Princess Nymeria's Arc

Chapter 2 of 32

The castle doors had shut behind Nymeria two days ago. Since then she walked the dark marshlands with nothing. No food. No water. No cloak. Cold soaked through her thin black dress. Her boots sank in the wet ground. Hunger clawed at her belly. But she could not stop. She pushed on, one heavy step after another, deeper from the only home she had known. By dusk her legs shook. A tree rose from the mist ahead. Its roots twisted across the ground like grasping fingers. Black leaves hung heavy above, dripping vines. It was ugly, but it broke the wind. Nymeria dropped against its trunk. She had never made her own fire before. She held out her hand and called the flame she hated to use. Purple fire bloomed in her palm. She fed it to a pile of dead sticks. The warmth touched her face. For the first time since her exile, she was not shaking. She slept. A sharp yelp woke her. Nymeria bolted upright. The fire had burned low. In the dark beyond it, something thrashed and cried. She grabbed a burning branch and crept toward the sound. A wolf lay tangled in a hunter's snare. Its coat was black as night. The iron wire cut into its leg. It snapped at her, terrified, then yelped again. Nymeria knew that snare. Her father's men set them. Perhaps he regret his choice and had his men hunting her now, forced to be a prisoner married to some demon lord. She knelt in the mud. "Easy," she whispered. "I won't hurt you." The wolf watched her with wary eyes. She closed her hand around the iron wire and called her fire again. Heat glowed under her fingers. The metal softened, then split. The snare fell open. The wolf pulled free. It did not run. It stood, testing its leg, staring at her. Nymeria stayed still. She had no charm to spend on an animal, and she wanted none. She only held out her open hand. The wolf stepped closer. It pressed its nose to her palm. Then it lay down beside her at the fire, close enough that she felt its warmth. Nymeria let out a breath she had held for two days. Someone had chosen her. Not for her crown. Not for her charm. This creature stayed because it wanted to. But the broken snare told her something worse. The hunters had been here. Their traps ringed this place. Come morning, they would check them, and they would find the burned wire and cold ash. Her fire had marked the spot. She could not stay. Nymeria stood and looked south, away from the castle. The wolf rose with her. She was still starving, still cold, but no longer alone. Together they left the twisted tree behind and moved deeper into the dark, toward the marsh folk she had heard lived beyond the hunters' reach.