The first day of travel was the worst, I felt I’d been made a mockery of when Abyad made his horse bow to get me atop it. Once he planted himself behind me, he tapped the horse gently with his heel and the horse stood. At first, my arms were over his, and it made the sensation in my back so much worse. Abyad thought he was oh so charming, asking if I was comfortable. I was unable to crane my neck to look at him, but I told him I was fine. Whether through the tension in my body, or by pure instinct alone, he brought his arms over mine and held me close.

“Is that better, Princess?” He asked in a sweet tone.

I simply nodded, too tired to insist I had been fine as I was.

As the horse trotted up to an impassable river, he stopped at the shoreline and asked if I could bring my legs up on the horse on my own. I took insult to such a question at first, telling him I could, until I tried it for myself. My legs could hardly make it any further than where they were, and Abyad had to take them and pull them to my chest himself. I had little energy, but my curiosity was burning once we’d made it across the river. The pointed questions I had couldn’t go unanswered any longer.

“Abyad…?” I asked.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Why didn’t you all rescue me sooner…?”

I felt the large man grow tense, as his arms tightened slightly around me. I could also sense his companions’ eyes on me as I asked my question.

“I had a lot of things to do before I could come and get you, Princess. It took a lot of planning.” He replied solemnly.

I had no choice but to accept the answer, too lightheaded to go back and forth.

It was as we traversed a small trail, forced to follow each other in a tight line that I caught a glimpse of him. He had adjusted me slightly, and I caught his eyes in my sight once more. My body went rigid, as familiarity washed over me like a splash of cold water. Abyad was perceptive, picking up on any way in which my body’s posture changed over the course of our travel.

“What is it?” Abyad asked, a hint of worry lining his voice.

“You just look like someone…” I murmured.

On the third day of travel, I saw something that made me believe I’d gone entirely insane. From the shadows, as I sat beside Abyad, came a man. He was tall and pale, of Otlakian descent, with reddish-brown waves and sharp features. He carried himself with both a casual and regal air, as if he were a ruler of an unknown kingdom. The most jarring feature was his eyes—as red as a Jagan Cardinal. I inched closer to Abyad as he emerged from the depths, my own eyes as wide as they could go.

“Princess,” Abyad began, his tone casual and serene. “Meet Bròn, the man responsible for saving your life.”

My eyes darted from Abyad to the man, as he smiled at me with a meek expression. He seemed scared of me, as if I was the one who’d just appeared from the shadows.

“You…you’re the man I heard in my bedroom?” I asked.

Bròn nodded, and my mind went back to that palace for a moment. It was late afternoon, after Shahin had checked on my back, when he appeared.

“I’ll see you later tonight, Song Bird.” His words still rang fresh in my memory.

As he closed the door behind him, and I’d laid back in the bed, a masculine voice with a thick accent spoke up.

“Like Hell he will…Hala, yer coming with me. Got it?”

I didn’t even pick my head up from the pillow, thinking it to be some kind of pain-induced hallucination—but the next thing I knew, I was in Abyad’s arms being fussed over. The next three days were a blur, as Abyad held me atop the horse and my body screamed at me each time I moved. Even in that moment, looking at Bròn standing at the makeshift camp, the anguish was enough to make me cry. I didn’t recall sleeping, the last few days.

“I can take ‘er from here, men. Where’s she from?” Bròn asked.

“Mahsul.” Abyad replied.

“Mahsul…?” He asked, furrowing his brows as if he hadn’t heard of my homeland.

“They were the old jewel mines of Otlak, further south. Before the jungles meet the dunes to Zarvan.”

Bròn’s eyebrows then raised in realization as he crossed his arms. “That’s another eight days’ travel.” He stated. He sighed heavily before speaking again. “I can get ‘er there in three. I gotta take a break every so often, but I can do it.”

I wanted to speak up, to ask questions that came and left my mind, but I was too tired. I was more than tired, I was exhausted. The red-eyed man walked over to me, and I shrank back. Abyad spoke gently, but firmly to me.

