Chapter 18 - Wings of Lies

Time passed, and minutes felt like hours. Bugs that resembled green mosquitoes buzzed around our lunch–a simple meal of bread, cheese, and apples. I nibbled on the apple. Drops of juice fled down my wrist. I licked up the drops, noticing my Binding Rune. I glanced at Brock’s wrist, finding only veins and liver spots.

“Why do you look so old?” I hoped my question insulted him.

A whip of the reins and a grunt were his only reactions. Pity. “Is there a different way I’m supposed to look?’

“Young, immortal?” I shrugged.

“I am immortal.”

The wrinkles in his face and his worn, leathery hands told a different story. Even the roots of his gray hair were speckled white—grays and whites, the colors of a burning piece of wood on its last leg of life. The only sparks of energy were in the red beads of his white beard and ever-changing eyes.

“I’m Fallen. This”—he waved a hand around his head—“was part of my punishment.” That was bitterness in his tone.

I opened my mouth to ask why his wings had been torn from his back, craving to poke at the old wounds. Before I could get a word out, a deep divot in the road slammed me against the metal railing. Searing pain shot up my side, and a whimper caught between my clenched teeth.

“Any more questions you’d like to ask?” He smiled, all teeth and spite.

“Would you knock me out so I didn’t have to see your ugly face anymore if I did?”

He jerked the horses to the side, slamming me back into the side rail. I gasped.

“No, that’d be too nice.” His mustache twitched an inch. “But these horses are difficult to steer. Never know which way they’ll jerk.” He lifted the reins, ready to twist them to the side. “Best keep your mouth shut.”

Two taps sounded inside the carriage. Brock brought the horses to a stop.

“Why are we⁠—”

“I’m taking over,” Aspen said, walking up to stand on the other side of Brock. His cold gaze shot to my arm, gripping my side, then to Brock’s face. If possible, his expression grew colder.

“But we still have an hour before change.”

“I said I was taking over. It wasn’t a negotiation.”

Brock squeezed the reins once, then threw them to the ground. “Whatever you say, Prince Aspen,” he shouldered past him to the back as Aspen took his seat.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Would it matter if I said no? Would you release me?”

“I can’t,” he whispered as a red light pulsed beneath his chin. Then, he more forcefully said, “I won’t.”

“Didn’t think so.” I gave his chin a questioning look and turned to face the dirt road, ignoring his presence.

“Why did you come here?”

Did his demanding tone never cease?

“Lucille!” he snapped after my continued silence.

At first, I resolved to stay silent, not caring about his impatience. But then the perfect response slid into my head. “Your questions aren’t worth my answers, asshole.”

That shut him up. Thank goodness. Like I wanted to explain anything to him, he deserved nothing from me.

I glanced down at the keyhole of my cuffs. My fingers twitched, knowing what to do but unable to in my princely jailor’s presence.

A jerk snapped me from my plan. My head turned to side-eye Aspen. He pushed his broad shoulders back, posture stiff. The reins wrapped around his fist turned his skin pale and slightly blue. He gazed over the heads of the black mares, never moving his head. I would’ve guessed he was a statue if not for the flutter in his jaw. He didn’t even blink. At first, I thought he was angry about what I said, but now I didn’t know.

“What?” he snapped, feeling my stare.

I raised a brow. “Are you scared of horses?”

He snorted. “I’ve been around horses longer than you’ve been alive.”

That wasn’t an answer, and now I wanted to know his age. Hana mentioned he had 90 years of training, which was indeed a lot longer than I’ve been alive. But Aspen didn’t look it. There were no liver spots or wrinkles for him. His skin was tight from his chiseled jaw to his perfect forehead. There wasn’t even a gray hair in his silky dark waves. If I had to estimate, I’d say he chose to stop aging in his early twenties.

Immortality had its benefits.

“How old are you?”

He released a long breath from his nose, “Old.”

That also wasn’t an answer. “How old?”

“Couple of years from one hundred.”

Damn.

“How old is Brock?”

“Around four hundred.”

I gaped. “Four hundred? I mean, he looks old, but not…” I trailed off.

“Brock’s appearance is punishment.” Aspen never took his eyes off the road, veins popping in his clenched hands.

He was definitely afraid of horses or driving.

“For what?”

He shrugged, but it was short and quick, like moving his hands too much would veer us into a tree. This arrogant, commanding prince could slice and punch Hellhounds, but steering horses was a scary feat.

“Not sure. I never cared enough to ask. But it was bad enough that they tore his wings off and stole the agelessness of immortality from him. As a result, he turned himself over to my queen.”

His queen. He spoke of her with such reverence, like she was some saint or a high and just queen who didn’t devalue life in pursuit of her wants and needs.

