13. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
A hollow thrum of voices in unison floods my slumbering head. Am I dreaming? Impossible. I do not dream.
That is the only way I know that all these nightmares are real. That means the voices are real too. The language is old Fae. No doubt the same tongue as the runes on Daed’s body that I do not understand, and when spoken, the words are a string of guttural hisses and whispers that send chills down my spine.
My eyes flutter open, only barely, just enough to see the world around me through a thin, blurry haze. Faceless figures draped in garments of stars and midnight surround me, their heavy hoods keeping any features hidden in shadow. They chant their solemn, haunting tune, the same words hard and monotone, over and over again. The stone floor is ice cold beneath me, its uneven surface prodding at the softest parts of my skin. My head falls to the side and my gaze falls upon a luminous blue line drawn on the ground, its brilliant color dimming and brightening with a hypnotic pulse. I take a moment to realize it is not just a straight line. It curves around my splayed arms and legs. A circle, and I am trapped within its boundaries.
My throat burns dry, and I gulp as my senses slowly return. I can barely feel my body. It takes all my strength for my fingers to respond when I try to move them, and when they weakly twitch, I’m immediately struck with a slice of pain. My bandage is gone and the blood from the wound that refuses to heal drips onto the stone floor, seeping through the cracks in the stone like veins.
Fear takes root in my gut, rushing over me in waves and ensnaring my heart with a vice grip. I struggle against my paralysis, panic escaping my lips in murmurs, but the chanting continues. My head flops back, and now I stare at the ceiling with its wooden rafters. I can not move. I can not scream.
What is this place? Who are these people?
Suddenly, a speck of black appears on the ceiling. An imperfection in the wood, or something in my foggy vision. But it grows, spreading across the ceiling, and I realize it is not a speck. It is smoke. A pool of smoke expanding above me, and inside is an endless, black void that feels like staring into eternity. The void continues to grow, swallowing up the stone and wood until it fills the room, bringing the darkness of the night sky within these four walls.
Something is coming.
From the dark abyss, I see a shape, a mass with dozens of thick, writhing tentacles propelling the creature forward. I gulp back my fear, powerless, hopeless, with no choice but to lie and wait for the monster to reach me. Its mouth is the first thing I see clearly. A gigantic maw with row after row of pointed, razor-sharp teeth that seem to go all the way down its throat and a long, red forked tongue that whips and thrashes and reaches for me.
The chant that has rung in my ears changes. It has been a continuous, emotionless vibration, but now a single word rises above the rest, spoken with such passion and reverence, that I have no doubt it is the creature’s name.
Gygarth. Gygarth. Gygarth .
I grit my teeth, forcing my fingers to fold into fists, ignoring the pain searing through my hand. My body tightens and I clench every muscle, desperate to wrestle myself free from the invisible bonds that pin me to the stone floor. Very few could say they have been here before. Looking into the darkness and watching as a beast whose eyes scream with hunger tear towards you. But I have already defeated a monster with plans to devour me, and I will survive this too.
I will not die in Baev’kalath.
No voice passes my lips, but inside me it screams. Screams at my bones, my blood, my limbs and demands they obey me. This is my body. I decide what is done with it and I alone.
Move!
My arms spasm as if awoken by my plea. I close my eyes tight, my face twisted in a desperate effort to fight my fate. My arms are heavy as sacks of grain, but I pull them to my chest, and when I hold them out towards Gygarth, it feels as if they hold the weight of the world. I have to find my strength. Shut out the noise and hear only the voices of the Souls of the Forest. I have to raise the power buried deep inside me. I feel it, a flicker of warmth amidst the cold dread, a tiny spark that grows stronger the more I focus on it.
Gygarth is almost upon me now. It shrieks and I feel its hunger, its desire to devour, to destroy. But I refuse to give in. I swallow my fear and force my hands to steady as I reach deep within myself, summoning the light that has always been there, waiting for me to call upon it. A light used to mend and to heal, but now, in this moment, used to fight.
Warmth spreads through my chest, growing brighter and more intense until it’s almost unbearable. I can feel the energy building, the rune around my neck pulsing with life and power, begging to be released. The monster lunges, its massive jaws opening wide, ready to tear me apart. But I do not flinch. Instead, I thrust my hands forward, willing the light to surge from within me, to banish the darkness that seeks to engulf me.
A beam of brilliant, phosphorescent green light shoots from my hands, blinding in its intensity. It cuts through the void, striking Gygarth with a force that shakes the very fabric of the surrounding darkness. The beast shrieks, a sound so horrifying it tears at my ears and gouges my eyes, but I hold my ground, pouring everything I have into that beam of light.
