Algora

For a moment I feel nothing, as if I’m floating in a void. A dull heaviness settles in my chest and a sudden pain surges through my heart. I gasp as the sting forces my eyes open. At first, everything is a blur.

My vision slowly comes into focus and locks onto the clear blue sky above me. Nothing of that thunderous storm from earlier remains.

The light touch of grass tickles my skin where I lie. But wasn’t the battlefield muddy?

I hear the call of birds around me, not the caws and hisses of carrion come to devour the bodies. Turning my head, I expect a vision of the fallen farmers, only to see vibrant green hills. The battlefield is gone, as is the acrid smell of stale blood. Not a single corpse in sight.

Is this the afterlife? Or a dream, maybe? I must have fallen asleep, exhausted from the battle.

But the rays of the sun against the chilling cold on my skin tell me otherwise, as does the copper-tinged dryness of my mouth. This is not the afterlife, or a dream, or even Abaddon—these glimpses of scenery are too pretty to be that decaying land.

Sitting up, I’m hit with that same sharp pain in my chest again and wince.

I clutch at my heart, feeling my skin instead of the shift I wore into battle. I’m completely naked?

My mind whirls frantically as I look around for any sign of clothing or Evencrest. Absolutely nothing except for my golden anklet. If I was robbed, it’s an odd choice for an assailant to leave behind.

But when I examine my body for any potential clues as to what is going on, I notice a scar. There’s a thin silver line marring the skin right over my heart.

Right where my father stabbed me. . .

It all comes flooding back in an instant. I tuck my legs into my arms, sitting up as I ground myself in the memories.

We were victorious. All that we spent months planning for, my flawless performance in battle—what was it all for?

I killed Bjorn Fielder. Then Papa killed me. Or tried to, at least.

Waking up in this field means he wasn’t successful. Papa said my sacrifice was for a good cause. ‘Eternal youth.’

Maybe he had a change of heart? But no, Papa isn’t that kind of man. Age may have impacted his physical strength, but it hasn’t claimed his cunning mind. I know that better than anyone else, since that was one of the gifts he passed on to me.

Being born a daughter would normally limit my options, yet Papa always treated me as he would a son. He taught me everything.

Most of all, he taught me to survive. Staying here and being lost in my thoughts won’t solve my problems. I need to take action. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since I last ate, but the cramp in my stomach leads me to believe it’s been a while.

Getting to my feet, I use my long hair as a layer of protection against the noticeable cold. The rolling hills span far into the distance where the snow decorates the mountaintops.

Turning on my heel, I notice a large tree. It must mark the beginning of an orchard, as many more trees continue on in a line across the valley. Hanging from its branches are apples. Most of them are white, with a few showing fading remains of red.

Plucking one from the tree, I take a bite. The crisp fruit is almost ripe, but its sweet and tart flavor is unmistakable. Snow apples.

Wherever I am, it’s winter.

So it’ll only get colder as the day goes on. I need to do something to make sure I don’t freeze to death.

Continuing to eat the apple, then chucking its core to the side as I pick another to fill my stomach, I try to think of a plan. If anyone can survive a confounding situation like this, it’s me.

My upbringing was unique, as House Mournhollow ranked second only to royalty. We had a part to play in society before we could change it. I was taught both the rules, and how to bend them.

I remember the first time my father had me pick up a sword, sparring from dawn till dusk. My natural talent was apparent, as expected of Valmont Mournhollow’s spawn. Papa took over my training and created a rigorous schedule to hone my skills.

He also scoured the land to ensure I had not only the best, but the most loyal of teachers, as I happened to have inherited his intellectual brilliance.

Then one night, Papa brought me into his study and confided in me of his ideas for the future of House Mournhollow. We should be the royal family. Lucien was weak, wrong for the kingdom. Papa belonged on the throne, and I should be at his side.

I believed every word. It was spun into my studies, my training, my core beliefs.

As a faithful daughter, I pushed away any creeping doubts that his beliefs were wrong. That what we were planning was wrong, because I loved him.

