Page 52 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

She listened as Owain told her about his father’s orders to have her killed and the lie he told to try to throw them off her trail. He relayed how Chrys helped him escape the palace and how he killed Lord Calix, for good this time.

Orla was quiet for a long moment after he finished.

“And now you think you can take me somewhere safe where your father won’t find me?” He nodded. “He’s the king of these lands now, there is nowhere in Emmental where he won’t hunt me down.”

“You’re right, nowhere in Emmental is safe. But I want to take you to Iridaceae.”

Orla’s face scrunched in indignation. Iridaceae rarely allowed outsiders into their lands. They were magical lands that had been cut off from the rest of the continent of Esrom for thousands of years. Unlike Emmental and the other kingdoms were ruled by Elves, all magical creatures held power in Iridaceae. It was said that magic ran wild there, and that creatures not thought to have magical gifts could practice magic with as much skill as someone who magic was innate in.

“Why would an Elven lord know anything about Iridaceae? How would you even be able to speak their language?” This had to be a trick. Orla lived on the border between Emmental and Iridaceae, and she knew next to nothing about the place.

“My mother was from Iridaceae. Well, her coven was. I’ve been there a few times, and she had a small cabin that would be a safe place to hide.”

“How do you know we won’t be followed?” Orla worried her lower lip between her teeth, thinking this over.

She felt stuck. If what Owain was saying were true, which seemed far-fetched to begin with, then she wasn’t safe in Emmental. But going to a place she knew nothing about, only that her already unpredictable magic would be even more untamed, set off her nerves. Owain continued, shifting his weight between his feet.

“My father never knew my mother was part witch, and he doesn’t know about the cabin. He doesn’t even know that I bear a rune spelled by my mother that allows me to enter the magic lands undetected.”

“And will I be detected?”

“Yes, but you’re a nymph, so the magic should respond to your blood and allow you passage,” he said, rubbing his hand along his bearded jaw.

“Should? That’s not reassuring from a male who wants me dead.”

Owain’s eyes looked pained. “I’ve never wanted you dead, Orla. Not really.” A small twinge of something like hope gripped her chest before she quickly squashed it. Bullshit, she thought. Though she refrained from saying it.

Orla thought about her options. She could stay here and hope he was lying; she could flee on her own, though she had only ever traveled as part of the king’s army and didn’t know where she could go. Or… she could go with him. It was the most foolish option, but Orla valued her life, and if he was being honest with her, this was also her best option.

“Let me make one thing plain, Owain. I will go with you.” His face lit up for a fraction of a second. “But I do not trust you. I am going because I value my own life, but if I so much as suspect you aren’t being truthful with me, this time, I will kill you.” She glared at him for a moment before stomping towards the cottage.

Chapter Thirty-Two

As she flitted around her cottage, packing the necessary things for travel, Owain took stock of the space. It was homey with the fireplace roaring. The small kitchen was covered in herbs and flowers that Orla had strung up to dry. Jars full of already dried plants covered much of the wood countertops. Owain noticed a small red-and-white mushroom that sat alone in one of the jars. He suppressed a smile seeing the tiny reminder of their time foraging.

When Orla agreed to travel with him, relief swept over him. He knew his father was coming for them. Even if he had believed his lie about Orla being from Ovidur, if she had been walking around unaware of the price on her head, surely someone in town would have seen her and set word to the king.

When she was ready, she stood by the doorway, pack slung over her shoulder with her sword and dagger sheathed to it. The entire time she packed, she hadn’t said a single word to him. Even now, she looked ready to throttle him, but he would take her anger if it meant he could get her to safety. What happened after he got her to his mother’s cabin, well, he would sort that out later.

It was early evening when they readied the horses and set out. They had to leave immediately. The more time they put between themselves and his father’s guards the better. It would be a long journey; to get through the Iridaceae Mountains would take nearly a fortnight. Ten days if they pushed the horses to breaking. There was a small inn at the base of the mountain, the last way station between Emmental and Iridaceae where, with luck, Chrys would meet them before they crested the mountain into the magical lands.

* * *

They traveled through the forests surrounding Benin. These were old woods. Gnarled trees were covered in moss and lichen. As they moved farther into the forest, ferns the size of small horses covered the tufted ground.

They traveled for several hours until night had well fallen, and it would risk their horses if they continued to move in the dark. When they came across a small clearing, Owain finally broke the hours of long silence.

“We should make camp here for the night. We can continue at first light.” He dismounted from his horse and unstrapped his pack. He had brought a bedroll as well as a few blankets and tarps for them to sleep on. Orla dismounted her horse as well before beginning to make a small fire. She had packed some dried meat and vegetables, as well as an assortment of nuts and leathered fruit that should last them for a few days before they needed to hunt.

The two sat in tense silence. Orla ate a bit of dried rabbit while Owain stared into the fire. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Sorry, being chief among them. But Orla hadn’t so much as looked at Owain more than a few seconds the entire time they had traveled. Had things been different, had Owain been more honest with Orla, this could have been a romantic getaway. Them out in the forest with a cozy fire. They could have kept each other warm against the winter night’s chill and enjoyed being together the way they had so many times on the palace grounds. But one look at Orla and Owain knew he had broken any hope of her returning his affections. She sat across from him, pointedly averting his gaze. Her lips were drawn into a tight line, her shoulders tense. When she wasn’t eating, she was absentmindedly picking at her cuticles.

He couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“You can ask me. If you’re wondering about the plans and what I did, you can ask me. I’ll tell you the truth.”

She scoffed, refusing to look at him.

“Oh yes, truth from the male plotting to kill me. How reassuring.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.