I shifted my head away from him, scratching my hand. “Your queen can rot in hell,” I muttered.

Aspen jerked his attention from the dirt road. That same odd red light flashed under his chin. “What did you just say?”

The horses veered toward the center, walking at an angle. He was so engaged in glaring at the side of my face that he didn’t notice. I almost let the horses continue until we tipped into the ditch by the trees, but my stitches already hurt from Brock’s abuse.

I lifted my hand to point at the horses. “I said your queen can rot in hell. Also, we’re about to go off the road.”

Aspen jerked the carriage hard, overdoing it. I flung into his side as the horses whinnied.

“Get off of me!”

“Learn how to drive!” I yelled back, wincing from my stitches, pushing off.

“Learn how to keep your mouth shut!” The red glow continued to flicker.

“You wanted me to talk before. I figured after letting you stew, I’d impart my wisdom. So, on top of learning how to drive, why don’t you learn how to be loyal to someone who doesn’t steal girls and shred them apart? That’d be a good first step in becoming less of an evil, demanding asshole.”

Aspen snorted, slowly nodding his head. “Your ignorance is showing, Lucille.”

“Maybe, but at least I can sleep at night,” I said, remembering the tight planes of his face as he dozed. “Bet your dreams don’t particularly agree with all the lives you’ve destroyed.”

The red light vanished, and for a moment, pain pulled at the lines of his mouth. But not just pain; I also glimpsed his guilt and shame, too. I rubbed at the ache pressing on my chest as if I could feel his pain. Bile crawled up the back of my throat. Confused, I swallowed hard, clenching my fist to resist the impulse to soothe the deep creases on his forehead. He deserved the glassy look in his eyes.

After a few more hours, Aspen veered off the road. This time on purpose, driving us to the center of a sizable, circular plain of grass.

“Why are we stopping?” The orange-veined trees on white flesh captured my gaze. Their vibrant colors stood out against the dull brown. They wrapped themselves in a half-circle around us.

Aspen stood and stepped off the carriage, ignoring my question.

Brock walked toward the horses, unlatching them.

“Are we staying here?” I asked.

Brock gave a curt nod. He guided the horses to the edges of the orange-veined trees, likely going to the river trickling nearby. The wooden carriage rocked as Cacus and Bael got out.

Standing, blood returned to my bottom and legs after sitting for so long. I stepped off the carriage and almost face-planted. It was one thing to get used to the tingling sensation and a whole other to maneuver cuffed ankles. By the time they jangled, I was already falling, arms whipping out to grip anything I could. One hand found purchase on the rail, swinging me into the carriage side with an oomph. The itching of my power traveled up my arms as I contemplated punching the wood till my knuckles were bloody.

But I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel my powers.

I stepped down to the grass, glaring at Aspen, who sat on a stump far enough away not to hear my mishap. And, of course, he pulled out his sword, lying it across his lap, preparing to sharpen it.

Taking a few steps, my chains made little noise against the plush grass. Aspen didn’t acknowledge me. His whetstone clashed against the metal of his blades, covering the rest of my cuff noise. Brock was still gone, and the demons vanished into the trees, probably to hunt for food.

I glanced behind me at the forest, down to my chains, and back to my jailor.

Hana said Brock could sense things, which was part of the problem with escaping. But this time, it was only Aspen. This was my moment. It didn’t matter if the forest was dangerous and filled with Hellhounds. Aspen’s threat of chasing me down if I ran was only valid if he knew of my escape. But if he did catch me, he couldn’t do anything. His precious queen needed my powers. Armed with my bobby pins and the cover of the forest, I could remove my cuffs. After that, I’d lusceler away, find a safe place to practice my powers, and find my mom. The details would fall into place later.

But if I didn’t take this opportunity, my life would be forfeit the moment I stepped on Tenebrous’s soil. Any hope of finding my mom, even if she were in the Tenebrous Kingdom, would be crushed under the sureness of the queen’s abuse. But who knew if my mom was there? She could be in the Ethereal Kingdom. With the flickering image of both kingdoms surrounding her, I had no idea who had her. The only way to find those answers was through my dream-walking abilities or, if that failed, Magda.

So, if my only options were to brave the deadly forest and possibly die to find her, brave the deadly forest and get abused by my captors once caught, or sit back and wait to die at the queen’s hands, then why not attempt escape while Brock isn’t here?

If the forest killed me, if I was captured and broken again, so be it.

With one last glance at the asshole prince, I walked. My craving to escape begged me to run, but it’d make too much noise. So, I kept my steps slow and quiet, avoiding leaves and potential tripping hazards.

