Page 71 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Cessly and Chrys alternated telling their story as the four of them drank and ate. They had traveled out of Imsil at night, a few days after Owain fled, but they didn’t have a horse, so they moved slowly. On the edge of the city, they were caught by the king’s guardsmen who had planned to take them back to the palace dungeons and they had to fight their way free. They were kept in a makeshift cell as the king’s guard made their way back to the palace. It took a couple of days to free themselves; the guards had knocked Cessly out so she couldn’t use her magic, and Chrys’s changeling powers were well known by then, so they didn’t fall for any of his tricks. In the end, Chrys stabbed a guard with a sharp bit of wood from the makeshift cell they were being kept in. That allowed them to get their weapons and get away.

Once they were finally free, they got a horse and made for the border, but by that point, the border was crawling with guards and warriors. It took them several days of hiding out before they could safely make it to the inn where Vasha had told them that Owain and Orla were long gone.

They moved slowly up the mountain face, trying to stay out of sight and only traveling on the more desolate parts of the mountain when they stumbled upon a guard encampment not far from the rocky outcropping they were sheltered under. Cessly cast a spell so they could better hear what the guards were saying after they heard Orla’s name mentioned by the group. The group had been discussing the warriors who had been killed by thorns and the sheer amount of blood at the scene.

“The guards reckoned that you two were badly injured and hadn’t likely made it far past the border. But on the king’s orders, they were not to leave their posts until they found proof of your deaths,” Chrys said.

“We thought you were dead,” Cessly added before continuing. “But Chrys said that if you were alive, you’d be here, so we continued until we made it across the border. We had to stop again because the crossing was particularly hard on Chrys.” The two passed a meaningful look between them that didn’t get past Orla’s notice.

“Felt like the damn barrier didn’t want to let me pass this time. I was nauseous for a full day after we crossed. Then we ran into trouble with a silkie who refused to rent one of his hippogryphs to anyone Elven.”

Orla nodded, telling the pair about her own run-in with the silkie. Her being a nymph was the only thing that helped her get one of the hippogryphs herself. She refused to think about what would have happened to Owain if she hadn’t been able to get him warm and clean while he healed.

“In the end, Cess convinced him that he could trust us.”

Cessly chimed in again. “If that hadn’t worked, I would have had to enchant him. But thankfully he cooperated.” She said it with a self-satisfied smile. Still, Orla could sense that there was something the pair wasn’t telling them. Apparently, Owain felt the same way.

“What are you leaving out?” He said this while looking directly at Chrys.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened to you lot first?” Chrys countered.

So Owain and Orla relayed their story, noting how they had been tracked for most of the journey and how the ambush so close to the border was likely some kind of trap. Chrys and Cessly both let out shocked sounds when Orla told them of Owain’s injuries and how long it had taken him to heal. They left out the part about all the sex. Though from Owain’s state of dress, or lack thereof, when they arrived, they clearly knew that the pair had made up.

Finally, Owain turned his attention back on Chrys. Chrys held Owain’s gaze for a long time, struggling to form the necessary words.

“He plans to take on Iridaceae. Before I was found impersonating Calix, I heard several of his advisors talking about runes and ways to break through the magic that binds them. He thinks he can disrupt the barrier. Says if his bastard son and his whore want to hide out in the magic lands, he has no problem razing the place to get them.”

Orla snapped her head at Owain, knowing fear was etched on her face.

“Could he do that?”

Owain seemed to know more about magic than most, and Orla thought that if anyone knew about the ability to disrupt that level of magical power, he would know.

“It’s not impossible,” Owain said contemplatively. “If he wanted to take down the barrier with Iridaceae, he would just have to weaken it along certain points in the mountain. It’s all held in place by runes. If the runes were tampered with or if they lost power, he could create a weak point that could be exploited.”

“How long would it take for him to exploit a weakness like that?” Cessly asked.

“Don’t know. It depends on how much he knows about the runes holding the barrier in place. But from what Chrys is sharing, and from what we learned after Orla was attacked, King Vernon has likely been experimenting with runes for some time.”

The four of them sat there for a moment, thinking about what that would mean for them if King Vernon was serious about trying to bring down the barrier. It would mean war between every kingdom on the continent of Esrom. But more than that, it would mean that they weren’t safe. At least not for long.

“What do you think our options are?” Chrys said to the group.

“We could try to go back and stop him. That poses its own set of challenges as there are four of us and his armies and the battalions of his allies are in the thousands.” Chrys nodded grimly. “Or we could inform the Iridaceaen Council. Though there’s no guarantee they would believe us. Their runes have been in place for all of living memory. I doubt they would see that they could be faulty.”

Chrys nodded again. “True.”

Owain turned his gaze to Cessly and Orla.

“What do you think, my goddess?” He placed his hand gently on Orla’s thigh, breaking her out of her thought spiral. Since Chrys announced the king’s plan, her breathing had become uneasy and her heart was thrumming. Thoughts of war and death overwhelmed her as they had so many times before. But now, Owain’s strong hand on her thigh grounded her, and she looked into his kind eyes.

“Breathe, Orla,” he commanded in a gentle voice. “We’ve all been to war. We all know the stakes. I just want to know your thoughts.” He squeezed her thigh reassuringly.

Being a fighter had never been in Orla’s nature. She had rushed into the king’s army searching for something that had felt so far away from her. She had never cared for violence or bloodshed. Gods, she didn’t have a vested interest in Emmental’s geopolitics. She was just a female who had wanted to feel valued.

War had brought that, until it hadn’t.

And now, in front of her was a male who gave her all of that and more. She was valued by Owain, cherished by him. And not because of the hard facade she lived in for so much of her life. But for who she was on the inside. She could be a fighter when she needed to be and maybe would be again when the time came. But she was done rushing into wars. Done sacrificing the softest parts of herself to Elven cruelty and conquest.

“I’ve fought my battles, and I’ve had my wars. Until a war comes I want to sit by the riverbed with you, eating berries and enjoying whatever time we have left that is ours.”

She looked out at the three people in front of her. Each had sacrificed something for the battles between Emmental and Edam. She wouldn’t take for granted what might have to be sacrificed for keeping themselves safe if war came to Iridaceae. But she wouldn’t take those potential sacrifices as lightly as she had before losing Rhyan. Her gaze locked on Owain, a knowing smile on his lips.

For as much as Orla felt whole with Owain, she knew he felt the same about her. She didn’t see him as a bastard. She didn’t need him to prove his worth to her. She thought him worthy of her care, of her body, and most importantly, of her heart. Choosing Orla had meant turning his back on everything he had thought he wanted. But, as Owain said, what was the respect of a few noble lords when he had the adoration of a goddess?

“I told you, love, I will follow you anywhere. Worship you everywhere.” He gave her a roguish grin. “And if we have to fight, we will. But I will go where you go, Orla. To riverbeds or to war, I’m yours.”

The End