A shiver runs down Nefari’s spine. He used to hide this side of himself from her. She supposes there are many sides of herself she’s previously hidden from him, too.
Fawn chuckles and snatches the loaf from his hairy grip while leaving them to themselves. She murmurs her greeting to Bastian Pike as she passes him. Nefari knew Bastian was close by – knew he’d been watching her, waiting for the right moment to chastise her behavior today. She could feel it, and so far, she’s been successful in avoiding him. She’s had enough of Bastian’s lectures to know when another is coming. She isn’t ready to endure one more.
“Rude,” Patrix grumbles while he watches the female centaur stride away. He rubs his hands to free them of crumbs, and Nefari notes the fresh rope burns on his wrists. How hard had he fought against his binds?
A little guilt slivers its way into Nefari’s chest, but she raises her eyebrows instead of thanking him for having been concerned for her safety. “Are we ready to leave? The wind may be carrying away the evidence of the day’s events, but if the bone criers show up . . .”
She lets her sentence trail off there. She doesn’t need to say more. The large black birds give everyone the chills and not just because they eat rotting flesh. Their caws sound like a woman’s scream, and they can scent death from miles away.
Once they’re done feasting, there’s nothing left but a garden of bones. Nefari has seen this for herself. Of course, that particular village wouldn’t have been wiped out if the raid had gone according to Salix’s plan. They didn’t have to die, but the villagers were outnumbered. It was either death or slavery. Nefari often wonders which she would choose if the situation was ever taken from her hands.
At the thought of the possibility, she runs her thumb over the black diamond ring resting on her middle finger. A ring her mother had gifted her.
“Almost, but they may not show up at all if there’s nothing left to eat.” The satyr turns to her and considers her expression with a thoughtful one of his own. He asks softly, “Why did you freeze back there? The dead harvestman. Why does seeing one still affect you so?”
Shrugging, Nefari endures the swirl of bad energy gripping her stomach. Though he was dead, she was sure his unseeing eyes had peered into her soul – into her past. It had felt that way to her. “It was nothing,” she says aloud.
“Nothing?” Patrix leans in. “The Fari I know wasn’t here tonight. You were reckless, and when it was time to execute the only part of the plan you followed, you hesitated at the very sight of the men you were meant to kill. Why?”
“I’ve changed,” she grumbles. It’s all she’ll admit.
“I see that. Why?” Patrix narrows his slotted brown eyes to study her under great scrutiny, and then realization dawns across his goat-ish features. “You’re eighteen. The birthright?”
Nefari glances away. “It’s nothing.”
Patrix pokes the tip of her nose. “It’s not nothing. You’re of age to truly be the Queen of your people, but instead, you’re killing them.” She pushes his hand away. “Look, I get it. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a princess who consistently has to murder the very people you were born to protect.”
They both examine the blaze, and the princess closes her eyes to the flames burning holes in her heart. It was only part of the truth, but Nefari says, “It doesn’t matter now, does it.”
“I told you. Whether you claim your fate or not is up to you. They may all be pressuring you into it, but ultimately, the choice is yours.”
“Her fate is many things,” Bastian’s deep voice grumbles behind them. His long and dark red hair is tied to the nape of his neck with a leather strap, and the muscles under his leathery brown skin ripple with each shift of weight. The dark slits of his green equestrian eyes narrow as he glares down at her. “But her birthright is only one of them. And one she thinks she can outrun.”
Patrix rises on the tips of his hooves. “The Fate-blessed princess of rage and wrath and all that nonsense,” he says, reciting part of Nefari’s prophecy. The prophecy had been told to Nefari’s mother ages ago, declared by a crone who had first reported it to the Queen of Salix. “But is your prophecy truly the reason you don’t want your crown?”
She knows he means the shadow crown, for the other physical crown is presumed to be destroyed.
Shadow queens and kings had two crowns. One was a physical crown, steel twisted like vines with black diamonds embedded in them, and the other was the shadow kingdom’s crown. The shadow crown is conjured by royal magic and appears like black smoke atop their heads. Nefari hates wearing that particular crown, but thankfully, only Sibyl makes her.
Before Nefari can defend herself, Bastian says, “She doesn’t want her fate – both to her throne and to the realm – because she’s frightened of it.”
“Of course, she is.” Patrix looks taken-aback. “Only an insane person wouldn’t be frightened of those kinds of expectations.” He leans closer to Nefari and whispers not so quietly, “This is why I don’t stay in one place for too long, ya know. People start expecting things out of me.”
Nefari’s fingers ball into fists. “I am not scared of my birthright.”
“Sure, you are,” Patrix counters. He points his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the fire engulfing dead harvestmen. “Everyone’s scared of something. What is it, Fari? If it’s not your prophecy, what frightens the fearless?”
Nefari snorts as the echo of her prophecy rises in her thoughts. She hadn’t learned of her prophecy until sometime after living with the centaurs. The centaurs had tried to hide it from her – Bastian in particular, but Sibyl had refused to harbor the truth from her for long. Sibyl may keep most of the truth from Nefari, but she’s never been one to refuse such life-altering information.
Fate-blessed, Nefari nearly snarks aloud. As if that means anything to anybody now. She keeps those thoughts to herself, however, because villagers are nearby, and she doesn’t want them to fear that the Divine they pray to – Fate, Choice, Hope, and Despair – are no longer around. Except for Despair, of course, and the only ones who pray to him are the crones. Everyone knows the Queen of Salix herself is harvested by Despair. But not many believe they live in a realm where their prayers go unanswered.
With fear comes wild hope. Nefari avoids both for reasons she refuses to say.
Ten years ago, the other gods learned of Despair’s malevolent plans. He had tried to take over the other realms. It had sparked a war, and those realms had risen in the challenge to rid their land of the evil that was trying to rot it. When he lost, he came back here and possessed the Queen of Salix in his last attempt at ruling his realm.
During the Realms War, Fate had discretely guided the leaders of the battles who had destroyed the corrupt fee who ruled the realms. Those Fee once lived here, children of the four gods, or so the story goes. Her mother used to tell her about it as a gruesome bedtime story, and even after ten years, Nefari has never forgotten them.
Despair had learned of Fate’s interference in the Realms War, and instead of waiting for his death, Fate had blessed the unborn child of a Shadow Queen with all his significant gifts. It is a fate Nefari never asked for. It is a prophecy Nefari ignores. And the shadow crown is a weight she will never be able to balance on her head. She’s not fit to be a queen. She’s done too many dark and unforgivable things just to survive, including killing her own people for the sake and safety of others. Some may call that heroic. Nefari knows it’s damning, but this realm is no place for the weak and fragile.