Chapter 28 #2
Magic crackles, the fire spluttering. Jinx growls and it echoes like it’s from a great distance away.
I try to call out to my familiar, but encounter a wall in my mind.
My breath catches before speeding. Fingers tremble as blood drips down to the lengthening pool of red beneath me.
It pushes against the boundary of the chalk, bubbling up.
Too much is draining from me. I’m going to faint.
The chalk’s light shifts. Darker. Colder. Disturbing slurping has me shivering as yawning horror threatens to steal my mind. The circle drinks the pooling blood in deep, gulping draws. I thrash against the magic’s hold, but it’s no use. I’m pinned like an insect on display.
A visceral sludge crawls up my knees. My breath pants and I try again, my magic surging and battering against my prison. Cold fire crackles in my chest, the Entropy Flame building within me as I summon it, but it does not emerge.
The flame turns inward instead and tests the fissure between my soul halves.
A tear escapes from the corner of my eye.
My attention is divided, battling the black flame within me and the curse crawling along my flesh.
I’m just one woman, alone in this war. Doubt flickers and a soundless sob escapes.
The black oil moves leisurely, seeping into each slice on my skin.
Panic seizes me when it slides inside my veins.
My mouth stretches in a silent scream, green glowing from my eyes as I try to force it out, try to rein in control of my mutinous black flame, try to save myself with everything I have.
Jinx snarls and surges, but collapses on the floor in a pile of fur.
The forlorn howl from my familiar has dread closing my throat.
I’m shaking, tears burning down my face and the oil drinks them.
It pours into my eyes and the green sputters before going out.
The foul, rotting taste fills my mouth and I’m gone, devoured by my vengeance.
My father was right. I’m an arrogant fool who thought I could trick magic out of its price. I dared to believe that I was above the laws of magic. And now, I pay.
I fall deeper and deeper into the ocean of black oil. Swimming is futile, my limbs sluggish and body hazy. Time is meaningless within this darkness. I merely exist in the endless abyss, unsure if it’s been hours or years.
A film like the edge of a bubble touches my back. It bows with the weight of me before giving way. It slides over my body, birthing me into an arid brightness. Instead of falling, I stumble to my feet. The upside-down world rights itself and I look around the vast empty whiteness of it all.
The back of my neck prickles and I whip around.
Alasdair smiles at me. He’s as I remember seven years ago.
Smile effortless, green eyes clear and crinkled.
There’s a dimple in his left cheek that girls used to sigh over.
His combed-back gold hair can’t be fully tamed, and an errant curl falls across his forehead.
I used to spring it to piss him off and I’d laugh at his scowl before he would laugh, too.
He was handsome then. Strong, broad, his shoulders stretching his shirts. We’re the same height, and when we were together, people used to say we were like two sides of the same coin.
A crystal tumbler is in his left hand and he’s holding it out to me in a toast. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t breathe.
Like a statue in this empty, white place.
I step closer, head tilting as I examine him.
I recognize this moment, like a snapshot in my mind.
It was after I’d lured him into a private parlor under the guise of making amends.
He was so willing to join me, even asked why I missed all the celebrations over the last few days as if he was oblivious to our father muzzling me.
He never suspected that I laced his drink with a powerful sedative.
The same foreign feeling from earlier surges. My breath shudders and my voice cracks. “You only ever wanted to be my brother.” My lip trembles. “And I hated you for it.”
Alasdair doesn’t move. I near him, unable to stop the words from pouring from my lips. “Always so fucking happy in your own mediocrity. It was sickening to watch.”
The feeling builds, surging with a wave of sickness. Instead of vomit, words come out. “I wish you’d fought me. I wish you didn’t want to trust me. It would’ve been so much easier if you proved to be a true adversary and not—” I wave my hand over him. “This kind fool.”
My breath rushes out, throat working rhythmically. “You would’ve fallen to ruin as Archweaver. You didn’t have the stomach for the games of the Order. Hell, Emilia would’ve eaten you alive as your wife.” My lip curls. “You should thank me. I saved you from a different kind of horror.”