“You’ll be okay, Princess.”

Something about how he called me by my title every other time we spoke ticked me off, but I was too out of it to say anything as the man picked me up. In the blink of an eye, I was surrounded by darkness. I felt nothing. I was nothing. The sound of wind moving, snapping against my ears as birds chirped and paws hit the woodland floors was the only thing my consciousness clung onto, aside from the smell of hazel. I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t clouded with exhaustion. For the first time in six years, my mind felt at ease.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” A cacophony of voices asked me. There was a main voice within the dozens, hundreds, of echoes that rang familiar—Bròn’s thick accent.

“What is this?” I asked.

“My powers allow me to travel the shadows, usually I could get to your homeland in a matter of hours…but more weight to carry means more power being used.”

“You’re…The Child of Calamity?” I asked, remembering the story Pavel had told me countless times.

“Aye.” He replied, the main voice fading into the symphony of whispers and screams as if embarrassed.

We travelled for hours in silence, with just the sounds of the woodlands filling the space where voices would go. It was so soothing, feeling nothing. I could have stayed there forever. It wasn’t until we reappeared in the woodlands closer to Mahsul that the pain hit me in sputtering reverberations down my spine. I cried out, nearly falling to the ground until a pair of strong arms caught me. Somehow, the abrupt jolt didn’t cause more agony. I wasn’t sure of what kind of power this man’s touch had, but so long as it kept me from wanting to scream out in pain—I wasn’t going to complain.

“Here’s where we stop for the night, Lass.” He said.

The sound of crickets chirping and woodland critters leaving their burrows surrounded us, but he offered a reassuring glance. “They can’t see us, I went ahead n’ placed a glamor ‘round our area.”

The anxiety must have been visible on my face, as he sat by a tree beside me rather than the one he’d placed me down at. “You ought to try n’ sleep. I know the pain’s gotta be screwin’ you backwards.”

“I’m not sleeping.” I told him, far too wary of the presence of yet another unfamiliar male—one with capabilities beyond my comprehension.

“If yer scared I’m anythin’ like the Duke, the answer is no.” He began. “I’m not into mortals like you; wouldn’t touch ya with a ten-foot pole.”

I’d have felt insulted had I not been so lightheaded. I wanted to go back into the darkness, where I couldn’t feel my injuries. I wanted to feel weightless, again. His very presence made me uneasy.

“Fine, then. Don’t sleep. But don’t go cryin’ to me when yer not in a good mood.”

I sulked as I leaned against the tree, feeling the wounds as they brushed against the bark. I forced myself to look at the red-eyed immortal before me.

“I’ve heard stories of you, before. From an old friend of mine.” I stated, the words taking a great effort.

“I’m sure ya have. Lotsa people have. I ain’t ignorant to that.” He chortled.

I rolled my eyes, feeling the cool night’s air chill me to the bone. Bròn picked up on that, as well, waving his hands as a burst of firelight floated over the ground before us. I offered a confused look, and he smiled cockily.

“Faelight, Lass. It’s nothin’ special.”

I sighed, wringing my hands and trying to keep myself from thinking about the fire that sat in my room the night everything began. Trying not to imagine the fire that crackled as Shahin grabbed my wrists, shaking me furiously before slapping me senseless. Trying not to remember the fire’s snaps as he took claim of my body that night he called me to his room.

“You’ve a lot of sorrow within you.” Bròn said, breaking the silence. I didn’t reply.

“I told the Illuminated One, I ain’t seen anythin’ like you since Strolgia’s founding. Their king…he had similar wounds to yours. I can’t imagine the pain you’re in, Lass.” He added.

I couldn’t begin to describe it. It felt like every movement, every breath, was pure anguish and suffering. I was so numb, emotionally, that crying was no longer in my arsenal of coping mechanisms. All that was left was a hollow feeling in my chest, and reminders of Shahin’s brutality—his love. Crickets chirped, and owls hooted in the silence that filled the air. Finally, I gathered the energy to entertain my curiosity.

