Mountains Vast and a Kingdom So Red

Chapter 43

A miracle greets me at the top of the hill; moss, pure moss that does not stick to fabric and I curl myself in fetal pose against it. Sweat coats my hairline, underarms, below my ass even and Ryder's state seems to be the same. He licks his lips, dehydrating, but the flask is empty.

"I wish I could summon us water, but I do not have the ability," I say. Urisis had raised a fleet of snow; I helped the same way a scribe helps a learned thinker.

"You have the ability; I think you can do it one day," he says.

"We should shoot firearms now," I suggest, tilting my head at the duffle bag on the ground.

He appears distracted. "Princess, do you mind if I remove my shirt?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Cool yourself down," I say, not averting my gaze. It is just a body.

"I prefer us to talk a bit," he says and smiles. "Surprising, I know."

"Let us see. You were at my speech?"

"I did not hear the beginning. I was there for the part about your mother's absence, and the things that came after."

"Things?" I say, insulted. "And the beginning of a speech is crucial. I cannot believe you missed my charming comment about my father."

He raises his arms. "You jested about his illness. Brutal Mikah."

I pinch the side of his neck. "No. I told the public that he says 'hello!'"

"Oh yeah?" He smirks. "Revolutionary."

My eyes narrow. "What mood is this, Ryder? Did you embrace a maiden in the sheets today?"

He takes a moment to remind me his sex life is off limits. But he wants to know about my holiday in the alphas' mountains.

"Out of respect for your prudish ears, I will chop up the details. Leviys is so wonderful. He is the hottest male and hottest shifter I've ever known and he was so protective of me, so loving and welcomed me into his home. I met his mother, Soraya, his father Priamus, his two brothers..." I pause, realizing the names of his siblings may be superfluous to him.

"You can give me every detail you want; do not feel the need to edit their names," he says and rests on the moss beside me.

So I do give him their names and as many of their traits I can remember. I recount the time I met Cayman and Wika, but did not meet their son Qabil. I told him the legend of Quipulale which scares him to some extent. And return to how defensive Wika became when I asked about the fairie trappings, which frazzles me and leads me to tac on sentences about my father's trust in the Parliament and I try to return to how happy and free I felt in the Thewren mountains, how Cyril is sweet on Urisis, but I fail to communicate well and stop in the middle, seeing Ryder's eyebrows are raised.

"You were a different woman before the envelope came," Ryder notes.

"I was not a woman. I was a careless girl. And the letter was not from the Queen, it was from a friend in the north," I reveal.

He scratches his nose. "The north can mean one of two places if this ally pins your country as the origin. Fairies or wolves."

"It seems unlikely a half wolf would send the letter. They mainly stick to their kind."

"That leaves us with the fairies. You were at the ball, did anyone befriend your parents?"

I shake my head. "I do not remember. I am at a loss to who this friend could be and I feel like an imbecile. A fraud. What was I even promising my people?" If I cannot protect my own family.

"Do not fall into worry. I was moved by your speech. And I agree that you staying in the Kingdom is the best move to make." Ryder sits up and I join him, a mirror image.

"Thank you," I say, and hold myself accountable by asking: "Why were you tormented? What is freakish about you; I cannot find any fault."

He frowns. "I assumed the tavern was erased in both of our minds."

I stand up for my body hurts, the ache of exercise sprouting. "I remember. And as your friend, I hope you can be truthful, so I can help you."

He stands up, but does not shield his eyes roll. "I do not help. I have been beaten with help." And true to the boy he is, he ignores me and pulls out the firearms.

"I am not practicing with you unless you show me who you are," I inform him, bluffing, but my eyes and posture are steely. Unrelenting.

Ryder's face turns vicious and I back off. But I wait. "The left hand is a fake, a duplicate of a real hand with less than half of the benefits. Most days I cannot feel it, and I pay to get it spelled so I can use my fingers. My grip. If you look closely, you can see the skin tone is lighter. Almost translucent and..." Before I can speak, he shoves the hand toward me and my sole option is to stare. I keep my face impassive, no sign of judgment.

"You are fortunate to have it, soldier," I say. "What happened to the real hand?"

"It was chopped off."

"Why?"

"The answer is not logical."

"I do not care," I respond. This suspense he tries to spin is pitiful.

"It burned everything. It burned people's skin and my own." He looks at the firearms and curses. "I forgot about the targets. We cannot shoot today. Not even at each other." Ryder places them inside the duffel, gently. My eyes tear up and I belatedly realize we do not have bullet proof vests.

"Mikah, please do not cry. Please contain yourself for a little bit. We just need to climb down." I nod and wish I could kiss the left hand he does not claim, but I resolutely dry my tears and we walk down the hillside.

Ryder's legs cross on top of each other and he closes his eyes and begins to breathe, in a pattern similar to Julissa's instruction. Instead of sitting next to him, I mount my hoverboard and whisper goodbye.