The smile is unwavering, the hopeful glint in his eyes mocking me.
I’d cheered his success at being Heir and he countered with, “To us. The Androclaria siblings. Together, we’ll bring a new dawn of magic, just like Papa and Viola.
” My throat clenches as I stare at the memory of my brother. My stupid, kind brother.
I turn my back on him. Nothing but blank whiteness greets me. My voice echoes. “What’s the point of bringing me here? To taunt me? Torture me?” I laugh. “It won’t work. I have no regret for what I did.” My chin rises. “They deserved it. My father deserves it.”
A familiar voice responds, “That’s what I love about you.”
I whip around. Alasdair is still in his frozen state. I spin slowly. The prickling of awareness is unnerving.
“You’re such a vicious little thing.”
I turn back to Alasdair and my stomach plummets. The cursed version of him leans against his younger form, a stick-thin arm resting on Alasdair’s broad shoulder. I tense, angling my body away. It’s not Alasdair. It’s something… unnatural.
The curse smiles. “You don’t like what you see? Mother, I’m wounded.”
My brows lift. “Mother?”
“Of course.” The curse pushes off Alasdair and saunters to me in his dirty clothes.
“You birthed me. Fed me like a newborn suckling from a teat.” His mouth splits into that too-wide smile, his eyes turning all black with an unnatural glint.
“Drop by drop. Much more than a soul’s worth. It’s how I became so strong.”
Valen had called it bloated and a chill shivers my spine. “Is that how you’re sentient?”
“Oh, yes. You gestated me quite nicely.”
“I thought you said I birthed you.”
He waves a bony hand. “Semantics. I must admit, I’m surprised that you attempted to banish me.
” He’s close, too close. I resist the urge to step back.
“After everything I’ve done for you.” He nods towards Alasdair.
“Oh, such suffering I caused him. He used to weep. It was delicious.” He giggles.
“And then your father would try to force me from him and it shredded his insides.” His eyes flare. “Would you like to see?”
I do not, but there’s no choice. I try to close my eyes when the white surroundings give way to the memory, but it appears behind my eyelids. Bile rises. Alasdair’s screams echo in my mind. Such screams. Luciana sobs in the corner and the Archweaver’s eyes are wide with agonized determination.
Vincentius is there. He watches in grim silence with his arms crossed over his chest before he steps forward to add his own magic to the mix. My arms wrap around my middle tightly. No wonder he betrayed me again. He thought I’d allow Valen the same fate.
My ear prickles when the curse whispers against it. “There’s no love for you left in your father’s heart, not after what you did.” I flinch away and he snickers. “That doesn’t make you happy? Isn’t that what you wanted when you brought me to this world?”
I don’t like this. I want to hide from it, but when I turn away, the room shifts with me. I’m trapped watching my brother’s torment. The screaming, the incanting, and the sobbing echo oddly together.
The room blurs and Viola stands before the Archweaver throne, the Council of Weavers standing witness. I stumble back and collide with the curse. He wraps his spindly arms around my middle in an affectionate embrace and his bony chin digs into my shoulder. “They fought so much.”
Alasdair is there and he doesn’t look much different from when I saw him in the house.
The binding collar glows, but it is not welded shut, merely locked.
A leash pins him in place between Viola and Atticus, and my brother writhes, tugging on it and choking.
He’s spluttering something and it takes me a minute to understand him.
“I want Tori! I miss Tori! Let me go. Please. Let me go to her. I need her! Tori! TORI!”
Luciana darts out of the crowd. Maskless in the vision, I can see how poorly she aged in the last seven years.
Dark bags hang heavily under her eyes, her forehead permanently creased with stress.
She hushes Alasdair, who snarls and snaps at her like a rabid animal.
Luciana doesn’t withdraw and pulls out Alasdair’s crusty bear instead, holding it before her like a shield.
I blink. Oscar. That was the bear’s name.
