The Lost Princess

Chapter Forty-Five: Silas

"You're a leshnik?" Amara said in disbelief.

Silas seemed unsurprised by her shock. "Yes. We are thought to be extinct, I know. I am the last of the forest protectors."

"You are one of the protectors of the Aram—I mean, the Katamoku."

Sorrow clouded Silas's face. "Was," he replied stiffly, lowering his gaze. "And it is not called that anymore."

"I know," Amara conceded. "I have been there only recently."

Silas's head jerked up at her words. "Did you see any of my brethren?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his old eyes.

Amara hesitated. She could relate to this man. She had once hoped to find some remnant of her family. Would she want to know if they had met such a horrid fate?

"No, I did not."

The man's shoulders seemed to stoop, and he appeared smaller somehow.

"How did you escape the plague?" she asked.

This time she watched the man physically shrink. His stature lessened by almost a foot, and his hair turned greener, almost as if he were trying to turn into a shrub. She had no doubt that he could.

"I made a mistake," the old leshnik whispered brokenly. "I let the Dark One into the wood."

Sorrow filled Amara. Empathy for what he had lost washed over her. "They banished you for your mistake."

"Yes, and they fell to the curse while I lived."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Amara said. "I know better than most how costly they can be." She blinked hard, eyes smarting.

Silas shook his head mournfully. "I have no one to blame but myself. I should have seen Goroth for what he truly was. I should have never shown him to the mallospen. But he was my friend. I trusted him."

"You were friends with Goroth?" Amara asked in disbelief.

"Yes, but he betrayed me, and it cost me everything." As his anger grew, the green tinge left Silas's face, and the blue returned as the deep color roared in his veins.

"Seems we have much in common." Amara's reply was brittle.

Silas looked at her. "Who are you really?"

She lifted her chin. "I am Amara, princess and rightful heir to the throne of Calathil."

Silas raised his brow at her statement. "I have heard of your kingdom and your father. King Breg the Gentle, they called him. So different from his father, Kyron."

"Did you know them?" Amara asked, perplexed.

"No, but with only me to hear them, the trees bring all their stories to me."

Amara felt a stab of pain at hearing her father's name. "I am sure then you heard of the overthrow. Goroth now sits on the throne, the blood of my family at his feet."

"Yes, m'lady," Silas replied, sorrow in his eyes. "I am sorry for your loss."

"That is kind of you." Amara ducked her head in respect. "But it's not over yet. I plan to take back what was taken from me." She met the old tree spirit's eyes. "I will do my best to restore what you have lost as well."

Silas's eyes softened and creased into a smile. He turned and walked over to his table and pulled out a chair. "Please sit, Your Highness. We have much to discuss before I send you back to your quest."

Amara crossed the room and sat in the proffered chair.

Silas sat in the one across from her. "You are the most powerful woman I have run into in centuries. Never have the stones been so tightly entwined with one being's soul—not since their origin. I believe you could stop Goroth."

Amara felt her heart lighten at his profession, but his next words took the wind from her sails of hope.

"But I can also see the potential for you to wage horrible destruction."

He leaned forward, his yellow-green eyes boring into hers. "There is a sickness within you, Amara, planted deep within your heart. It will try to consume you. The closer you come to your goal, the more it will fester, feeding on your reason. You will lose yourself to it. Do you know what this sickness is?"

Amara looked away. She wanted to say she would not lose control, that she would not destroy Rhovamben. But would she? She thought of all the times she had raged, screaming to the skies that she would burn down her own city if it meant the end of Goroth. She would be oblivious of who she harmed in the process. A vision of a boy with sky-blue eyes and tousled blond hair flashed before her eyes.

She winced, hearing screams, and a new vision loomed. A city—her city—was engulfed in flames. People screamed. Earwen stood before her, cheeks streaked with tears.

"Why did you do it?" she sobbed. Amara could feel herself looming over the elf princess.

"Please, Amara, stop! Look at what you've done!" Earwen held up her hands, pleading.

Amara stared in horror. The young elf's hands were horribly burned, ugly blisters covering them.

"Oh, Amara, how could you?" Earwen mourned.

Amara looked past the princess. People littered the ground behind her. Thorindir, Nauro, Eramire, King Olphan, her parents. Hundreds, burned, lying in smoldering ashes. The scent filled Amara's nostrils, and she fought the nausea. She tried to scream, but black smoke filled her lungs.

"No!" her mind bellowed. "I don't want this!"

And as quickly as it had engulfed her, the vision ebbed away. She sat again in the small hut, the leshnik man across from her.

"Did you show me that?" she asked hoarsely. She could still smell the smoke.

"You have great power, Amara. But so much of it is rooted in darkness." Silas's voice was gentle but steady.

Amara stood. "I will not become what you have shown me. I am not like Goroth." But even as the words left her lips, she felt doubt.

"Doubt is good in this instance. It may curb your fire. But I tell you this, my dear. You will need your friends if you are to save Rhovamben."

Amara felt battered by the vision, her old wounds ripped open, oozing precious secrets to the ancient woodman.

"I have no friends," she snarled. "I have allies."

"If you see them as only that, you are destined to fail."

"I will not fail," Amara said.

Silas studied her and sighed. "Elysian help your allies. They have their work cut out for them."

Silas smiled and stood. "Well, it's time for you to go. Just walk out the front of the hut, and about a hundred yards away, you'll find that your great steed has led that elf soldier here."

Amara stared up at him, surprised. "Why didn't they come to the hut?"

Silas's eyes flashed with mischief. "Because they can't see it. But your horse is very resourceful, despite my great magic. I could not hide your scent from him."

Amara turned up one corner of her mouth in a smile and replied, "Kai is remarkable."

Silas nodded as they stood in the doorway. "Have courage, Your Highness," Silas said. "And let them love you."

Amara frowned and without replying turned and walked out into the woods.

Thank you so much for reading!

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*** I totally named Silas randomly because I liked the name. Guess what Silas means? Wood or Forest. So weird how things like that work out. ;)