Chapter 33: Chapter 33

KAMORA

Kamora and Gwen made their way toward the outskirts of town. Along the way, Gwen stopped at a stall to purchase a few strange-looking herbs, which she tucked carefully into the small pouch at her side.

As they drew nearer to the edge of town, the streets became quieter, the foot traffic thinner. People they passed gave them curious, even suspicious glances.

Kamora felt a creeping unease settle over her.

“Am I the only one who feels like something’s…off?” Gwen whispered.

“You’re not wrong,” Kamora replied, forcing herself to focus.

She tried to remember the house where the hunters who once saved her had lived. It had been eight years.

Why had she never gone back to thank them? Even she didn’t fully understand.

Maybe it was fear—fear of remembering what she had lost. Or maybe it was shame.

Shame that they had seen her at her lowest. Shame that they might remember her as nothing but a broken girl.

She had no idea why they would take care of a half-dead stranger for months. Her distrust might be unwarranted, but it lingered.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Gwen asked as they wandered the nearly deserted streets.

Stalls lined the sides, some filled with wares, but there were no vendors in sight. Yet Kamora could feel eyes watching from behind curtains and shadows.

“It’s been so long… I barely remember this place,” Kamora admitted.

“Then how do you plan to find the hunters?” Gwen asked.

Kamora gave a nervous laugh. “Maybe we’ll ask around?”

Gwen looked like she wanted to say something but instead stayed quiet. Kamora was relieved.

One discouraging word might be enough to make her turn back.

They continued down the street until they spotted a man seated alone, sharpening a long iron rod. The harsh clanging of metal rang in the stillness.

Kamora glanced at Gwen, nodded, and approached him.

The man stopped his work as she neared, lifting his head slowly. His expression was unreadable, aside from a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Good day, sir,” Kamora greeted. “I’m looking for a group of hunters who used to live in this village.”

His brow furrowed, suspicion mixing with that same quiet curiosity.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Kamora,” she said, steadying her voice. “A group of hunters saved me eight years ago. I’ve come hoping to find them.”

“All of a sudden?”

“I’m searching for something,” she admitted, her nerves flaring. “And I think they might be the only ones who can help me find it.”

The man dropped the iron rod and rose to his feet, stretching his back. He was shorter than Kamora, his beard bushy and occupying half of his face, yet something about his gaze felt imposing.

“Most of the hunters from that time have either moved to other towns or died doing the very work that fed them.”

Kamora’s heart dropped. It couldn’t end here.

She refused to believe this was the end before her journey even began.

“Do you still keep in touch with any of them?” she asked quickly. “I’m willing to travel, if that’s what it takes—”

“Is what you’re searching for really that important?” he cut in.

Kamora met his gaze, letting him see the desperation in her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “It means everything to me.”

The man studied her for a moment longer, then sighed. He bent to retrieve the iron rod and walked into a shed behind him.

Only then did Kamora realize he was likely a blacksmith.

When he returned, he held a small bread knife in his hand. “My elder brother was a hunter. He might be able to help you,” he said, holding the knife out to her.

“Take this. He’s cautious around strangers and rarely stays in one place for long. If you come back and I’m not here, show him this. He’ll know you spoke to me.”

Kamora accepted the knife. Her fingers brushed against the worn handle.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say. He comes and goes as he pleases. But I do know he’ll be back in about a month. Hopefully.”

“A month?” Kamora echoed, stunned. She wasn’t sure she could wait that long.

“What?” he asked. “Can’t your search wait that long?”

Kamora didn’t respond.

A month of dealing with Jarosh’s coldness and Lord Maroke’s intensity—it felt unbearable.

“If I may,” Gwen interjected gently.

Both Kamora and the man turned to her.

She raised one hand, and from her wrist, a delicate vine grew and curled around her index finger. With her other hand, she plucked it off and offered it to the man.

“You’re Fae,” he whispered, eyes wide with awe—and a flicker of fear.

“Take this,” Gwen said calmly. “When your brother returns, cut off the end of this vine. It will alert me.”

He stared at the vine as if it were a mythical object. “You’re the first Fae I’ve seen,” he said, his voice low. “Out here, we only hear of them in children’s stories. My brother always swore they were real…”

He took the vine gently, as though it might vanish. “I’ll do as you say,” he said. “When he comes back, I’ll send word.”

