Sequel to Carmine
The Princess of fate. A foolishly hopeful scribe. Both of their lives were tied by fate the moment they met; to kill Princess Carmine's mother.
Only Princess Carmine's fate is predetermined, while the Scribe Janilla's is left to t...
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Carmine
The tinge was akin to my bones stretching to the sky. My legs tightened as I tipped my toes against the arid ground of our camp.
A pounding emotion ripped through my chest down to my thighs. The heat of the ensuring flames melted away and left my skin tingling as it darkened from the fading sparks. I groaned at that annoying weight that came with that transfer.
Spatial gates, I hated them.
I shook my limbs and the metal joints clinked as I steadied my stance. My guards walked forward and I followed them into the slew of horses and large wolves.
The twenty-foot dirt brown hairy spiders slumbered next to the thin peach-knitted linen tents of the Elamnites. They were scattered remnants of what was left of Elam, which wasn't much to boast about.
Those were not the other tents here. There existed the free-minded shyia nomads from the desolate lands East of Amoth and Lunia, while the rebels from Baska joined my ranks since I was actively fighting the Elams.
I was, sort of.
The guard detail moved with me through the crowded campgrounds filled with sheep that grazed happily. Horses hung off of wooden planks pierced into the ground.
It was good that the house leaders followed my direction and kept the camp tight in its circle. The last time we were surprised attacked, the bastards cut through our camp and broke our formations with relative ease.
Yes, I understood that many of them didn't like each other, but they better get used to each other, because this was going to be a long odyssey together in trying to destroy my mother and her lovely friends.
That didn't include other covens.
We reached the obelisk the size of a large boulder perched in the center of the camp. Black as the sin of men, but soft as the water when I pulled my mallet and lightning rod out to cast within its surface the names of Ergo, Beckburt, Hangor, and Rionala.
My rod cracked the stone's surface thanks to the mallet and allowed the metal on the end to burn into it.
The draining sound of the molten stone became a deep rumble as I went to work.
Their names were etched within the fissures I created and smoothened with the sweet flow of my hand as if I wrote poetry. Those names were a part of my history and were now immortalized in time. I couldn't be the only one that was immortal.
Once that was done, I finally raised and followed my guards back on the path to a safe rest.
"Lady Carmine!" A woman shouted.
I shivered from the volume of the voice and when I turned, some people were waving at me.
