The Cursed Deal ✓

Chapter 39

"You can't just leave, Faine!"

The protest came from behind, but she kept walking. Darkness swallowed her whole once the portcullis to Silver Willow's base lifted and night stretched beyond. The trees were silhouettes of shadows, the pointed peak of the horse stables being a looming threat that wouldn't move. Faine did her best work at night, thoughts and words came easier then. As the late summer breeze warned her of incoming autumn, a season that warned life of cold weather, Faine turned on her heel.

"I can just leave. And so can you." Faine gave a careless, half-shrug. "If you wish to come along, then be my guest. But if you wish to stay, then go back inside. I don't wish to debate."

Standing at the portcullis, the spikes pointing down above his head, was Ilian. From the look in his eye, Faine knew he was trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. What had caused her to go on such a rampage and demand to leave without a care. It'd been too long since her mind jumbled out of place; years. It was time she finally let herself free of the build-up.

The tendons in his neck bulged when he turned and looked back at the dark staircase that disappeared beyond the torches. The guards were waiting for what he might say; if he'd run with Faine or stomp back up the stairs and demand to speak with Celestia. Beasts of all kind didn't care where they were going, they didn't speak for they didn't have any tongues to do so.

"Isflean is a day and a half away," Ilian shouted at her. "You won't have enough time to prepare for our next mission. This is important." He jabbed his finger towards the ground; the rest of his hand closed into a fist.

Faine closed her eyes for a moment, for a brief second, and drank in the obscure. Her black lashes brushed against her cheeks and her nostrils flared when the tickle of rain's welcome brushed past her. A mortal couldn't hear it, but thunder growled to the west. That threat carried over in the wind that swept east and headed in their direction, tugging along the storm like a beast on a chain.

The murky clouds would come, eventually.

After a month, Ilian didn't know enough about her. "I read through the paperwork; I'm already prepared." Faine grabbed onto her horns and squeezed tight. "Damn, Ilian, I can't...I don't know what to tell you. If you want to sit and stew over two pieces of paper, then do it. The work doesn't start until you're knee-deep in shit at the banquet. Quit preparing so much." She scowled, therein by revealing her fangs.

The way he looked at her was the same as when they first met. Like he wasn't prepared for what she might do. Cautious to protect himself from the threat she carried. Faine clamped her mouth shut, not only to keep her fangs from scaring him but to avoid apologizing for taking out her rage on the one person who didn't deserve it.

Ilian spent his entire life trying to survive. Years wasted away, and no one of that weakness had the time to deal with Faine's dilemmas. The trouble with being an immortal was that guilt never got easier. Dark clouds hung over her head even when there wasn't a storm coming. Darkness, a lightning-veiled threat, was always there.

Rain began to pitter from the sky at the same time heels emerged from the staircase, carried at the bottom of Ginevra's golden legs. She looked between Faine and Ilian, questioned their silent stare down, and pulled a red cloak tighter around her body to step next to her mortal friend.

"What's going on?" she demanded from either of them.

Faine looked at Ilian one last time. Part of her hoped he'd come; the majority of her heart and mind knew he'd never waste valuable time.

As her hair dampened and her pants stuck to her legs, Faine said, "I have an associate to meet with in Isflean. They might provide me with valuable information about the attendants of the banquet. I'll be back in four days' time, maybe sooner."