8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
A fter Casimir had mandated three days of rest for Rowan to recuperate, they finally reached their destination.The first sight of the village of Cascading Falls took her breath away. It was the perfect blend of natural beauty and human architecture nestled among the majestic peaks of snow-topped mountains. A tranquil glacier-fed river meandered through the center of the village, lined with ancient stone bridges and lush foliage. Its source was a nearby crystal-blue waterfall that glistened in the sunset.
Everywhere she looked, there were narrow paths, worn smooth by centuries of travelers, weaving through the village like veins carrying history. The houses stood closely packed together on top of thick stilts due to the shifting permafrost. Their weathered wooden exteriors and steeply pitched roofs, designed to keep the snow off during the winter, exuded charm.
“It’s so beautiful.” Rowan’s eyes swept across every detail. “I wonder what happens to the waterfall in the winter.”
“It freezes solid. It’s quite the sight.” Casimir gazed at the village’s namesake like he was lost in thought before his lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “In my early days as a vampire, I decided to scale it while I was quite drunk.”
Rowan shot him a startled look. “How in the world did you get drunk as a vampire?”
“I drank blood from a very intoxicated mortal. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. It didn’t lead to very wise choices.”
Rowan couldn’t picture Casimir being drunk and foolhardy, but she wanted to hear more about him cutting loose. “I’d love to hear more of your stories from back then. ”
Casimir hesitated a moment before responding. “Maybe another time. I don’t want to spoil the mood.”
She nodded silently, her smile fading as she sensed him holding back pieces of his past and himself once more. It made her wonder what he was hiding.
He steered the conversation to other matters. “The local tavern owner, Cora, is supposed to be an expert in arcane symbols, and she’s a witch, so she’ll be familiar with my kind. We can speak freely with her if necessary.”
Rowan’s mouth fell open, her wide eyes riveted on Casimir. “A witch? But I thought they were just a myth, or a slur used by the Brotherhood for women who have a mind of their own.”
Casimir chuckled, a low rumble of amusement. “You also thought vampires were a myth less than a week ago.”
“That’s true.”
“But you’re partly right.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Witches are women who can harness the energy of nature and its elements. Unlike vampires, they haven’t been able to hide their presence from humans as successfully. In my experience, they’re very intelligent and can be incredibly powerful. But there’s something about having that much knowledge and power that seems to breed a certain unwillingness to be cowed by the Brotherhood,” he mused. “They’re often healers and midwives who firmly support women’s rights to make choices about their own bodies, including decisions about pregnancy and fertility. They offer magically infused herbal ointments and teas for women seeking assistance in this area. The Brotherhood’s Enforcers are notorious for their lack of tolerance toward women who challenge their so-called traditional values. They may be unaware of the existence of magic, but they hunt witches down all the same.”
Rowan frowned as she mulled over this new information. She felt like an ignorant girl stepping into an unfamiliar world filled with fantastical creatures and unbelievable possibilities. Her mind was immediately drawn to all the other unknowns that might be out there, and she was filled with questions.
“How come the Brotherhood allows Cora to own a tavern?” she asked. “I thought they had strict laws against women owning property.”
Casimir’s eyes flashed with amusement. “She has a reputation for being a shrewd businesswoman. She knows how to navigate the Brotherhood’s ridiculous laws. She’s found a loophole in the legal system—a man who technically owns the tavern but has no interest in running it or getting involved with its dealings. That way, Cora remains the de facto owner.”
“Clever. I take it this man is in on our secret,” Rowan said dryly.
“Yes, he’s a vampire with a noble background. He’s happy to sign his name on deeds for witches across the kingdom in exchange for a cut of the profits. Even the Brotherhood knows better than to cross a count.”
As they neared their destination, a sign creaked overhead. The image of a frothing mug was carved upon the weather-beaten wood. Cora’s Tavern , it proclaimed in faded letters that held the promise of respite.
“It looks inviting,” Rowan remarked as Casimir pushed open the heavy door. The smell of woodsmoke and strong northern beer filled the air, mingling with the aroma of roasted meats. It was a comforting mix of scents that made her stomach rumble in anticipation.
The tavern’s interior was cozy and warm, with wooden beams crisscrossing the low ceiling and walls heavily adorned with colorful artifacts and memorabilia. The sounds of boisterous laughter, clinking tankards, and energetic conversations created a lively atmosphere.
The stout tavern owner moved through the scene with surprising grace. Her fiery red hair blazed a trail as she deftly weaved between tables, serving up ale and sarcasm in equal measure.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Thomas, or I’ll serve your fingers for supper.” Cora’s voice cut through the din, her words laced with a threat that was no less menacing than the smile that accompanied it.
