Ahead of her, Andrie didn't slow down. His long strides barely faltered as they cut through the smoky, ruined landscape. He didn't glance back, didn't even bother to look if Mathea was keeping up. His eyes were fixed on the wall of Elvens in front of them, their massive forms ready to tear them apart.
"Venice works for me," he said, his tone flat, dismissive. As if the explosions, the arrows, the chaos were of no consequence. He said her name like it was nothing-nothing more than another piece on the board. Another piece he controlled.
"Oh? Your girlfriend?" Mathea teased, but her mind raced, trying to reconcile what Andrie had just said with the image of the girl witch soaring through the air, as free and untouchable as the night sky. The same girl who had winked at her. The same girl who had been with Anjo's minions.
Andrie's words hung in the air, colder than the wind that carried the scent of burning wood and blood. He didn't glance back, didn't check to see if she was keeping up or if she needed more explanation.
"So she spied for you in Lord Anjo's ranks?" Mathea asked, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. She remembered from the textbooks and the lectures that Anjo was the warlock's number one enemy, and the Elven-before they had cast her out-were about to go to war with him.
"That's not your concern," Andrie said, dismissing her again.
"It is my concern," Mathea insisted, stopping as memories flooded in. "I'm involved in everything you're involved in now. I won't fly blind, cousin. I've lost so many parts of my memories that I don't even know who I am anymore."
Andrie shot her an annoyed look, narrowing his eyes in that familiar way that told her she was pushing her luck. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he inhaled slowly, trying to hold back his frustration.
"This journey will be more difficult than expected," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't meant for her, but Mathea caught it nonetheless. The weight of his words felt heavier than they should have, as though there was something more beneath them-something Andrie wasn't sharing.
Mathea wasn't a fool. She had a gut feeling that Andrie hadn't found her here by chance. Men like him-powerful, calculating, always two steps ahead-didn't leave things to fate. His resources were deep, and his connections even deeper. If he was the one pulling the strings behind Venice's flight earlier, it made a twisted kind of sense.
The witch girl with the wings, who seemed almost too eager to lead Anjo's minions away from Mathea the last time they crossed paths. It wasn't an accident.
"How long have you been tracking me?" Mathea asked, her suspicion gnawing at her, though she half-expected his answer.
Andrie glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, not breaking stride as they continued through the thick smoke. His expression remained cool and unreadable. "Long enough," he replied curtly, a hint of edge creeping into his voice.
Before Mathea could press him further, his tone shifted, turning sharp. "But now isn't the time for this nonstop, tiresome questioning!" His voice cut through the surrounding noise, colder than before.
Mathea blinked, taken aback by the sudden bite in his words. Clearly, she'd hit a nerve. But she wasn't about to back down. "I talk when I'm nervous!" she shot back, defensive. If Andrie thought he could silence her with a scowl, he was sorely mistaken.
Before she could press him further, another explosion erupted to the north, shaking the ground beneath them. Chunks of stone and rubble rained down, and Mathea ducked instinctively, covering her head as a massive stone head of a rock Elven King crashed from its pedestal. It hit the ground with a thunderous boom, sending cracks spidering through the earth.
The Elvens' enraged bellows echoed in the distance, their growls mixing with another distant explosion. They were closing in, and fast.
The Elvens behind them weren't just angry-they were coming for blood. The statues, once towering symbols of protection, were crumbling.
Pillars of fire and smoke billowed from several places in the compound. Elvens rushed to put out the fires, while battle cries arose from scattered locations. The chaos was a distraction, Mathea knew, one designed by Andrie's teams to help them escape.
As she ran beside him, her heart thudded. The battlefield was a mess of claws, magic, steel, and blood. The Elvens and witches clashed in a frenzy, and Mathea could hear the bones breaking, the bodies falling. The stench of death hung thick in the air.
Mathea had to admit-she hated it. The loss of life, the blood, the carnage. It pressed down on her chest, a reminder of the cost of this war. Yet, there was something inside her-something dark-that thrived on it. Something that called to her, urged her to embrace it. Was it the real her?
She shuddered, not knowing anymore. Who was she, really?
Her hand slipped from Andrie's, and she found herself swept away by a thirst for destruction.
Andrie's voice cut through her thoughts, cold and warning. "Mathea, stop thinking! Focus! King Jay is watching-I know." His voice was sharp, commanding.
She turned to face him, her eyes still burning with dark energy. The reflection of herself was clear in his sword. Her left eye had turned pitch-black, while her right glowed with a dangerous red.
"Come back to me, Mathea," Andrie called, grabbing her hand. His voice was firm, though wariness flickered in his gaze. He knew her too well.
Mathea blinked, shaking off the haze of bloodlust. "This isn't the time," he warned.
She could feel the temptation, the hunger for destruction, but for now, she had to focus. It wasn't the right time to let it all out. Not yet.
Suddenly, a group of Elvens broke through the chaos, weapons blazing. They advanced without hesitation, magic crackling in the air, their swords gleaming with deadly intent. They were focused, their assault deadly.
"Kill the witch prince!" the enforcer bellowed, pointing at Andrie as if issuing a death sentence. "Use darts on the girl!"
"Holy crap! Andrie's a prince?" Mathea blurted, looking at him, but he rolled his eyes.
"For a smart princess, you are still dense," he muttered, a smirk curling on his lips.
But Mathea ignored him, her eyes narrowing as she spotted a familiar face among the enemy.
"Ah, there he is," she muttered, a vicious smile spreading across her face. "Long time no see, Stinky Mouth."
The Elven commander's son bristled, his anger bubbling over. "I'm not stinky, you whore!" he snapped.
Mathea grinned, her voice dripping with mockery. "Oh really?" She tilted her head, her gaze sharpening. "Well, I suppose it's all in the scent, huh?"
He glared at her, clearly struggling to control his fury. "Step aside, Mathea, stop being childish!" he said, his voice strained. "I don't want to hurt you by my men's magic. My king ordered you alive."