When I reached the halfway point, I glanced back at Aspen, covered partially by the carriage, still sharpening his stupid weapons. Good. At the three-fourths mark, something dark flashed in the forest. I might’ve stopped if it wasn’t for my need to escape and the lingering itches of my power riding my angry determination.

But I didn’t.

My boots reached the forest line, pausing in surprise. Sure, it’s only been a couple of minutes, but I figured my princely jailor would’ve investigated by now. Maybe after the Hellhound attack, he thought I was too frightened to attempt to go into the forest. Little did he know how badly I wanted to find my mom. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that my mom was alive and in need of help.

Ominous shadows flickered in the forest’s colorful depths. The oranges, whites, and greens were a curling finger beckoning me in while the shadows spoke of trouble. Without a second thought, I entered. Walking a ways in, I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. I crouched to pick up my cuffs and froze.

A Hellhound stepped out of the shadows.

Was it a Hellhound?

Its shadow fur resembled fur more than the ones that attacked us. Gold specs mingled with the black, moving between the wisps, matching the color of its eyes. At least this beast looked less skeletal, closer to a black wolf than a skeleton of death.

Maybe it was half-Hellhound.

I stood, knowing right about now I’d be feeling the stabs of my Glory. But unlike the itches I felt seconds ago, my cuffs suppressed them.

We stared at each other. It tilted its head to the side and sat back. The glow in its golden eyes was less murderous and more curious. Not that that meant it wasn’t going to eat me, or more accurately, drain all the blood from my body. Just because it seemed less threatening didn’t change the fact its gigantic fangs peeked from its black lip, glistening with poorly contained saliva.

I peeked to my left, seeing a road through the unique trees, knowing I couldn’t escape that way or to my right, where the river trickled somewhere in the distance where Brock and the horses were.

That left straight ahead past the half-hellhound—or whatever it was.

Swallowing, I gave one last glance at my cuffs and put my bobby pin back in my hair. I’d have to un-cuff them after I got past the beast. I raised my hands and took a step forward and to the side. It shifted to its legs, raising back up to all fours.

Heavenly hell, why did they have to be the size of small horses?

I stopped, hands shaking. “I just want to pass. Let me pass.”

I’m not scared. I’m not a wimp. I’m not scared.

The mantra was shit against the giant beast shifting forward, sniffing.

The beast tilted its head, sniffing again. I bet it smelled the delicious angel blood running through my veins. I took another couple of slow steps. This time, it didn’t move.

Its gaze pinned me, never once leaving my face as I continued my incremental shuffle. I was just waiting for it to stop playing with me and lunge.

I didn’t have to wait long.

It quickly obliterated the yards between us. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut. The claw-tearing pain I was expecting turned out to be a long, smelly, wet lick up half of my face.

I didn’t dare move, suspecting this was a twisted game. But when it licked me twice more and whimpered, I relaxed the slightest bit and opened my eyes.

“Does that mean you like me, beastie? Or are you tasting the goods before sucking out my blood?”

The beastie sat back and tilted its head a few more times.

Okay. That had to be a good sign. I hoped.

It rose and butted its wet nose into my hand, whining. It wanted me to pet it. What the actual hell?

I raised my hand against my better judgment to brush the shifting shadows near its ear when it let loose a vicious growl. I scrambled back.

It was going to eat me. I knew it. Why was I always so trusting?

The beastie turned. The vicious growl wasn’t for me but for the blurring figure that shoved me back, making me fall and the beast attack.

I expected obscuring steam and red flames, but the half-hellhound fought like any normal wolf. But it was as fast as Aspen.

They blurred around each other, barely discernible to the naked eye. At moments, I caught flashes of blue fire, heard animal whines, and a couple of masculine hisses. The hisses made me flinch. I hated the sound as much as I hated the whine from the beastie. No part of me understood why. Or why I wanted to intervene to stop the fight in hopes it’d fix the dreadful bottoming out of my stomach.

Reasoning finally slammed back into me when I looked down at my cuffs. Damn it. I needed to get out of here and get them off.

Jerking to my feet, avoiding the blurring bodies of black, I slipped behind a tree and shuffled my way forward.

I screamed at myself to hurry, switching my shuffle to a noisy jog. The fact that I didn’t know where I was going didn’t concern me. Only that I got away from them and the weird pain pushing me to reconsider. There was nothing to reconsider when my mom was out there.

After tripping and bruising my knees over and over, I lost Aspen. Their noises of pain faded to the ominous rustling of leaves and my heavy breathing. Switching directions, I attempted to find the noise of the river after avoiding it. A water source would be necessary until I found someone who wouldn’t kill me or use me when I asked for help.

As the tension left my shoulders, I slammed into a hard, unyielding chest, my bubble of space obliterated.

“Going somewhere?”

Shit.