Mark of Betrayal

Page 37

“Okay.” I nodded, picturing the events ahead. “So, how did it look—the crowning dress? Is it like the picture we drew?”
“Even better.” Morgaine’s eyes lit up.
“Great. I think I'm most excited about that part.”
She stood up and leaned over the dresser to dash on some of my lip-gloss. “And what are you most scared about?”
“Um…I think the whole enchanted forest thing, you know. People say there’s evil out there, and that if I don't get out before dawn, I’ll be stuck in there for eternity.”
Morgaine’s shoulders dropped. “Um. Look. I know you want reassurance, but…well…just finish the walk before then, and we won’t have to find out.”
“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “I feel better now.”
“Sorry, but there’s not much I can say. I don't know if those rumours are true, and I'm not willing to test them on you, Majesty. Just don't fail us.”
Feeling a deep rumble in the pit of my stomach, I inhaled the wafting, savoury scent of chickens being roasted in the kitchen. Morgaine looked up from straightening her dress and focused on the tight clutch of my hands over my stomach.
“Ara, the sun has barely touched the Earth. You still have a whole twenty or so hours to get through before you can eat. Are you going to be okay?”
“No,” I scoffed. “I wasn’t designed to go without food. Especially knowing my faithful subjects will be feasting in my absence. Those chickens smell great.”
“I know.” She smiled. “But the feast at the ball tomorrow night will be even better. Trust me—it’s worth the starvation.”
“I don't see why they’re sticking to the fasting rule.” I rubbed my tummy. “I feel weak enough as it is.”
“Like I said, we love our rules and rituals around here.”
The golden sun, setting around the world outside, sent its pink light into my room, warming the walls with the soft kiss of twilight. I shuddered. “It’s nearly time.”
“Yep.” Morgaine took a step back and grabbed her cape off the bed. “Five minutes.”
I took a deep, jagged breath, then smiled. “I like your hair that colour. Is it naturally brown?”
“Yep. But the purple streak is dye.” She grinned, touching it. “It matches my dress for tomorrow night’s ball.”
“And the cape, too.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I'm going for a whole purple theme.”
“I like.”
She fastened her cloak over her long, fitted black dress and smiled at me as my deep breath turned into a yawn. “You tired already?”
“Mm-hm.” I yawned again. “Will I get any sleep for the next two days? I mean, I’ll be up all night tonight, walking, then all day tomorrow on the throne, doing queenly duties, then the ball—”
“Nope. Welcome to being queen. They expect you to be super-human. Oh, wait—” she touched her fingertip to her chin, “—you are.”
“I don't feel super-human.”
“Well, you look super hot.” She elbowed me gently. “And I actually think that dress is more perfectly close to nature than being naked.”
I touched my fingers to the stiff, almost gristly feel of the fabric. “Hey, Morg, I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
“Um, in the oath, I have to say a word that translates to One Entity. Arthur said it means God.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well, I don't really know if I believe in God. How can I make an oath to Him if I don't believe in Him?”
“Why don't you believe in Him?”
I shrugged. “I just think if He was all so powerful and great, there wouldn’t be such things as war and famine and…”
“Look, Ara, I could so easily get into a debate with you about how ludicrous that statement is, but we don't have time. The One Entity can be any god you want. It just means a higher power than yourself.”
“But…all the old people here believe in God. Aren’t I supposed to believe what my people believe?”
“Most of your people don't know what to believe, Amara. Only the Ancients believe in God.”
“Did Lilith believe?”
“Yes.”
“Then, shouldn’t I?”
“You can't make yourself believe in anything, Princess. And, like I said, as long as you believe in something bigger than yourself, you can choose whichever religion you want. Drake, for example, was a Pagan.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Is that because he’s a witch?”
“No. Study the intricacies of the Pagan religion, Amara. Witchcraft and Paganism are very different.”
“How?”