The reaction is immediate. Alasdair goes limp on the ground and whimpers as Luciana presses Oscar against his face. He bites Oscar’s fuzzless paw and chews on the cracked leather like he did when we were young.
Our father’s eyes lift from the grim scene to glare down at Viola with glowing, hot rage. Viola meets his wrath with her head high and back straight. Atticus hisses, “You dare to stand there and deny what is evident?”
“That your son is curse-crazed?” Viola’s voice is a knife in my heart. I writhe, eyes burning, but the curse doesn’t let me go, doesn’t let me shut the vision out. Viola speaks confidently, not a hint of fear or uncertainty to be found. “Yes. I think we all can agree on that.”
Atticus snarls, power cracking around him. “You wretched woman! Stop protecting that idiot girl. She’s doomed us all.”
Viola’s eyes flare green to match her brother’s. “She’s your child.”
“She’s a monster. Look at what she’s done!”
“You have no proof.”
He throws an arm out towards his son, “This is the proof I need! Alasdair and Astoria are linked by dark magic. If Alasdair escaped once, he will do so again. We were lucky that he failed to reach the border. The Magistrate and Guild must never know of his current state. The risk of being overwhelmed in another war is too high.”
My father sits heavily in his throne. Exhaustion leaks into his voice as he says, “Astoria must be found and put down before it is too late to save the Heir.”
Viola turns sharply away from her brother to face the other weavers assembled with raw determination.
“I beseech this wise Council to see reason. The Archweaver is grasping at anything to save his corrupted son while ignoring the very point I’ve been arguing for years.
This is an attack on the Archweaver lineage.
Once Alasdair falls, Astoria will be next.
She is a victim of this attack, not the instigator! ”
My father’s ashen face becomes blotchy and his gnarled hands grip the armrests until his knuckles turn white. “I tire of your falsehoods to protect an absconded weaver. The innocent do not flee.”
An exchange of looks ripples through the Councilors before they turn to Vincentius. Viola locks eyes with him, her expression open and pleading. Yet, Vincentius says nothing. He remains standing to the side, his solemn-faced unmoved and his hands in his pockets.
Sickness rises in my throat when Viola whips back around to her brother, face contorted and voice pitching high, “This is madness! She ran from this place because of you. She feared what you’d do after the muzzle!
” She throws her voice powerfully. “Leave her be! Let her live her life free of this place. It’s all I ask. Let her go.”
When silence rings, Viola’s voice dips to despairing. “Please. I beg of you. Don’t hurt her.”
I’m breathing too hard, my eyes filling with tears until they pour down.
I scream at the image, begging Viola to run.
Begging my father not to do it. I’m screaming, sobbing, my shut eyes doing nothing to make the images go away.
I can’t hear the words, only the escalating argument between my father and aunt, Viola’s love and protection unwavering in the face of her dawning end.
My father unleashes his magic in an explosion of rage that Viola meets with a bellow, the stones cracking to give way to a monstrous tree that bursts forth to protect its mistress as Creation and Transformation blend beautifully.
No one comes to help. I try to call my magic, but nothing responds.
Vincentius’ eyes flare in surprise, but he hesitates.
It’s too late. It’s all too late.
Viola’s body slams into the stone above the throne.
Ironwood crucifies her there and she screams in agony.
Shivering, Viola whispers harshly, “She’ll kill you all for this.
That I promise.” Viola’s eyes dim, pain and death waxing her skin.
Her lips barely move, but the breathed-out words are loud in my ringing ears.
“Be free, my little love. Never forget…” blood trickling from her mouth chokes her, “I love you.” Her eyes dim as death claims her.
I scream. I scream and scream, my heart’s pain, my grief, my regret, pouring into the endless sound until I’m sure that this is how I’ll live the rest of this cursed existence. A banshee reborn. Nothing but this horrific, endless wail.
I took too long to come back. I should’ve forced Vi to come with me. I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I didn’t think of what would happen to Vi in my stead. Now it’s too late. My aunt is dead and it’s all my fault.