Chapter 95: Dead, dead prince
Damon’s eyes fluttered open.
The sky above him was black.
He sat up, his body screaming at him but he pushed through the pain until he was upright. His hand went to his neck, finding the place where the gravewasp had stung him.
There was nothing. No wound or swelling.
"How?" he rasped.
He should not be alive.
Damon pushed himself to his feet, glancing around him.
The only source of light in the forest was the blue of the widow’s bloom he had plucked but something was wrong.
Damon stepped closer.
The plant had burrowed into the soil and the stem stood upright and straight.
"No." Damon dropped to his knees and wrapped his hand around the stem. He pulled with all his might but the plant did not move.
He pulled harder, digging his fingers into the soil around it, trying to loosen the roots but nothing.
"Fuck." He slammed his fist into the ground. This cannot be happening...fucking forest.
Damon heard giggling.
He spun around to his left.
"Who is there?"
More giggles, this time from his right then behind him then everywhere at once, a chorus of whispers that seemed to come from the trees themselves and from the ground.
Unworthy. Dead prince...Dead, dead prince.
Damon turned in a slow circle, his hand reaching for the blade at his hip.
Then he saw a flash of hair near the pool, it seemed like a body laying face down in the soil.
Damon inched toward it.
As he neared it, his heart began hammering loudly in his chest. He reached for the body, turning it around.
It was him!
He was staring at his own dead face.
"No."
"No, no, no."
Dead prince. Dead, dead prince.
The giggles rose around him in delight.
Damon stumbled backward from his own corpse, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could not be dead, there was no way he was dead.
"I have to get this to Ayla" He muttered.
He spun, his eyes searching the darkness for whoever was laughing. "I cannot be dead. Do you hear me? I cannot be dead. She is dying... my mate is dying and I came here for her. Please!"
The giggling stopped abruptly and a woman materialized from the shadows. She was tall and pale, her skin luminous as the petals of the Widow’s Bloom. Her hair fell past her waist in waves of deep green, the color of leaves but thorns wove through it.
Her eyes were black from edge to edge.
"Your mate?"
Damon nodded his head.
"So you are not here to take this for yourself." The woman glided closer.
"Yes." Damon found his voice. "She is dying. I came because I heard the Widow’s Bloom can save her. It can save anyone, even those at the point of death. Please. Please, I just need to bring it back to her."
The woman stopped before him and black eyes studied his face.
"You are telling the truth, Alpha prince." she said. "I am known as the Lady of Thorns and this forest is my domain. Every soul that wanders here belongs to me. Including yours."
"Please." Damon’s voice cracked. "Please help me. I will do anything."
The Lady of Thorns stopped and the corner of her mouth curved upward.
"Anything is a dangerous word, Prince Damon."
"I mean it."
"Then you will pass a test." She clasped her hands before her. "A riddle. Answer true, and I will return you to your body. Answer false..." She glanced at the corpse, letting her words hang.
"What is the riddle?"
The Lady of Thorns smiled fully now, and her teeth were sharp.
"The more you take from me, the more I grow. I cannot be stolen, yet I am freely given. The dead have none, but the dying have plenty. What am I?"
The words settled into Damon’s mind.
Something that grew when taken. Something freely given but not stolen. The dead had none. The dying had plenty.
"Hope," he said.
The Lady of Thorns laughed.
"You are wrong."
The ground beneath Damon’s feet softened and when he looked down, he saw the soil turning to mud, saw his boots sinking inch by inch.
"No...wait..."
"You have one more chance, Alpha prince." The Lady of Thorns watched him with those black, black eyes. "Do not waste it."
Damon’s mind raced.
The more you take from me, the more I grow.
Something that expanded when consumed.
I cannot be stolen, yet I am freely given.
Something that could only be offered, never taken.
The dead have none, but the dying have plenty.
The dying.
Damon thought of Ayla. Every minute he wasted here was a minute she did not have.
"Time," he said.
The sinking stopped.
The Lady of Thorns tilted her head and her smile faded. For a long moment she simply looked at him, and Damon felt as though those black eyes were seeing every part of him.
"Yes," she said. "Time."
"It is the one thing every dying creature begs for." Her voice was softer now, almost gentle. "The one thing no power in this world can create more of. And you, Prince Damon, have given yours freely. You came here knowing you might not return. You spent your last hours on a chance."
"I will return you to your body." The Lady of Thorns raised her hand again, her fingers hovering just above his forehead. "But I cannot remove the mark of death on you."
Damon’s blood went cold. "What does that mean?"
"It means you will have twenty-four hours from the moment you open your eyes. You must get the plant to your mate before the day is done before the mark claims you."
Twenty-four hours.
Yes, I accept. Anything."
"You will die." The Lady of Thorns spoke the words slowly, as if making sure he understood. "Even if you save her and she lives, you will not."
"I know."
The Lady of Thorns nodded once. Her cold fingers pressed against his forehead.
"Then wake, Alpha prince...and run."