“Because you don't have to be a witch to be a Pagan, and you don't have to be a Pagan to be a witch. Why not do some reading, find out for yourself?”
“Okay. Maybe I will.”
“That’s fine—as long as you believe in something.”
I looked into my heart for a second as I followed Morgaine from my room. I knew there were things in my soul I would never understand, but I also knew I felt something deeper than myself—something I couldn’t explain. There had to be some entity up there, somewhere, which ruled over all. That much I was sure of. Whether it was God or not, I just couldn’t say. But there was something.
Morgaine turned back and grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s go write some history—you can think about the mysteries of God tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
A rushing sound, like an express train in a subway, forced my eyes open. Small needles of dry pine blurred my vision for a second; I blinked them from my lashes, my eyes focusing on the waning daylight, while a woodsy, earthy smell dried my nostrils with each breath. I lifted my face from the crook of my elbow and sat up, circling on my knees a few times in the barky bed I was laying.
Above me, trees soared high into the summer sky, opening to a ribbon of pink. I jumped to my feet and scuffed back, stopping, palms flat over the bark of a tree trunk.
“Mike!” I called. “Mike? Are you out there?”
No one answered. I couldn't hear anyone or anything. There were no birds, no scuffling of little animals hiding under the brush, not even a breeze—just my own shallow breath and the thumping of my heart. I scrunched my eyes shut, folding over from the tight, searing pulse along my veins; getting hotter the closer it got to my core. And several questions fell through me like water over a window; how the hell did I get out here, and where was everyone else?
There were no trees that looked like funny old men with weird names, no rock and no Mike. Nothing but me and my confusion.
I sat down with my legs crossed and ran a fingertip from my ankle to my upper thigh, tracing each tiny little word in black ink. They looked like whirly notepad art or the veins on the back of a leaf. I could feel the burn of the Mark around my eyes and nose, like a mask, but without a puddle or a lake to see my refection, I’d never know what they looked like. Strangely, though, when I leaned closer to my shin and looked carefully at the words, they peered back up at me like text from a children’s book. I knew the swerves and curls of each rune were letters of the old language, just like Jason’s tattoo, but I could read them—every word, as if they were in plain English. I looked away quickly.
Above me, the sky darkened, with thick purple clouds closing it in, lowering shadows onto the forest with an eerie chill. One thing was clear; somehow, I’d made my oath and ended up in the depths of the forest. But I had no memory of it. No idea where I was or how I got here.
After a deep breath, I got to my feet and checked myself; my lip wasn't cut, neither was my hand, and…I felt my chest…I clearly hadn’t jabbed myself in the heart. Or maybe I did, and now I was dead—well, as dead as I could be—or unconscious.
I closed my eyes and focused on my toes, feeling the earth and tiny bits of bark between them, felt the cool of the twilight air, settling around the tops of my ears and the edges of my shoulders. It was real. All too real to be a dream or death. Which meant that, once that sun went down, I would have a hard time figuring out which way led back to civilisation. In fact, I wasn't even sure this was the same forest surrounding the manor. It felt bigger, deeper, scarier than the one I walked in with Mike that day. The trees, though I knew they were filled out with leaves at the very tops, all felt bare and lifeless, slanting inward, looking down on me. I was alone out here, but I didn't feel alone. Not one little bit.
Rubbing the pulse in my wrist with my thumb, I started walking, cautious eyes checking every branch before passing under it. But the ghostly chill of dusk, gathering at the nape of my neck and seeping down my spine, made me walk a little faster, worrying less about what might be in the trees and more about what might be following me.
Out here, gravity owned my steps; it seemed I’d been stripped of immortality and all the powers that went with it. The ground felt weird, kind of hard—like I’d been in bed for three days and only just got up. It received my steps, but didn't return them, and I didn't like it. Didn’t like the hunger, the cold, the…feeling human. But if I could overcome it and make it home by dawn, I would finally prove to everyone that I'm not just a dumb little girl.