“Cora, you know I only have eyes for you, eh?” the patron retorted, grinning unabashedly.
“Your eyes can stay, but your hands are another story,” she shot back, placing a steaming bowl of stew before him with a thud. The rest of the pub erupted in jovial laughter.
Rowan grinned at the exchange. There was a familiarity in the banter, a warmth that flowed beneath the surface of the barbs that felt welcoming. And the tavern owner was a force of nature.
Cora caught sight of them, her keen eyes missing nothing. With a knowing look, she glided over, the crowd parting before her like the sea before a ship’s bow.
“Welcome to my humble tavern.” She nodded in their direction. “What brings a pair like you to Cascading Falls? Boredom, or business? ”
“Definitely not boredom.” Rowan’s lips curled in a half-smile.
“Well, either way, you’ve come to the right place.” Cora winked, her gaze lingering on Rowan for a moment longer than necessary before she composed herself, hiding any hint of what she may have been thinking.
“Rumor has it that you’re the woman to talk to about ancient symbols.” Casimir’s tone was hushed as he discreetly passed a note to her. The symbol was sketched on the parchment, and he watched Cora’s expression closely.
“Ah, arcane symbols.” A flicker of recognition crossed Cora’s face. “Let’s find a quieter spot.”
She beckoned them with a curled finger. The noise of the tavern receded as they moved to a dimly lit alcove, a candle flickering on the small table casting ghostly shadows on the walls.
Cora glanced around, expression wary, before she settled comfortably. Her eyes fell onto the parchment, squinting slightly.
“I must admit this is an unusual request.” Her voice was a touch louder now, shrouded in the secrecy that the alcove provided. “Why this particular symbol?” She looked up to meet Rowan’s determined eyes.
Rowan hesitated, gnawing on her bottom lip as she considered whether to divulge the truth. “It’s important to me. I need to know what it means. Where it leads . . .” Her voice faded.
Cora’s eyebrows shot up, then a flicker of something indiscernible crossed her face. The tavern owner’s calculating gaze seemed to size Rowan up in an entirely new light. She scrutinized her for a moment longer before she sighed and turned her attention back to the parchment. Her index finger traced the intricate lines thoughtfully.
“Well, well.” Cora leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her expression pensive. “I should’ve known from the color of your hair.” She let the cryptic comment hang in the air, swirling with the dust motes in the candlelight.
Rowan leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “What does that mean?”
“It isn’t a common color around here, or anywhere, really.”
“But what does my hair color have to do with anything?” Rowan persisted, her face pinched in frustration.
“That’s not just any symbol that was left with you. It’s the mark of an ancient lineage known for their unique abilities, and their distinctive hair.” Cora’s eyes bored into Rowan’s. “The same shade as yours. ”
A heavy silence filled the alcove as Rowan contemplated what those words meant. She felt no closer to finding the answers she desperately craved.
Cora seemed to read her thoughts. “I’m sure you want to know more,” she added, “but some truths are not meant to be found, my dear.”
“Who are you to decide what I need to know?” Rowan demanded. “I’ve spent my whole life living half a story. If you know something, anything else—please. You must share it with me.”
Cora looked away, her stern gaze turning soft and pensive. She sighed deeply, twirling a strand of her vibrant red hair between her fingers as she considered Rowan’s plea.
“I can see that your heart yearns for answers,” she said slowly, “but sometimes ignorance truly is bliss. The world isn’t all black and white. There are shades of gray we must learn to navigate. Believe me when I tell you that I’m trying to protect you by not saying anything further.”
Rowan’s expression hardened. “I don’t need you to protect me. I can handle whatever it is.”
Cora assessed her for a long moment. Then she smiled wryly, but there was no humor in it, only resignation. “As you wish. But remember that you asked for this.” She held up her hand, halting any response from Rowan. “Don’t get excited yet. Before I give you any more information about the symbol, there’s a condition that must be met.”
“Tell us.” Casimir’s hand found Rowan’s under the table. Although she knew it was simply a gesture of support, her stomach fluttered at his touch all the same.
Cora leaned in slightly. “It has to do with a vampire called the Reaper.”
There was a tense silence. Rowan felt the color drain from her face as Cora glared at Casimir. The Reaper’s name had been used to frighten misbehaving children since Rowan herself was a child. The fiendish vampire was said to rule over the night with a bloodlust that couldn’t be sated.
