Tower of Shadows (Once Upon A Wicked Villain #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

ROZLYN

Day in and day out, for two weeks, Rozlyn assisted the Marquis of Shadows as he attempted to come up with a spell to make his curse fade properly so he wasn’t trapped in his home at all. But each morning when Haven tried to fly outside the tower window, the wind tossed him back into the room like a raggedy old garment. There had been another spell he’d come up with by using drops of their blood and locks of their hair that was meant to firmly root the tower within the Souldark Court, but it was another failure. Two tendrils of her hair inside Haven’s locket hadn’t improved the situation in the least.

Rozlyn couldn’t pinpoint why these spells were failing when the marquis’ sorcery didn’t seem flawed in any other aspect, but she couldn’t be completely certain. She was no sorceress.

Between the times when Haven asked for a lock of her hair, and another, and another, and another , Rozlyn took dresses from the wardrobe at the top of the tower and fashioned the dark gowns into something more welcoming, regardless of the marquis’ favorite drab color. Sequins and glistening beads easily added a little jovialness to them. More lace fashioned along the sleeves, hems, and neckline gave them liveliness over death.

Rozlyn sat in a velvet chair, its cushions akin to clouds, within the spell room while Haven, wearing his beloved frown, hovered over the metal cauldron. He adorned a long-sleeved button-up shirt tucked into dark trousers that she couldn’t deny hugged his backside rather well. His long white hair fell into his face once more, and he cursed it as he snatched a strip of leather from a nearby shelf to tie it back.

Fighting a smile, Rozlyn lifted the dress she’d been working on ever since night first fell. She slid the needle in and out of the lush fabric as she attached the lace around the linen hem. Before she looped the thread into a knot, a hand, a rather large masculine one, appeared in front of her face, and she glanced up to find a deep line settled between Haven’s dark brows.

“Another lock of hair,” he said, the coal-black shadow unraveling from his palm, inching nearer to her.

“Patience is not your virtue,” Rozlyn huffed and completed her task on the dress first. “There. Finished,” she sang and folded the fabric in her lap, then drew her plait over her shoulder and held the ends up for his shadow. The deep red color was growing on her, although she missed the golden hue dearly.

Haven’s shadow inched closer, brushing her hand in a soft caress as it drifted toward her hair. She shivered at the gentle touch, not knowing it would feel so heavenly soft. Scissor blades formed from the shadow before it snipped off a tendril. As Haven clutched her hair in his fist, the marquis’ gaze fixed on her dress, his expression unreadable.

“Do you like it?” Rozlyn asked, trailing her fingers across a perfect line of black pearl buttons down the back.

With a grunt, he sauntered to the cauldron, and by his lack of commenting, she took the reply as a most certainly.

Haven tossed her hair into the contents, then opened a golden jar and poured in a metallic blue liquid. A pungent odor drifted through the air, and she covered her nose.

“Fuck,” he spat, slapping a hand against his leg. Waving his arm through the air, the smell vanished, replaced by a pleasant leather.

Rozlyn laid the dress on the chair and slipped beside the marquis, watching the bloody liquid in the cauldron bubble and burst. “You know,” she said slowly. “I think you need to find someone who can help you solve your predicament. You’re becoming emotionally driven over your curse, and that obsession isn’t going to improve the situation. Impulsive behavior might turn you into a stone gargoyle again, but this time it might last all night as well. I don’t believe you would like that at all.”

Haven’s scowl deepened as he cocked his head, seeming to mull over her words. “There’s no one to ask, maiden. I’ve never once had trouble with sorcery, other than the spell that got me into this fucking situation.”

“Don’t you have family somewhere? Friends?” With being as well-known as he was, there had to be someone .

“My parents are dead. Iseult’s skeleton would break apart before he found anyone who could do half the things I can, and as for friends, I’ve only ever had Vivienne…” Haven trailed off. But he didn’t have to finish the sentence for her to know Vivienne was his lover who chose to marry the Lord of Souldark.

Silence stretched between them, and Haven sank down at his work table, where he placed a bowl of green liquid on its surface. He then pushed a stack of books aside to grab a few jars off the shelf. Beaks, brown leaves, scales, and an orange powder.

Rozlyn wrinkled her nose as she watched Haven mix the ingredients into the liquid. “Is this for a different spell?” The other ones had all been ingredients added to the main cauldron’s bloody liquid.

“Yes,” he said, dropping the leaves into the bowl. “I’m taking a break for now.”

She pursed her lips and blinked. If he was going to poke around for weeks on end and not solve this matter, he would get nowhere, which meant she would remain in this tower. When Rozlyn accepted the offer to come to the Marquis of Shadows’ home, she never would’ve imagined that it was waiting for a curse he was under to completely fade. She’d assumed there would’ve been nights filled with pleasure, then after their dalliances were finished, she would’ve bid the sorcerer a happy farewell before smiling on her way to purchase a dress shop.

