been enough for the pigeon to find a safe haven. Yet, the silence remained unbroken, a gnawing suspicion twisting in her gut. Perhaps Rotiara’s forces had already sealed the exits, anticipating escape attempts.

Just as despair threatened to consume her, a new wave of sound crashed through the flimsy cabin walls. But this time, it wasn’t the peaceful murmur of conversation. The harsh clatter of armor and the metallic scrape of weapons against stone sent a jolt of terror through her. It wasn’t just one knight, but a contingent, their heavy footsteps echoing a relentless approach.

From outside the cabin, a voice, laced with excitement, sliced through the din. “Here, sirs! There used to be an old shelter here, but it’s vanished without a trace! Today, just today, mind you! When I prodded the empty space with my hoe, something definitely snagged!”

“Move aside,” a new voice barked, curt and commanding. The sound of it sent a fresh wave of nausea washing over Elise. “Here?”

That single, clipped word, spoken in a voice dripping with a cold fury she couldn’t recall ever hearing before, confirmed her worst nightmare. It was Rezette. A sheen of sweat erupted on her palms, clammy despite the cool air of the cabin. In that single utterance, she recognized a chilling undercurrent of anger she’d never encountered in all their months together. It was the lowest, most sinister tone she’d ever heard from him.

“There’s a barrier. Step back, you might get hurt.” 

The last words seemed directly aimed at Elise. She clutched the worn fabric of her cloak, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Barely half a day had passed since she’d last seen Rezette, yet the man who stood outside seemed a chilling stranger. The bone-deep coldness that seeped through the cracks of the cabin was a stark contrast to the man who had been lost in pleasure just the night before.

He’ll break the barrier, a frantic thought hammered in her mind. All this planning, this desperate gamble for freedom, couldn’t end here, not now. She wouldn’t be recaptured so easily.

There was no time left to wait for the carrier pigeon. This was her only chance, a desperate gamble she had to take. Elise dropped to her knees, her hands pressed flat against the rough wooden floor. A soft glow emanated from them, spreading outwards like ripples on a pond, illuminating the intricate magic circle etched across the floorboards. But a crucial section remained incomplete, a gaping void where the coordinates should be. With a whisper barely above a breath, she uttered the name, “Sameshita.”

The source of her power. The magic that had always flowed so readily responded with a hesitant surge, then…nothing. The flow stalled, hesitating for a heartbeat before retreating entirely, coiling back around her waist and seeping back into her core. Panic clawed at her throat. “Why?” she choked out, staring down at her now-empty hands.

Why wasn’t it working? Invoking the Bright Dragon had always been the key. Usually, the magic pulsed within her, a vibrant current waiting to be released, a conduit for her will. Though she lacked the skill to craft complex spells herself, she could fuel the intricate magic circles Andrei had prepared. In the stolen moments Rezette had been away these past few days, she’d practiced, called upon Sameshita’s power, a familiar comfort.

But now, her magic remained stubbornly inert, a useless echo within her. Desperation gnawed at her resolve. Elise threw her head back and cried out, her voice hoarse with the weight of her predicament. Epithets tumbled from her lips, a desperate plea to the ancient dragon: “Sameshita, Bright Dragon of Thunder! Hermit of Grenthern and Spine of the Earth, the most beautiful creation of the gods, the origin of all magic… And the great mentor of the hero Gallian. Please, respond to my call!”

The final epithet hung in the air, a desperate plea met with a chilling silence. Then, as she faltered, as hope flickered and died, a sudden, unimaginable force slammed into the cabin. A blinding light erupted, engulfing her vision.