Page 103 of Crown of the Courtesan

“Besides my vanishing, no. Unless, of course, you count my charm and strength.” He laughs, showing off and flexing his arm muscles. “A rather accomplished skill set, if I do say so myself.”

I push his arm away, wanting to learn more. “What’s it like being able to vanish?”

“Boring. My power is pretty limited. I have difficulty controlling it in battle and… I can only travel to places I’ve been before. Mother was quite disappointed when she found out.” He gives me a sheepish grin.

But I’m not in the mood to smile back. I look at the stables across the yard. “Will your soldiers have the horses ready by sunrise?”

The muscles in his face become taut, and his brow furrows as if he’s looking for the right words. “Once orcs enter mourning, we require three moons to complete our ritual, and unfortunately, there is no moon tonight.”

“But I already informed Beatrix that we were leaving tomorrow morning.”

“I know—I know, but… I couldn’t stop them, and orcs have to finish the process once it’s initiated. There’s no other choice for the grief they carry. They must set their grief down, or it’ll become too heavy to go on.” Pain crests in his orange eyes, and I wonder how many friends he lost today.

“I’ll talk with Beatrix.” I give a slight nod, even as doubt sets in. “But remember, we need to be extremely careful while we’re here.”

Forty-Five

ASHLAND

My warriors and I press onward through the muted forest, making steady progress. Salt walks cautiously along the overgrown path, his breath puffing in the cool air while Pearl follows closely behind, her saddle empty. As the sun sets, the shadows grow longer, casting the trees in an eerie light. My eyes scan for movement. The silence is almost deafening, broken only by the occasional snap of a twig.

Deeper into the woods, the darkness becomes one with me once more. The weight of the forest presses in. Despite the creeping sense of danger, I push on, determined not to stop.

Not a second goes by that I don’t see her newly silvered eyes accusing me without words. I saw how she looked at me.

The villain who held her captive.

I never wanted to let her go, yet she was never mine. She will never be mine. So I released her, just as she wanted.

Just as she asked.

Pleaded.

Begged.

I allowed her to be taken. I’ve replayed her words in my mind a thousand times: let me go, let me go, let me go. The plea that still follows me long after her rescuer rode away with her. The shame burns deep like a hot iron seared into my flesh, mingling with her other accusations already branded there.

A weak king who owns nothing.

Focus.

These thoughts won’t help recover the stolen womenfolk—ice courses through my veins when I think of what Tabitha saw in her vision, when I remember her trembling as she recounted their wounds on that wagon. Her skin was nearly translucent as she shook with terror.

We will find them. It’s the only thing I can do now. Failure is not an option.

As we track the kidnappers, I send the shadow hounds into the bushes to search for any deviation in the path.

But the hounds take too long to report back. Slowing to a stop, I dismount, and the soldiers behind me do the same. The forest is hushed as I crouch to examine the trail. Crushed grass and displaced pebbles reveal their hurried passing.

Blood stains the underbrush.

I touch it gingerly; it’s still partially wet. Metalla’s men are not adept at covering their tracks.

Valora watches and joins me, one hand on her pommel, searching for any sign of danger. She whispers, “Someone fought back.”

“They killed her for it too.” A knot lodges itself in my throat. Kneeling, I run my shadows over the imprinted mud, gauging direction and timing. The scent of wood smoke still lingers—they can’t be more than an hour ahead. I stand swiftly, scanning the trees again.

When we find them, Metalla’s men will pay for their crimes. My teeth grind as I plot the many ways I’ll make them suffer. I have nothing holding me back from becoming one with the violence I held back for her.