Rozlyn chose to focus on Haven’s admission. Vivienne. She wouldn’t dare bring up the lord or the lady at that moment, but Vivienne was his friend once. Rozlyn could travel to the castle and meet with the Lady of Souldark. For Haven’s sake, she needed to do something other than watch the marquis growl at himself over failed spells. If she revealed her plan to him, she knew for a fact the sorcerer would make certain she couldn’t leave his home. And that wouldn’t do in the least.

She smoothed out the skirts of her dress, lifted her satchel of sewing supplies, and casually yawned. “I’m going to work on a few of the gowns upstairs after grabbing something to eat. Perhaps even a bath. Do you still need my assistance?”

Haven’s pale eyes met hers, his gaze veering down to her mouth. And were his pupils dilating? “Not now,” Haven mumbled and looked away before she could clarify if there had perhaps been lust lingering for a moment.

He was a very handsome grouch indeed.

As Rozlyn entered the kitchen, dishes clinked as Iseult placed them inside a glass cabinet.

“Hello, Rozlyn,” he said, then resumed organizing the shelves.

“Hello!” she chirped.

The scent of delicious bread and desserts permeated the large space, and she took a frosted cherry pastry from a plate on the counter. She bit into its wonderful sweetness and wiped a few crumbs from her lips. As Iseult went to the next cabinet, she stuffed jerky and a few pieces of fruit into her satchel. She asked the room for a canteen of water, then placed that inside her bag too. With the landscape being so barren around the tower, she wasn’t quite sure when she could fill it again.

Rozlyn smiled brightly as she stood beside Haven’s skeletal assistant. “I was wondering if I may have your opinion on some of the dresses upstairs. There’s a new design I’d like to try.”

Iseult’s skull turned in her direction, his jaw parted. “I’m not to wear them, am I?”

“No.” She laughed softly. “Not unless you want to, that is. They might be a little short on you though.”

Iseult pressed a bony hand to the front of his dark robes. “No, I like what Marquis gave me to wear. But yes, it will be my honor to assist you in whatever you need.”

Her chest tightened that she was about to trick him, yet she did owe him a favor for slipping a sleeping aid into her tea that first day.

Iseult followed Rozlyn up the winding staircase, the violet flames flickering in their sconces, making the shadows dance along the walls.

Once they stood before the towering wardrobe, she drew open the doors to the assortment of dark gowns. She took a silk sash from the waist of a lacy garment and folded her arms as though contemplating which dress to choose.

Rozlyn tsked, then pointed to a row of dresses in the far back of the wardrobe. “Pick one of those for me. I just can’t decide!”

“They all look similar.” Iseult angled his skull to the side. “But let me inspect them more closely.” He brushed past her and skimmed his skeletal finger across a satin dress, then chiffon. She slowly tiptoed in behind him, edging closer, her movements quiet.

As he reached for a wool dress with a sweetheart neckline, Rozlyn leapt forward and grabbed both of his arms, pulling them behind his spine. With how light and flimsy his arms were, she prayed to the gods she wouldn’t break them off, but if she did, she would apologize and take faith that Haven’s sorcery would mend him as it had when he’d leapt from the tower window to collect her at the brothel.

“What are you doing?” Iseult gasped, wriggling his fragile frame. Rozlyn grappled with his thin arms and bound the fabric around his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her chest heaving as she tied the sash into tight knots, “but let’s just say I owed you for the sleep aid you gave me when I arrived.”

“Marquis!” Iseult shouted. “Marquis!”

That was something Rozlyn had already thought about. which was why the room in the upper tower was perfect since Haven wouldn’t hear him from so far down below.

Rozlyn spun Iseult by the shoulders and held him against the dresses along the wardrobe’s wall. Even if Iseult would last long enough to find help, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he encountered something vile—a child could easily throw him if they wanted to.

“Hush, and listen to me. Please,” Rozlyn said, keeping her voice even. “I’m doing this for the marquis. He needs outside help.” If she didn’t seek someone’s aid, she feared this tower would be her home forever. Haven needed her hair daily, but if she were gone for a little while and returned successfully, a handful of days of him turning into a stone gargoyle would be nothing compared to years of being free of a curse.

Iseult stilled. “Marquis is going to be angry.”

“Not if he’s no longer trapped here all day,” Rozlyn pointed out. “I can’t leap from the window like Haven or you, so I need to borrow your key.”

Iseult didn’t writhe in her grasp as she fished out the silver key from inside his pocket.

Rozlyn slowly backed away, keeping her eyes trained on the shadows swirling within his sockets. “Stay here,” she said. Iseult didn’t move, his shoulders sagging as she grasped both doors and added, “Don’t worry, when I return, we can trust each other from here on out.”

Iseult sighed. “I do like you very much, Rozlyn.”

“I like you too.” Her heart clenched as she shut the wardrobe, then placed the brush from her satchel through its handles. Just in case.