Could she be referring to Casimir? Is this some sort of game for him? A chill slithered down Rowan’s spine and she snatched her hand back from his.
“Are you talking about the Reaper from the legends?” she whispered, her gaze bouncing between Cora and Casimir, studying their reactions.
Cora nodded gravely. “The Reaper’s no legend. He’s a master vampire who feeds off fear and rules through manipulation and violence. The devil incarnate.”
Rowan swallowed hoarsely, needing to ask the question, but not wanting to know the answer. “The Reaper . . . does he happen to go by any other names? ”
“Aye,” Cora replied. “His given name’s Eamon Darkholm. He’s seized control of the nearby village of Ashbourne, and I need the two of you to retrieve a locket from him.”
Rowan drew in a sharp breath.
“I know all about the Reaper.” Casimir’s voice became cold and rough. “He’s the type of vampire who gives my kind a bad reputation. But you’re going to need to tell us more than that before we agree to anything.”
Cora leaned even further into the dimly lit alcove that shielded them from the raucous laughter and clinking of mugs. “The object I’m seeking is known as the Locket of Herois. It’s said to contain ancient magic that belonged to a powerful queen.”
“A queen?” Rowan blinked rapidly. She’d only ever heard about kings ruling over their kingdom.
A bitter look crossed Cora’s face. “A queen indeed. Before the Crusade for Traditional Values ravaged our lands, women sat on thrones.” Her gaze flitted around, sweeping across the tavern to ensure nobody was listening to them. “Women aren’t lesser beings, as the Brotherhood would have you believe, and we’re more than capable of being strong leaders.”
“What happened to her?” Rowan asked. “This queen?”
Cora shrugged. “Like most women of considerable power, she fell victim to men’s fear and greed. But even in death, legend has it that her legacy lives on in that locket.”
Rowan sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the information. The thought of such power entranced her. She could almost see the fierce queen, resplendent on her throne, undeterred by the chains men sought to place on her. An image that starkly contrasted with Rowan’s own life, igniting something within her.
“If we retrieve this locket, you’ll give us information that will lead me to my parents?” Rowan asked.
“More than that, dear.” Cora maintained a flat expression. Rowan could sense that she was holding something back, something important, but she also held all the cards.
“This locket,” Casimir said warily. “Why’s it so important?”
“It’s said to contain the essence of the queen’s magic. The Reaper craves nothing more than power, and he keeps it under lock and key at all times. It’s deep within his castle—guarded by traps, creatures of the night, and magic older than time.”
“Creatures of the night?” Casimir’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You do realize I’m one of them, Cora. Or has the irony escaped you? ”
“Your arrogance doesn’t make you any less vulnerable,” Cora shot back sharply, not missing a beat.
“Point taken,” he conceded, though his posture remained relaxed, his confidence undimmed.
“What kind of traps are we talking about?” Rowan asked.
“The Reaper’s mind is as twisted as they come.” Cora’s lips pursed. “He’s had centuries to hone his defenses. He’s a corrupt sadist who relishes in the pain and suffering of those who dare to cross him. I won’t sugarcoat it. Retrieving the locket will be a grueling and dangerous task.”
“We have a lot to consider.” Casimir looked pointedly at Cora. “We need a word alone.”
Cora nodded, standing abruptly. She gave the two of them a brief glance before making her way across the tavern to serve her rowdy patrons.
Casimir turned to Rowan, watching her thoughtfully. “I’ve never met the Reaper, but I’ve had run-ins with his minions plenty of times. They’re ruthless. They have no qualms about murdering humans to further their master’s agenda. I’ve fought them on many occasions over the years to save innocent lives.”
“We’re not really going to go up against him, are we?” Rowan flinched at the noticeable wobble in her voice.
Casimir looked into her eyes, a storm brewing within the depths of his. “I’ve wanted to take the Reaper down for a long time.” His voice was quiet, but edged with steel. “But I’ve never had a strong enough reason—until now.”
“Are you sure it’s worth the risk?”
“If there’s even a chance that this locket can give you the answers you seek and strip this tyrant of his power, then yes, I’m willing to take that risk.”
Rowan wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her dress as a shiver coursed through her. Yet the pull toward uncovering her past was too strong to resist. She met Casimir’s gaze, finding her resolve mirrored in his eyes.
“Then it’s settled.”
She waved Cora back to them.
The tavern owner returned to her seat. “So, what have you two decided?”
Rowan responded decisively. “We’ll retrieve the locket.”