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“Did he get better…? Did he ever stop feeling so empty?” I asked.

“Nay. He became a Cursed One, like me.” Bròn replied.

I looked at him with shock. He offered a reassuring smile in response.

“That ain’t what’ll happen to ya, Lass. Not so long as I can help it. Yer soul’s still pure.”

I balked at his response. Pure? My body was a wasteland. Tarnished beyond belief. And I had the wounds to say as much. As if he’d read my mind, he spoke once more.

“Your body may be in shambles, but the soul within ya is still white as a Kilsank.” He said. “Yer not towin’ the line, like yer friend.”

“My friend?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow, as if realizing he’d said something I wasn’t meant to hear.

“I guess that’ll reveal itself when the Powers That Be will it…” he murmured.

I was too tired to truly care, settling against the tree once more as I tried to get comfortable. It was like no matter how I contorted myself—in what little ways I could—there was no comfort to be had.

———

The second day of traveling with Bròn was the same as the first, traversing shadows as wildlife moved around us. I heard what sounded to be different dialects of Otlank as we must have gone through a village. It wouldn’t be until I heard Mahsulah that I grew anxious—even in the comfort of the shadows. We spent another few hours traveling until we popped up at a beach, below palm trees. The scent of brine filled my nose, and tears began welling in my eyes—both from the wounds in my back, and the familiar stimulation engulfing my senses.

Home. I was home. Bròn placed a hand on my shoulder, causing a pained shudder to skitter down my spine. He offered a hardened expression as I craned my neck halfway towards him, the tears in my eyes began spilling without issue. He brought me closer to him, my very core rattling with fear. I was nothing short of mortified by physical contact, but he leaned in and spoke softly.

“People ain’t all bad.” He said, releasing me.

I drew in a shaky breath, stifling the tears that just kept coming. It was so relieving, being by the shore. Even late at night, the beauty of Mahsul was capable of bringing me to tears. I felt so many emotions in that moment; anger, towards Shahin for ripping me from this land; as well as anger towards Father for allowing me to be sent off with him; sadness, because I was isolated from this for so long—forced to see nothing but the same dreary willow trees on the Otlakian property in which I was held captive; pride, towards my country for maintaining its scenery; Peace. I felt a semblance of that somewhere deep within me; and finally, hope.

As we sat, silence still lingered around us. Bròn broke the tension with a question.

“Who was ‘e to ya?”

I shot him a sidelong glance, realizing he’d meant Shahin.

“My husband…” I replied.

“Husband?” He scoffed. “Seems more like a slaver.”

“He loved me.” I argued.

Bròn’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Love ain’t carvin’ yer wife to bits, Lass. You may as well’ve been a bear’s scratchin’ post.”

And as much as I wanted to argue his point, there was a kernel of truth in his words. We rested under the palms that night. The lemurs of the land chattered amongst each other, as if they were surprised to see me home. The next morning, Bròn offered a steely expression to me before we left.

“Are ya ready to go home?” He asked. I nodded.

————

A flash of darkness, then light, and I was met with the gaze of my Uncle and Father. I could tell they could hardly recognize me, eyes filled with confusion and mortification. I could barely recognize them, as well. Father’s face had become sullen, and hollow. He was by no means weak looking, but he had fallen victim to time. His usual fervor in his eyes was almost entirely gone, just as I’m sure mine had left me. Uncle was peppered with gray hairs, as well, from head to sideburns. He looked more jaded, as if time had been rather cruel to him as well. Father stood from the throne I’d sat beside all those years ago, listening to the nobles as they’s asked for an inch more of land, or complained about taxes. He froze in place, examining me with bleary eyes and an anxiety-ridden expression.

“Hala…?” He asked, taking a hesitant step down from the dais. I nodded my head, taking as long of a stride I could muster. I almost instantly fell, stopped once more by Bròn’s painless catch. Father asked me something, and continued speaking to me as if I could translate his words seamlessly. So many words I couldn’t understand, save for curse words that fell from Uncle’s mouth as he laid eyes on me. Father took me into his arms, asking me more questions I was without an answer to.

