The Lost Princess

Chapter Eight: Faleon

Amara walked into the trees, her mind in turmoil. She was not sure what to make of the prospect of these new allies. Elves from across the sea. She had just agreed to travel with them. Perhaps even help them. Why had she done that?

She ran her hands through her hair and sighed. They were here because of Goroth. The revelation made a feeling swell in her chest—something she had thought lost long ago. Hope. Hope that the people of Rhovamben were opening their eyes to what Goroth was.

But she didn't want to hope just to have it be dashed to pieces.

Amara took the bone whistle from her pocket, considering calling Kai back. It was a beautiful piece of scrimshaw carved in the shape of a rearing horse, flames billowing from its nostrils. It was the last of its kind, much like the creature it was fashioned after, and one of her most cherished possessions. She had few such things.

The snapping of a twig made her start. Her senses kicked into overdrive. Every muscle went taut, her eyes wide, as she tried to sense movement in the dark. She reached for a knife, then realized she had none. Cursing, she took up a defensive position.

Another snap on her right. She whirled toward the sound. Heart pounding, she backed away toward a tree, thinking to shield her back. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth while the other twisted her arm behind her back. The grip was like iron, and her face was pushed into the jagged bark of the tree. It dug painfully into her cheek.

"I thought I taught you better than this, my sweet," a familiar voice purred in her ear. Amara bit viciously into her captor's hand. She was released, and she felt satisfaction as the man yelped in pain.

She faced her attacker. "Oh yes, Faleon, you taught me all too well," she snarled, her stance still defensive. She watched her old mentor carefully. He was examining his hand as well as he could by the faint moonlight.

"Apparently I've taught you nothing, since you came out here with no weapon to speak of."

Amara studied his stance and relaxed. "Looks like I didn't need one." She lifted her chin, eyes glittering in challenge.

"I must say, I'm impressed they let you go," Faleon said, approaching her.

She became defensive again, stepping back.

"Oh, still so untrusting after all we've been through," he complained.

"I have you to thank for that. You always told me to trust no one."

His silver eyes bored into hers. She didn't flinch. Faleon was like a wolf; a hint of fear and he would attack.

"Must you continue to use my lessons against me?" he said, feigning offense.

"You would be disappointed if I didn't." Her voice was cold.

Faleon chuckled, and he ran the back of his hand down her cheek. "This is true." His voice was strong, alluring as always. But it had lost its luster for the young Calathil princess. It could no longer send her heart fluttering or her head swimming. Instead, she was disturbed by his touch, and she moved away. She had once thought herself in love with her valiant rescuer, but soon realized that despite the fact he had saved her, he was not an honorable man. In reality, behind the handsome, aristocratic face and cultured words, he was cruel and manipulative. Words were his most prized weapons. He could bend people's minds to see what was not there. Drive them mad with fear or crazed with fury.

Amara had been under his spell for many months before she realized the savior she had worshipped was a dark-minded man of unusual hobbies and tastes. Her naivety had vanished under his tutelage. He had sculpted her into a menace, designed after himself. She had realized the love he claimed was a facade. They may have shared the common goal of bringing Goroth down, but she had been used. She had felt like a slave, and the yoke he'd placed still chafed even now.