As she gazed out of the window at the Souldark Court, she was thankful it was still night. She needed to hurry and leave before day broke and she was trapped inside the tower again. After placing the dagger at her hip, she grasped her skirts and rushed down the stairs toward the front entrance.

Pulse racing, she reached the last step and slid the key into the lock until it clicked. And although the noise was soft, it was akin to a boom inside her ears. She slowly opened the door to a mild creak, but no footsteps thundered from below.

Rozlyn poked her head out into the night, searching side to side for anything nefarious. Not a soul lingered anywhere in the mist near the tower. She locked the door behind her and darted off toward the forest of dead trees, their branches frail, their trunks curved and rotting.

She didn’t know much about the other courts, but from the map of Grimm that Madam had given her as a child, the Souldark castle was far south near the sea. Peering up at the sky, she followed the cluster of stars that would lead her in the southern direction. A part of her wanted to turn around and cross over the border into Dawnbreak, to run back to the brothel, but she couldn’t leave the Marquis of Shadows cursed.

The heavy scent of smoke surrounded Rozlyn as she zigzagged around twig-like trees while gripping her knife. Gray spirits dotted the landscape in the thickening mist, but none of them charged after her. She caught sight of a strange horned creature, its scarlet body hunched and skin sagging as it tightened its grip around a spirit, inhaling its energy. The stories that Madam had told her mentioned how spirits wouldn’t die since they were already dead, only lose parts of their memories at first. What came after that, she wasn’t certain of.

Heart thrumming, Rozlyn barreled past a marsh and glimpsed spirits in a curving line at a glistening lake where a silver gondola sat empty. Her eyes widened at the one miraculous thing she’d seen thus far. The gateway to the gods. Fairward . She didn’t stop her journey though, only kept going until a manor with white turrets slipped into view. Glistening orange orbs, like glass, floated around the home, their movements delicate and graceful. She craned her neck, wondering what they were for.

As her side and legs cramped, she slowed as she approached the home. She leaned against the manor’s side wall to catch her breath when a deep voice purred from behind her, “Why you’re not a spirit, are you?”

Lips parting, Rozlyn whirled around and lifted her blade. “No, I’m not.”

“A blade isn’t necessary.” The man stepped out from the shadows—he wasn’t a spirit either. His silver hair hung loosely past his chin, and midnight black eyes held amusement. He was a different kind of handsome than Haven, more otherworldly, his bronze skin flawless beneath the moon’s illumination.

Rozlyn didn’t lower her dagger. “Are you a sorcerer? Only sorcerers can come to Souldark.” Unless he was here in the way she was.

“Not a sorcerer exactly.” He cocked his head and smiled, his frame taller than Haven. “Why are you here?”

“I need to reach the Lady of Souldark. Can you help me?” Even though this man was a stranger, he could know of a faster route to the castle.

“I can accompany you for a little while if you wish. For a cost, that is.” His gaze grew hooded and traveled down her form, then halted on her left wrist. “Oh, you belong to Haven … for the time being.”

Rozlyn blinked, squaring her shoulders. “How do you know Haven?”

He smirked. “I’m the ferryman, but you can call me Nightshade.”

She gasped. The ferryman . Madam had told her tales of him as well when Rozlyn was younger, about how he was immortal. While the lords were mortal and died here, the ferryman lived on, never changing as centuries passed. He was the unwanted bastard child of a god and mortal, which was one of the reasons Rozlyn remembered the stories about him so much. Because she’d related to him without them ever meeting.

“I’m Rozlyn.” She smiled, lowering her knife a fraction.

“You don’t want to travel to the castle tonight,” he said. “Come inside my home, and I’ll explain.”

Rozlyn furrowed her brow. However, she’d done well with the training Madam gave her for defense.

“I won’t hurt you,” he added.

Anyone could promise that, but she nodded and allowed Nightshade to lead her around the side of the manor to the front door, where crumbling stone rested in two piles.

“Ignore that. A guest threw a bit of a tantrum the other week.” He chuckled and pushed open the entrance.

As she stepped over the threshold behind the ferryman, she entered a sitting room with a staircase leading to the next floor. Orange flames crackled within a large fireplace where a fur rug rested. A velvet settee lingered across from two chaises, and a bronze table at their center held two glasses of wine. Silver metal vines snaked across the walls, creating a luxurious and nature-like feel at the same time.

Nightshade sat on the settee and handed her one of the wine glasses while taking a long, inviting sip from the other.

Rozlyn set the glass back on the table—she knew when a man wanted to lure in a woman for pleasure. “I’m bound to Haven and will not be seduced.”

“Hmm.” The corners of his lips lifted as he reclined back against the cushions.

She placed her hands on her hips and stepped toward him. “Now tell me why I don’t want to go to the castle. Haven’s under a curse, and it’s urgent I speak with the lady of this court as soon as possible.”

“ Haven is under a curse?” He chuckled softly. “It seems you’re unaware that his curse is your curse.”