“Jun ka fakhlah, Hala? Kazeh mort…” Father asked, his voice wavering. I’d never heard his voice like that.

“Baba…” I said, trying to wrack my brain for the vocabulary I so desperately needed. “I can’t understand you…” I switched back to Otlank. My voice broke, causing him to look at me with both rage and upset.

Father spoke to Uncle once more before he tried to speak in Otlank—one of the few languages he’d never quite gotten the grasp of.

“Ya, Hala…I’m sorry…I’m no good at Otlank…we’ll have to wait until Abyad comes…” he spoke the language similarly to a child, and all I could do was cry and nod. Once again, I was surprised I could feel anything in that moment aside from the wails of my body.

“Well, that’s sad, innit?” Bròn asked from beside me.

Father looked at the immortal with confusion, and asked Uncle something, to which Uncle shrugged and replied to Father. I looked at Bròn exasperatedly, desperate for help to understand my Father.

“Do you speak Mahsulah?” I asked Bròn.

“Nay.” Bròn replied. “But gimmie a couple’a weeks and some books, ‘n I’ll pick it up. Ya got that kinda time?” He asked with a slight smirk.

“Of course I don’t!” I whined. “How far is Abyad?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. If I had ta guess, I’d say maybe four days’ travel?” He estimated. My face grew hotter as tears pricked my eyes, and I began furiously wiping them away. Days? I had to wait days to speak to my family again?

Father put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me, still speaking Mahsulah. Asad kept telling him something that I finally understood:

“It’s no use, Namir.”

Father’s face darkened and he spoke to Uncle again. He let go of my shoulders after Uncle left the room. A few moments passed, and a young girl came to fetch me. I hesitantly looked around until Bròn caught my gaze and offered a reassuring nod. The young woman offered an arm to me and guided me out of the room, allowing me to lean on her heavily. She was strong, enough so that it surprised me—but maybe I was truly that thin. The young girl led me to my old room, and looked at me with sad eyes.

“Zaima.” She said, motioning to herself. “Kazah ne Zaima.” She repeated her name.

I understood that she was trying to introduce herself, so I did the same to the best of my abilities. “Kazah ne Hala…” I said softly.

Zaima chuckled, and smiled pitifully at me before murmuring something in Mahsulah. She went for my robe, and I lurched back.

“Wait…!” I exclaimed. I wracked my brain once more.

“Bad…I look bad…” I said in Otlank, drawing a blank for Mahsulah words to use and trying to talk with my hands to elaborate further.

Zaima shook her head, still offering that sweet smile as she tried to disrobe me. I stayed on high alert until she sighed, sticking a finger out and saying something else. She left the room, and I looked around. Old belongings, once so cherished by my young self, left entirely untouched as I took in the room. I saw the armchair—Idris’ armchair. My heart sank as more tears brimmed my eyes. Where was he? Why wasn’t he here? I wanted to scream his name to see if he’d come running in with the same angered expression he’d give me when we were kids. I wanted to walk out of my room and find him, but my feet couldn’t carry me further than a few steps without the help of someone else. Zaima returned with a towel in tow, and laid it out on the bed. She pointed her head towards the towel, then to me. I understood: it was time for a bath.

————

Zaima disrobed me and led me to the bathroom, having already pre-drawn a bath—it felt warm initially, until my wounds were submerged. I breathed in jagged breaths as Zaima lightly cleaned the wounds and offered me another rag to clean my more private areas. Who’d have known that a simple bath would bring me to such tears? I sobbed and sobbed in that tub as Zaima muttered words of what I assumed to be pity and condolences while she washed my wounds. By the time the bath was over, my eyes burned from the amount of crying I’d done, my body stiff and achy from sitting for so long. My tailbone was so sore, I felt it pop as I stood. That bath felt like it had lasted forever. After being wrapped in a fluffy towel, Zaima was kind enough to give extra care in letting me lean on her as she guided me back to my bed.

