Wicked is the Curse.

42 | Robin

Chapter 42 | Robin

A promise.

Ribbons binding wrists. A promise made to the High-King and to the land – and to each other. "That promise became obsolete when Cearna fell."

His mouth flattened. "And re-ignited when I realized that you were still alive."

"You were given an opportunity to escape a match forced upon you by our parents. I wouldn't be so proud as to deny that escape."

He gave her a look she couldn't quite decipher. She didn't let herself wonder what her life would have been now. They would have been married and she would have been living in Vespith – hundreds of miles from home but she would have the great Cearnain holidays to look forward to. Her brothers and sisters would have had children of their own and her days would have not been so grey. Perhaps, perhaps, she would have had children too. Children who would have been safe within the walls of a palace. Children to hold, to love and teach and show all the wonders of the land to.

He was right. Aire turned away from him. Any Aryshalin would have to hide their identity for fear of the Empire finding them. If she did have children, would they be born with the moon in their hair? Hiding for all time, hunted because of their bloodline.

And if she didn't have children, the Aryshalin line would fade out completely. The Empire would win.

"Let us not rush so brazenly into the darkness" The Bloodbound eased. "There is a clearing nestled in the trees and a lake with clear water to wash and drink from."

She let him lead her to through the trees. The Púca followed along behind them, moving silently along the tree branches. Their great watching eyes were unnerving, but Aire would take that over the Cú Sidhe's teeth any day. The Bloodbound's advance was confident through the dark forest and slowed only to find his way around great protruding roots and uneven earth that had been hidden by the snow.

Her Wield was quiet under her skin, while the quick flashes of sunlight that broke through the canopy, was warm against it. The trees broke away into a large clearing. Without the canopy, the ground here was covered in a thick and undisturbed coat of snow.

A wide stream babbled at the far right of the clearing, partially hidden by wild and overgrown grass that had stubbornly resisted the cold bite of winter. It fed into a small lake, whose surface was as still as a held breath. It was dark and deep, as clear as glass.

All seemed quiet and calm. Aire drifted closer, silent on the soft snow. Great shards of stone slanted into the lake, as if spit down from Valherin like great arrowheads and imbedded into the earth and water.

"There are fish in this lake." The Bloodbound crouched at the lake's edge. His fingertips ghosted over the surface of the water. "Are you hungry?"

"You have never cared about whether I was hungry before."

"Bloodbounds have cracked open the skulls of Wielders like eggshells just because they could. It is a fine line to balance between keeping you all alive and making sure no one suspects that I have woken." He straightened. "I am going to catch fish and make us something to eat."

Prince. Sea-Singer. She watched him as he searched the forest floor. First, a long shard of rock that he began to sharpen against the great slabs of stone. "Can I help you?"

"There are frost berries growing along the opposite shore." He pointed briefly. "A good bushel would stave off our hunger until the fish is caught and cooked."