Gygarth recoils, its form writhing and contorting as the light sears, driving it back, back into the abyss from which it had emerged. The void trembles, the shadows tearing apart as the light consumes them. With one final, desperate roar, the darkness swallows Gygarth, dragging him back to the depths, his white eyes flickering out as he sinks from sight and the portal of smoke shrinks and withers until it closes completely, leaving only the untouched ceiling and wooden rafters.
A soft glow of the light lingers around me. With a final, shuddering breath, I let the light fade and my arms fall exhausted at my sides.
All is silent. The pulsing circle around me falls still, now nothing but smudged blue stains on the floor, and the chanting is only a memory, something to add to the waking nightmares in my head. The circle of shrouded figures remains, lurching over me with an eerie quiet.
Will they kill me now? Do I have the strength to stop them? Before I have time to weight up my odds, a loud crash, followed by a terrifying, savage roar, breaks my captor’s circle. They scatter and I hear screams and desperate pleas as a flurry of black robes whip around me. Then two strong hands scoop me off the floor and draw me close to the warmth of a broad chest. I nestle close, eager to chase the icy chill from my bones.
That smell. I know that smell. The smell of the night, and the air and the sea.
His hand brushes away the hair veiling my face, and when I feel his fingers drifting from my skin, I find the strength to reach out and grab his hand to keep him with me. I have faced a demon tonight, but I do not want to suffer the pain of losing his touch.
“Daed,” I mutter.
He does not speak, but I hear the deep rumbling of his breath, I’m sure of it. His lips brush my forehead in the softest kiss, a touch so gentle it sends a shiver through me. My heart flutters, caught between the dreamlike haze and the startling reality of his touch. I lose my grip on whatever force has kept me lucid this long, but the sensation of his kiss lingers through my dreamless sleep, a powerful, unspoken promise that leaves me breathless.
The smell of dawn rouses me, but when I open my eyes, the sky over Baev’kalath is gray, as always. My memories flood back in a barrage of painful flashes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose to dull the sting. A conclave of hooded strangers, and a circle painted on the ground. A portal of smoke and shadow and a monster born from absolute darkness. Two strong arms saving me, and a kiss that is burnt into not just my mind, but my skin.
I bolt upright with rapid, shallow breaths. “Daed?”
There is no answer. I am alone in my chambers. I look over my nightgown for any sign of dirt or blood. Too much happened last night for there to be no evidence. But the fabric is pristine and pure white, even around the hem, which I know I dragged over stone and through ash. My hand. I raise it to my face, expecting to find the bandage missing and streams of dried blood along my arm. But the bandage is in place without a single drop of blood in sight. My head snaps towards the secret door.
The dresser should be… no.
The dresser is against the wall as normal, not in front of the secret door where I know I pushed it after escaping Daed. Or did I? Souls? Did I even see him last night? Or did I fall asleep and imagine all of this?
I shake my head in disbelief and when I do, my head throbs so much I wince. It could not have all been a dream. I do not dream. But what other explanation can there be?
I stumble out of bed and my fingers crawl along my chest to find my rune necklace. The source of my healing gifts. I hold the rune tight and close my eyes even tighter, trying to make sense of all this. The light within me has only ever been used to heal those in need. Never to fight monsters. I shiver. But it wasn’t just a monster. It had a name. Souls, why can’t I remember?
Suddenly the doors fly open and I spin on my heels, staggering backwards until the dressing table jabs me hard in the back. I wince as Queen Lanneth enters the room with a small army of maids at her back. She eyes me curiously from the doorway as she strokes her chin with her long, bony fingers.
“Did I startle you, daughter?”
The sound of that word on her lips fills me with disdain. I do not speak, only shake my head to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t.
“You look so pale,” she remarks, strolling slowly towards me. “Not that I mind. I prefer it actually. But compared to the hue you arrived with, it makes you look noticeably unwell.” She narrows her colorless eyes at me. “Are you unwell, Amara?”
I glimpse my serpent vine on the dressing table behind me, another leaf has fallen, and only one remains. I subtly slide across the dressing table to keep the plant from Lanneth’s suspicious gaze. The vine and I share the same sickness, our spirits polluted by the gloom that rises from the depths of Baev’kalath.
“I am fine,” I say, forcing my back to straighten even though all I want to do is lie down.
“Good,” she replies. Her gaze flits around the room vacantly before returning to me. “And how did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I lie. That seems to be the only word in my vocabulary at the moment.
“Well, I have excellent news. Your beloved husband has returned.”
“I know,” I reply lazily, my eyes half closed.
“You know? How do you know?” she asks.
Her question snaps me awake. Do I tell her I went to this room last night and threw myself out of his window? That his eyes were solid black? Or would that only reaffirm how insane I am becoming?
“I don’t know,” I say quickly, rubbing my fingers against my temples. “I’m not quite awake yet.”
“Well, there is no time for rest now,” she says. “The prince is back and you must attend to him.”
