Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

14: North

The next few days were excruciatingly uncomfortable. They lived on the boat, going steadily north, hiding from any sign of human life. Delilah's clothes and skin felt constantly damp. She feared she'd catch some kind of disease - they rarely risked a fire. They saw no Pelenans, but the warships could have taken a more direct route to the Northern Temple. For all they knew, they could already be there.

The days stretched into weeks, and soon marshland became flat tundra, with tough soil and frosted shrubs dotting the land, choking the riverbanks.

"It's going to get colder from now on," Dante said grimly.

Delilah nodded, reaching for a second cloak as a particularly bitter wind blasted them. She'd often thought about Dante's tragic story as they travelled, but didn't dare mention it to him. Their relationship resumed as it always had been, but Delilah couldn't help wondering what else had caused him to throw up such impenetrable barriers. What had he been like as a child, before his father began to twist his mind with ambition?

But it happened to me, too, she realised with a jolt, gripping the edges of the boat to steady herself as a strong current swept them on. What was I like before my uncle took over my training? She couldn't remember. But I'm strong now. I would have stayed weak if not for him - I'd have let Gaol and Marko control my destiny. I'd have married my betrothed and become a shiny trophy in a glass case. No brains, no ambition. The very concept made her shudder.

She glanced up and realised Dante was watching her, twisting around from his usual position facing behind.

"What are you thinking about?" she snapped, immediately defensive.

"What are you thinking about?" he countered, but seemed to give in. "I'm remembering those homeless people we saw near the port."

Delilah blinked. She'd forgotten about them. "Yeah... so, what?"

"If there had been so many in poverty in Vale, I wouldn't have stood for it." Frowning, he shook his head. Black locks of hair blew across his face. "Is Anloch truly this poor, or do they not care for their citizens?"

"Their authority is lax," Delilah suggested. "They only have their High Priestess and the two chiefs. Not a monarchy or a council like ours."

"It's wrong, and they need to change their ways. This country is festering." Dante grimaced at the barren land around them. "Someone with ambition should take over, start making changes."

"Who? You?" Delilah was only half-joking.

Dante gave her a level stare. "Maybe. I'd be better than Mala Starcatcher." He said her name like it was dirt in his mouth.

Delilah swallowed hard. "But your people fear you, and the clans love her."

"Love won't feed them every day," Dante sneered. "Fear is what protects my country. I use it to my advantage."

Delilah shrugged and glanced to the horizon.

"Learn from me, Coppin," Dante said suddenly, the allure of his voice causing her to twist back around. "Learn my ways while our deal stands. Be better than them." He meant Gaol and Marko.

She gave him a serpentine grin. "I already am."

After a few more days of cutting north through the land that was riddled with water, Delilah woke one morning with a cry of despair. Snow had fallen in the night, and a thin layer of ice now covered the river.

They scrambled for every cloak they owned. Delilah poked the tiny campfire back to life to melt their water flasks, huddling close to the little patch of life-giving warmth.

"H-How much further north?" Dante asked, shuddering as he joined her.

Delilah leaned away from his bulk, his citrus smell. "The rivers from here flow the wrong way. So if we walk, then three days until we hit the temple."

"We can't keep rowing," Dante said. "The ice will only get thicker. Let's use the boat as firewood."

They got to work sawing the boat into pieces with serrated knives. It was tough, but Delilah relished the burn in her arms. They packed up camp swiftly, taking whatever they could carry on their backs, their bags now considerably lighter as they were wearing almost everything they owned.

"The winter cloaks aren't thick enough," Delilah said mournfully as they crunched north. At least now they could walk in a straight line rather than following the river's twisting path.

"They'll have to do." Flakes had stuck to Dante's eyelashes.

The snow didn't let up. They were crossing to the northern clan's territory now, Arctica. It was ruled by a different chief. Delilah's calves burned. She'd become accustomed to the comfort of the boat, but she pressed on, vowing to train harder when they returned to Irkalla. Her body had to become as strong as her mind.

"Let's talk," she said after the silence started to beat at her ears.

"I hate talking."

"No, you don't. No one hates talking."

"Let me rephrase," he drawled. "I hate talking to you."

"Tell me the story of Vale's downfall," she continued, ignoring him. "I was never allowed to hear what was happening in Rhydderch."

"Fine. My father was bloodthirsty and power-hungry, forever pressing to expand his borders. He went to war with Pelenu and Terra at the same time, building bridges across the ravine for his men to cross. Of course, his plans failed. He even put me on the front lines for a while, to try and boost his soldiers' morale."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen. The war ended badly for us, as you know, and then the Council of Rulers decided that Vale would pay by being forced underground. You know, the founders of our country were called Sky Sentinels? We belong up there, in the mountain peaks, walking the roof of the world. But they shoved us into caves. They might as well have caged the entire nation. I know many of my people were sent mad by the caves at first."

"And your father died."

"Yes. He wasted away and then I was crowned at seventeen. I'd watched him make mistakes. I knew I would rise above what he'd done."

"Around the time of the Treaty, they say you were caught trying out your alternative methods," she said, feeling sly. "To rise up."

He just looked at her in that infuriating way of his.

"Well?" she demanded. "Did you do it? Dabble in the Forbidden Arts - the undead?"

"Coppin," Dante said slowly, "you want to make yourself heir to the Pelenan throne. And our deal includes making that happen. So why, in the name of the skies, would I reveal my country's secrets to you?"

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Did you forget?"

"No!" She felt defensive. "Of course not."

"If all goes well, we will be rival rulers. We shall see each other at Council meetings, perhaps, if Terra and Anloch have not already fallen and order continues to rule above chaos." He winked.

Delilah went cold - and it wasn't just because of the snow. Dante kept hinting about the wars he wanted to wage - did he intend to finish what his father started? If so... that meant Pelenu would still be one of his targets. Did he want to rise her up to the status of queen just so he could drag her down again?

Delilah shuddered. She hoped Kaya and Nell were finding out secrets in Irkalla. They'd need everything in their arsenal to protect Pelenu from Dante Vallahan.

You will not hurt any of my people, you demon, she vowed silently, glancing sidelong at Dante's strong-featured profile.