I was raised as his shadow and right-hand woman, after all, and my hard work was rewarded with his trust in me to mastermind our dreams. And so I morphed myself into the perfect strategist, because I wanted nothing more than to stand by his side and watch him step into his own.

I was ready to lay my life down for Papa to rule. . . but I was not ready to die by his hand.

Some mastermind, I muse bitterly. I was merely another pawn.

Thinking back on his teachings, I should have known better. He taught me not to trust anyone, did he not?

Yet trust—that’s what you are supposed to do with a parent, right?

And what did he gain? The memory is still a mess, but the words form together as I think around them.

Eternal youth. . . and so he killed me for a fool’s wish. Yet, I am the one rising after death.

He may have betrayed me in the end, but I am what he made me. I know myself well enough to figure out what to do next.

I may have these apples for now, but this is not enough substance to survive. Nor will they keep me warm.

Shivers run down my spine as another breeze passes over my exposed body. Wasting time here wallowing in anger and pity will only ensure I either freeze or starve to death.

Satisfying my immediate hunger is the priority. My mind calms enough to take in a better view of my surroundings. There’s a thatched house nearby, which means there might be some supplies at hand.

Not much farther off is a waterfall in the same direction. Thankfully, I’m high up in these fields, which gives me a vantage point to plan from.

Once I have some real food, fire, and clothes, then I can figure out my next steps. Or maybe just cry.

Did he ever love me? The question slips into my mind despite my efforts to avoid it. Tears start to my eyes, but I blink them away.

Crying is against my nature; emotions get in the way of results.

Even after his betrayal, I’m still relying on his advice for survival. What an ugly thought.

Another breeze catches me off guard and I wrap my arms around myself for warmth, unable to stop myself from looking down at the scar on my chest as I do so.

Rage consumes me again, tears attempting to break through. I curse Papa under my breath.

“You damned bas—”

A low cough from somewhere out of sight cuts me off, followed by a crackling sound, like a twig snapped underfoot. I turn around sharply to find a man standing there.

His face is mostly covered by his hand, hiding my naked body from his vision. His other hand is outstretched towards me, holding a jacket.

“Please,” he says gruffly. “Put this on.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I snatch the jacket out of his hands.

“How long were you there?” I ask as I put it on. It dwarfs me in size, but provides the perfect cushion of warmth against the biting air.

“I just arrived. I didn’t see you over the curve of the hill,” he says, turning away even further. His face remains a secret, though not his massive and muscular frame. Tufts of blonde curly hair cover the back of his head.

“And did you see much of me?” I ask.

“Your hair covered nearly your entire back,” he replies. “Your body remained mostly hidden, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He could be lying, but there would be no need for him to do so in his position. Anyway, it doesn’t matter how embarrassed I am. This isn’t worth making a fuss over right now.

To the untrained eye, I am a weak and helpless woman out here all alone. No man, let alone a common peasant, has seen my exposed body before. And after all, I don’t really need to defend my reputation along with my life.

Besides, I want to keep my strength a secret. It could give me the upper hand later on.

“Are you decent now?” he asks. I stare at his back for a moment before answering. Something about him feels familiar, but that’s impossible. I don’t know these lands.

I suppose I’m silent for too long. He turns around before I can answer.

My eyes widen, a sharp breath entering my lungs. This is the most handsome man I have ever seen.

And the last one I ever expected to see alive.

His warm brown eyes meet my own icy blue ones, fueling me with more rage. The world is playing one cruel joke on me after another. Without a sword, let alone any clothes, I’m at this man’s mercy. I can’t protect myself if he decides to attack.

Though the expression on his face is odd, curious but not hostile. Does he not recognize me as I do him?

This shouldn’t be happening. Neither of us should be alive.

But despite the impossible situation, I am as enraged in this man’s presence now as I was before.

Because even on this unknown mountainside with no enemies to surround him, Bjorn Fielder stands straight and tall with the same pride as he had before I drove a sword through his heart.