The queen glides towards me with an eerie grace, each movement slow and deliberate. Then she extends her long, bony arm, the pale skin stretched tight over knuckles and sharp joints, fingers tipped with talon-like nails curling in the air. A breath lodges in my throat when she reaches for me and an icy dread settles in my bones when she lays her hand upon my belly.
“If the Pale Eye is kind, you will give our prince an heir. That is why I must be sure you are healthy and well.” She scrapes the point of her thumbnail across my stomach and I shudder. “Human wombs can be ever so fragile.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, I appreciate that,” I reply, forcing the words through my teeth.
“Isn’t this nice? This is how I wish it to be always between you and me. You are not alone here, Amara. Even though it can feel that way sometimes. I am here for you.”
I nod half heartedly, but her eyes beckon me to speak. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I say again to appease her.
“Mother,” Lanneth says curtly. “Call me mother.”
My stomach churns and I try to keep the bitterness from my tone. “Mother.”
“That is what you will call me tonight, when the thrall houses come to banquet.” Lanneth snaps her fingers and the maids rally into action, some charging the wardrobes and pulling out a selection of dresses while others begin filling the tub.
I notice Solena lingering in the back, avoiding my gaze.
“Banquet?” I ask as I am flanked by maids eager to get my nightgown off. I shrug them away.
“Only our court was present at your wedding. It is time for all Mordorin of the Untold Sea to set their eyes on you. Now that The Warrior’s Eyes has passed, we can host our own celebration.” She arches a curious brow as I gaze vacantly. “You look lost, daughter. Bad dream?”
I meet her eyes, narrowing my gaze, wondering if she can read minds.
“Dreams in Baev’kalath can be treacherous things,” she sighs. “It is impossible to know in the endless night what is real, and what is not.” Suddenly, Lanneth grabs the hand behind my back and yanks it to her. Her eyes fix on the bandage, her thumb smoothing out the bumps in the fabric, and when her sleeve inches up, I see the band of lunar tattoos around her wrist. “What is this?” she asks.
I mumble nonsense, not sure what to reply as she unravels the bandage. When the last sliver of cloth comes undone, my skin anxiously prickles with the anticipation of how Lanneth will react when she sees my oozing wound, but when she expresses nothing, I look as well.
The cut has healed. But there is no slivery line scarred into the skin. In fact, there is nothing at all. The skin is smooth, untouched, as new as the day I was born. But how?
Queen Lanneth furrows her brow. “Remarkable.”
“Limmeth tea, your highness,” Solena calls from behind. “I prepared some for her after the wedding. It seems to have quite a miraculous effect on humans.”
Lanneth nods with interest. “Indeed. I will need to mention this to the druids.” She holds out the bandage and a maid quickly relieves her of its burden. “Now you must prepare for tonight. It will not be easy. The thrall houses will not take kindly to a human bride. But they are loyal to their king and their prince. Be silent and smile. Allow Daedalus to win them to our side. Do you understand?”
I don’t, but I nod. Anything to get Lanneth out of my chambers. At last she releases my hand and I can not wait to climb into the bath and wash her from my skin.
“I will see you tonight, Amara,” she says as she departs.
Solena closes the doors behind her before joining me at my side, our eyes agape and staring in awe at my healed hand.
“Is it truly the tea?” I ask, flipping it left and right, inspecting it at every angle in case I’ve missed something.
Solena shrugs. “Perhaps it is. But the wound was doing so poorly, and at the very least, it would leave an angry scar.” She exhales. “It’s a miracle.”
“I do not believe in miracles,” I respond, my bottom lip clenched between my teeth. “Only magic.”
The hours that pass are a whirl. I am bathed and dressed and escorted to the dining hall for breakfast. The king and queen are absent, far too busy with preparations for the banquet, and Daed does not make an appearance either. I eat alone and once I’m finished, I return to my chambers and go straight to the balcony. I do not even notice the icy taps of rain on my bare shoulders anymore. It has become as common to me as the wind through the trees of The Grove.
I grip the railing and my gaze finds Daed’s tower across the courtyard. His balcony is empty, and my human eyes see no movement within the darkness of his room. But I can feel him. I feel his eyes watching me. Or is this another delusion? It is impossible to know the truth here. The smoke and shadows bend reality, making me question everything. Even things I know in my heart to be true.
What if it was a dream?
Not just the demon from the darkness, but that happened in the prince’s tower as well? I wish Daed would step onto his balcony. I wish he would summon his mighty black wings and fly to me. I wish he would look at me with his eyes of the storm and tell me it all happened just as I remember it. Then I realize the confession I crave most. That it was him last night with his hands all over me, hungry for my skin, hungry for all of me, and my secret desire to have him break his promise.
His promise to not take me until I ask.