The screams died on her lips as she faced the room full of strange men. She pressed herself against the wall of her tower bedroom, close to the window that overlooked the sandy arena where she often watched the soldiers drill for battle. Clutching her blanket to her chest as if it were a magical shield, she stared in horror at the intruders. They were all armed and armored, their features hidden beneath masks of steel. Most of them held the fierce battle axes that the Huryl were famous for, but others held swords. She knew they could only be here for one reason, a reason she had long expected. Still, she found that bravery did not come as easily as acceptance. For all the long years she had spent as an accessory to Cedrik’s court, this was the first time she truly felt fear.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice sounding more shrill than she had hoped.
One of the masked strangers stepped forward, lowering his weapon and removing his helm with his free hand. As he shook out his long brown hair, she recognized him from Cedrik’s court. He was one of the captains of his army who served under the cold Commander Mattis. She searched through her fear-addled mind for his name.
“Captain Jorge,” she finally said, her hands trembling beneath her blanket shield.
“My lady,” Jorge said with a bow. “Please, do not be alarmed.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, wishing her pounding heart wound not beat so loud. Still she thought that if her wish came true, her heart might never pound again. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, she tried to compose herself. She was, after all, her father’s daughter. It would not do for her to seem frightened of a few men.
Jorge moved to the window and gestured for her to look. She kept a lingering eye on the remaining armed men and followed the captain’s gaze. She saw a few figures running through the wooden gates that lead into the city. One was obviously injured, relying on another to support him. The second-to-last figure lingered for a moment at the gate before being shoved out of the citadel by the final fugitive.
“The Warrior of the Huryl,” Jorge said with contempt in his voice.
She looked down again with renewed interest, but the figure of the Warrior had already disappeared.
“She murdered our king,” Jorge finished, turning away from the window.
Cedrik is dead. I am doomed, she thought.
“The citadel is in disarray,” Jorge continued. “The lords are fighting amongst themselves, the army has gone after the Warrior, and Commander Mattis has vanished without a trace.”
She straightened her back, as befit her station. If Captain Jorge was here to behead her, so be it. Her life had not been her own since she had been brought here all those years ago. A pretty bird to sing in a gilded cage, in exchange for her father’s allegiance.
“Do what you must, Captain,” she said, grateful to know that her bravery had finally arrived.
She closed her eye, expecting a sword through the stomach or an axe to the neck. Instead she heard the creaking of armored joints and the clash of steel against stone. Opening her eyes, she found the men in her room kneeling before her, including Captain Jorge. Startled, she let the blanket fall, revealing the diaphanous gown which she wore.
“My lady Samara,” Jorge stammered, “Your Highness. We beseech you.”
Princess Samara of the Samran tribe could no longer hide her confusion. “What do you mean?”
Jorge bowed his head to her. “The King is dead. Long live the Queen.”
***
Our journey through the Huryl mountains was quick and silent. We dared not linger or even speak in case the soldiers Commander Roric sent out were close by. I stayed near Fynn, or perhaps I should say he stayed near me. He was like my shadow during our escape, never more than a few feet from my side. Jakob and Will lead the way, and their arguments were reduced to frantic hand gestures and stamping feet. Cyrus cared for Damaeon, upset that I had decided that we should first return the silver acorn to the elves before we attempted to restore Oponoe to its former glory.
As we moved, I could not help but think of Mattis. He was the Faerie Queen’s problem now, but I had a nagging suspicion that I had not seen the last of him. I could not share my concerns with Fynn, who stubbornly refused to talk to me about it. I could not talk to Jakob either, since I knew he was going through his own difficulties. His father had attempted to kill us, had sent the royal army after us, only seconds after admitting his love for his son. Although I had never been particularly close to either of my parents since Nathan’s death and their divorce, I knew the pain of rejection.
In no time, we made it to the open plain where Fynn had confronted the Faerie Queen for the last time. I put my hand to the locket I still wore as we passed the place where she had forsaken him, and was comforted by its presence. I could see the tall trees of the Elven Forest, and I smiled gratefully to myself that we were nearly there.
“Come on!” I shouted to my friends, running through the grass to the trees.
“Leila!” Fynn called in alarm, but I ignored him.
Beside me, I saw the grass spirits leaping through the plants like dolphins in the sea. I laughed and ran faster, noticing the tree spirits around the edge of the forest beckoning me closer. The mark on my palm tingled and I felt happy for the first time in a long time.
“Leila!” Fynn said again, and I saw that he was next to me, matching my speed effortlessly. “Wait for the others. You know Damaeon can’t move that fast.”
I slowed to a halt and nodded. “You’re right. I should do something about that.”
I could hardly control the feeling of freedom within me. It threatened to burst out of my chest and I wanted to scream for joy, for anger, for everything. The tension of being in the Huryl citadel was finally allowed to escape, and I wanted everyone to be released from its grip.
“Damaeon!” I called, skipping back to him.
The Prince raised his head weakly and smiled. He was breathing hard, and I could see the pain in his eyes, but he bore it bravely. My mood was dampened slightly, and I grew all the more determined to share my exuberance with everyone.
“Here, sit down,” I told him, motioning to a nearby rock.
Damaeon regarded me warily but did as he was told. Cyrus stepped back, and for a moment I thought I saw relief on his face as he was able to set down his burden. I shook my head, chiding myself for not doing this sooner. Damaeon was living with the pain of being tortured and imprisoned by Cedrik, and Cyrus was dutifully shouldering as much of that pain as he could.
“I should have done this a while ago,” I told the prince softly.
“Leila, what are you doing?” he asked me suspiciously.
“Taking away the pain,” I replied. “Just sit still.”
“Leila,” the prince began, but I just smiled at him and held out my hands. Cautiously, he took them in his own.
The smile never left my face as our hands began to glow with a soft white light. Jakob, Cyrus, Will, and Fynn crowded around us as the glow spread to engulf both myself and Damaeon. The prince gasped, although I knew what I was doing did not hurt him. How could it, when it felt so warm and right? I felt his pain melting away, his wounds healing, and the strain of our journey vanish. As the glow faded, I released his hands.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
Damaeon rose to his feet and moved his shoulders. He took a few steps and smiled happily. He threw his arms around me, squeezing me so tightly I saw spots floating before my eyes. As he released me, he seemed to remember what had just happened and held me at arm’s length.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “What did you do? Are you … yourself?”
I laughed. “I’m fine Damaeon, really.”
The prince smiled. “And so am I. Thank you, Leila.”
“We should keep moving,” Jakob said as he stalked past us and continued towards the forest. With a final squeeze of Damaeon’s hand, I moved to join him in the lead. We made it to the edge of the forest, with only a short distance to go before we arrived at the Elven border. I wondered what kind of reception we would be likely to get from the elves, especially since we were returning with Fynn and Will. Once we were within the trees, Jakob halted our party and looked at me.
“We could stop here for the night and reach the elves by morning,” he told me, “but since you seem so full of energy, perhaps we should keep going?”
The tone of his voice was sharp and bordering on unfriendly. I wondered what I had done to deserve his harsh words. He stood in front of me impatiently, waiting for my answer.