With new clothes on, and fresh bandages shoddily wrapped around me, I laid down. I was in no state to socialize, and Zaima could tell as much. She left for a few moments before returning with some bone broth, encouraging me to eat it by placing a palm out towards it, then towards me. After she left, I struggled to take the bowl from the nightstand. I tried to swallow some, only for my stomach to reject the food entirely. I wanted to throw it up, but I willed the broth to stay down. After a few sips, I placed it back onto the nightstand and laid back down on the bed.

————

I couldn’t tell how long I’d slept, or how good the sleep was. All I could remember was waking up and seeing Bròn sitting in Idris’ old armchair. When my eyes scanned the room and landed on him, I reflexively sat up. It felt like every choice I’d made in life was wrong, because the burning ache that littered my back was nothing less than excruciating. He watched with wide eyes as I shot from the bed, standing up and trying to get me to lay down.

“Get off!” I couldn’t muster a yell as I saw the concern in his eyes.

“Stop it, won’t ya?” He asked in a hushed voice. “You need ta rest!”

Fighting back was too difficult, and I reluctantly lowered back down on my stomach. “Abyad’ll be back soon, yer Pa’s tryin’ not to fly off the handle right now.” He chided.

I was still upset with Father, and his decision to send me to that country in the North.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked, glazing over his comment.

“Three days?” He asked himself, looking up as he thought. “Aye. Three days.” He stated.

My eyes widened with amazement, as his narrowed on me. He moved from the chair, pouring a glass of water and handing it to me. “Ya sound parched.” He said.

I forced myself back up, unable to help my face as it twisted in pain. I took the glass, sipping small swigs of the water and feeling my throat lose its sand-papery dryness. I was thirstier than I’d thought, taking larger sips as I felt the water travel down my throat.

“How far is Abyad?” I asked once I’d finished the glass entirely.

“Still some hours, if I’d to guess.” Bròn replied.

We sat in silence, again, for a long while as I held the glass and stared at it. The air felt heavy, stifling any conversation that could be had. My mind wandered as my back ached, recalling the nights I’d spent in that shack. The memory of my fertility was the most distressing, as I’d truly believed I could no longer bring an heir to my kingdom. We must have sat in silence for hours, as the only thing that brought me out of the haze was the amber light of sunset; then, panic began to set in.

What if? What if? What if?

My mind raced in circles as I looked around the room, hoping and praying I was safe in my own home. Hoping I wasn’t going to see that bastard of a Duke walk in with his beady eyes boring into me. Praying I wouldn’t awaken in that dilapidated shack. Bròn had disappeared by now, and I needed something to keep me grounded. I eyed the vanity at the other side of my room, and inched towards the edge of the bed.

Just as my feet touched the floor, and I began to stand, my legs gave out on me. I almost screamed out, until the feeling of arms around me broke my fall. Bròn was looking down at me with chagrined eyes, as he chided me once more.

“Ya can’t go doin’ that, Lass.” He said as he planted me firmly on the bed.

“I want to sit at my vanity.” I whined, still struggling and trying to get out from under his grasp.

“Not happein’.” He snarked. “You’re as spry as a Lutrov, ya know.”

The words made me freeze, as my nose twinged with pins and needles. The memory of Idris calling Shahin a Lutrov rang clearly in my mind in that moment—a comment I’d nearly forgotten in the nine years since I’d seen him. I could hardly remember his face, nonetheless his voice on most days. The only thing about him I could remember were his eyes. Bròn snapped me out of my haze once more as he spoke.

“That’s enough cryin’ outta you.” He said in a firm, yet gentle tone. “I can’t keep bringin’ ya to the darkness to quell the memories.”

I raised an eyebrow at his words before I wiped my tears on my shoulder.

“You keep havin’ dreams about whatever happened in ‘at palace. Take it easy n’ try to rest.” He said.

I found myself on my stomach again a few minutes later, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. The warmth of sleep took me away, eventually.