Kamora exhaled in relief and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you. Truly.”

She turned to Gwen and grinned. “And thank you.”

Gwen smiled back, her eyes warm. “Anytime.”

***

“Father! Father!”

Lord Maroke looked up from his desk as the door to his study burst open.

Jarosh bounced in, full of energy.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, setting aside his pen.

“I’m bored,” Jarosh sighed, dropping into the chair opposite him. “There’s nothing to do.”

Lord Maroke frowned slightly. “Where’s Kamora?”

“I couldn’t find her. Maybe she’s out running errands.”

“Errands? But I told her that isn’t her duty anymore.”

“Well, unfortunately, you forgot to tell everyone else,” Jarosh muttered with another sigh. “You don’t expect her to announce that she’s no longer doing chores—especially when even she isn’t sure if it’s true.”

Lord Maroke’s frown deepened. Jarosh had a point.

In his eagerness to convince Kamora that she was truly his wife, he’d overlooked one important step: informing the rest of the manor.

No doubt, she was even more confused than he had intended her to be.

Jarosh spoke gently, pulling him from his thoughts. “Father, have you found proof yet?”

“It’s not that simple,” Lord Maroke said with a weary sigh. “I found the marriage certificate, but unfortunately it wasn’t well preserved so I’ll have to get another one—which, as you know, is impossible until Kamora regains her memory. I did find a locket, though, with a picture of your mother inside. But it’s old and worn. The image is faded. I’ve given it to Greyson to have it polished.”

“So…” Jarosh straightened in his seat. “She really is my mother?”

“You didn’t believe me before?”

“It just felt too good to be true. But…what happens now? Have you figured out why you both lost your memories?”

“I’m working on it, but the answers aren’t coming easily,” Lord Maroke said, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to worry about this. I’ll find out the truth.”

“I just want her to remember me,” Jarosh whispered, looking down as his lips formed a small, sad pout.

“I know. But you must also know this—she loves you deeply, even without those memories. Whether she knows you’re her son or not doesn’t change the affection she feels. I see it. Everyone in this manor sees it. So don’t trouble yourself too much, all right?”

Jarosh nodded, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll head back to my room. Maybe take a nap.”

Lord Maroke offered him a warm smile and a nod.

He watched as Jarosh left the study, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

The burn in his chest crept in—slow and familiar, like rough sandpaper against smooth stone.

Ever since regaining his memory, he’d learned to suppress the episodes.

He pushed the pain aside day after day, letting it build until one day it would crash down on him all at once.

That day was drawing near.

He took slow, deep breaths, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small bottle filled with a white powder.

He would forever be grateful to the human who had created it.

A knock came at the door.

He took a sniff from the bottle. The burn seared up his nostrils and down his throat. He exhaled, steadying himself.

“You may enter,” he said.

He returned the bottle to the drawer and closed it just as the door opened.

Greyson stepped inside and closed the door behind him, bowing low.

“You took your time,” Lord Maroke said.

“My apologies, my lord. I had to ensure no one was nearby.”

“And why would anyone be?” Lord Maroke asked, though the calming effects of the drug were beginning to take hold.

“I bring news, my lord.”

“The locket?”

“Not the locket, though it’s in skilled hands and should be ready in a few days.”

“Then what news?”

Greyson stepped forward, his face grave. “My lord…I’ve discovered something strange.”

Lord Maroke straightened slightly. “Go on.”

“The princess. This isn’t her first visit to the manor.”

Lord Maroke’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“On the day Lady Kamora disappeared eight years ago…the princess visited her here. You and I were both away at the time.”

Despite his relaxed posture, Lord Maroke’s mind raced.

“Did you find out why she came?”

“No,” Greyson replied, shaking his head. “But she was alone with Lady Kamora for over an hour. A few hours after she left, Kamora vanished. I don’t believe that’s a coincidence.”

“How did you come across this information?”

“From a former servant who worked here back then. She had been out the day Kamora vanished. When she returned, she said the manor felt…off.”

“She stayed a few more days before leaving. Said the atmosphere was too strange.”

Lord Maroke’s voice was sharp. “Arrange a meeting with her. I want to hear everything she remembers—from her own mouth.”