With that, I stood a little taller, dropping my arms to my sides.
Pain or none, I could do this. I was born for this.
* * *
Despite this forest being so uninhabited that the branches had never been trimmed and a trail had never been cleared, it felt kind of like the trees made an aisle for me, turning their heads as I passed, wondering what my business here was. But other than that small feeling of being watched, everything was normal; no marshy bogs or tar pits, no shape-shifting crows that swooped in to kidnap me. It was actually even quite pretty—the raw, untamed part of the forest. Even the weeds, tipped with furry flowers that broke into motes of dust when I passed them, looked pretty in the wild, because they were meant to be here. They weren’t doing any harm—not spoiling prized roses or messing up garden beds. This was their home, and, out here, I was the intruder—the weed.
Up ahead, a solid figure caught my eye; I stopped dead, looking through the foggy air, past the straight columns of tree trunks. “Mike?” I called cautiously.
Whatever it was stopped moving. I focused on it, squinting.
“Hey!” I called again, cupping my hands around my mouth; my voice echoed all around me. “Mike? Is that you…ou…ou?”
The soles of my feet ached where twigs entered the delicate flesh between my toes and under the bridge of my foot, but I didn't care. I walked carelessly, fast and anxious, stopping when I neared the tree where I’d seen the person—or thought I saw a person.
“Hello?” I said, then spun in a couple of circles, looked up the hill and down, but found nothing. No one.
This time, my tone held a little caution. “Mike, are you out there?”
I waited longer to hear a voice, but only the crass caw of a crow answered. Behind me, the bird sat on a wiry branch, his weight making it bend a little, his call still sounding in my ears. We stared each other down for a few breaths, my heart pounding in my chest, each steady thump like a deliberate bang on a drum. Then, he cawed again and flew off, his silky wings beating the foggy air, until he ducked past a branch and was gone.
I made the prompt decision then that yelling out, screaming through the forest that I was alone, might perhaps be a bad idea. There was no knowing what was out here. No knowing if the stories were true—if maybe I’d find hundreds of vampires who’d been trapped in here at dawn and were starving—hunting their next meal. And if that eerie-looking crow was anything to go by, it was naïve of me to think I was alone.
Maybe the person I saw was Mike, but I was so not going to call out to him again.
A heavy stillness crawled down around me then, bringing night closer and closer, and I felt the tight fist of panic unfurl in my gut. The silent hope I’d had of finding Mike out here—possibly performing his Sacrificial Rights—just became locked behind an iron door. This was all up to me, alone, and all I could do was walk—one way or another, I had to move, and just hope I was headed in the right direction—hope it would lead me to the border by sunrise—any border, even if it wasn't the one lining the Throne Room.
I lifted my leg a little and rolled my foot to look at the damage; twigs and pebbles stuck out from my skin, finding pockets of softness to hide in. I swiped my hand down them, wincing as a few dragged themselves from the bloodied clasp of my flesh, then dropped my foot back down on its side, so I wasn’t standing on the cuts, and started walking again.
The further I walked, the deeper I must have headed into the forest. Sunset followed me, sitting in the sky like a timeless wrap. Night should have closed in, should have taken hold of this walk by now, but it seemed as though I’d been dropped off in an empty world that knew no time. I had no watch, but my body-clock was still active, and I knew enough time had passed to bring morning—but hadn't presented a way out of this vast landscape. Suddenly, the idea that this was an enchanted forest seemed a little less ridiculous.
The branches around my feet had shrivelled away from thick and bold to skinny and scrawny, the shrubs and grasses making way for cages of dead twigs. Each tree I passed screeched at me, creaking as if my presence made their roots ache.
I sunk my neck into tight shoulders and tucked my elbows closer to my ribs. It felt darker. Every step took me deeper and deeper into the forest, down a hill that never looked like a hill until I glanced behind me. When I looked up from my feet, night seemed to own the path ahead, but I never seemed to reach it, either.