“Be prepared for anything. The Reaper’s brutal reputation is well-earned. If he discovers your intent, he’ll show no mercy.” Cora stood, her gaze unwavering. “And remember, discretion is crucial. He has spies in unexpected places. ”
“Understood.” Casimir nodded, his jaw set into a firm line.
Cora returned his nod, then shifted her gaze back to Rowan, a hint of softness in her expression. “My dear, you remind me so much of my daughter. And just like her, you may not realize how incredibly strong you are. No matter what challenges you face, always trust in yourself. Your instincts are the voice of your soul guiding you along the right path.”
“Thank you.” Rowan felt the weight of Cora’s words settle on her shoulders.
Cora slid a leather satchel across the table towards them. “It wouldn’t be right for you to go empty-handed.”
Casimir opened the satchel, revealing several days’ rations of dried fruits, meat, and two silver blades. His lips pulled tightly into a grim smile. “Preparations for our dance with the devil.”
“Exactly.” Cora’s eyes glinted with approval. “Now go. It will take a full sennight to get there on horseback.”
Casimir glanced over at Rowan with concern. “Before we leave, you should have a warm meal. You’ll need your strength.”
Rowan’s stomach growled at the thought of food, nerves intertwining with hunger in a delicate dance. “And you?” she asked, watching him closely.
“I have my own . . . needs to attend to.”
Cora addressed him with an unwavering gaze. “Take your meal outside, dark one, far from here.”
Casimir gave a curt nod, a silent understanding passing between them before he turned and disappeared into the night.
Cora walked away briefly and returned with a steaming bowl of stew, placing it in front of Rowan. The aroma that rose from the dish was irresistible, a blend of tender meats and robust root vegetables simmering in a delicious broth. As she savored the first spoonful, the flavors burst on her tongue, and she devoured the rest of the meal with single-minded determination.
“One more piece of advice, dear. You need to be careful of that one.” Cora’s warning came low and fierce, dragging Rowan back to the present. “I know his type, and they’re all dangerous.”
“What do you mean?” Rowan folded her arms defensively over her chest as she braced herself for the answer. The chill of Casimir’s absence still lingered, but now it was mixed with a sense of unease .
“Vampires can make you forget who you are.” Cora pinned Rowan with a stare that was as sharp as daggers. “Don’t give everything to him. Not your heart, not your blood or your will. He’ll draw you in until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell.”
Cora’s words pulled at the niggling doubts that still lingered in Rowan’s mind. She had begun to trust Casimir, but did she actually know him? Her mind raced with images of his mesmerizing gaze, his alluring appearance, the irresistible call of his touch. He almost seemed too good to be true. Do his vampire abilities have something to do with my attraction to him?
“Is that what they do? Vampires?” Rowan asked, her eyes widening.
“Among other things. Some can weave enchantments so strong that your very soul feels tethered to theirs.”
“Enchantments?” The word felt heavy on Rowan’s tongue as she tried to make sense of it all.
“Figuratively speaking, dear.” Cora gave her a thin-lipped smile. “But be wary all the same. I’ve seen too many lose themselves in the arms of a creature like him. All vampires care about is blood and power.”
Rowan opened her mouth to question further, but the tavern door creaked open, and Casimir returned. His aura had changed; it was somehow more potent. As she looked up at his handsome face, all her concerns and thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.
He extended a hand toward her. “Shall we?”
“We shall.” She found herself unable to resist the magnetic pull of his outstretched hand. Cora’s warning was quickly forgotten, replaced by the electric sensation that sparked at his touch.
With a parting nod to the tavern owner, Rowan and Casimir strode back into the night. They walked side by side, the cool air snapping at their skin.
“An arcane object from a master vampire’s castle . . .” Rowan’s mind whirled with visions of high stone walls and endless dark corridors filled with danger.
“We’ve already faced many threats together,” he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. “This is just one more challenge we’ll overcome.”
She glanced up at him. “I’m starting to question whether we made a hasty decision when we agreed to this task.”
“Our advantage lies in our determination, cunning, and adaptability.” His gaze scanned the night for any potential threats. “That’ll be our greatest defense against him. The Reaper may be a master, but he’s not invulnerable. ”
At the stables, they came upon Cinnamon happily munching on a pile of hay. Casimir gave the horse a gentle pat before placing the saddle on her back. Together, they galloped through the narrow streets, the flickering lanterns casting an eerie glow on their path.
Anxiety pulled at the corners of Rowan’s thoughts, threatening to drown her. The doubts and uncertainties that had festered for years were now bubbling to the surface, begging to be addressed. As she prepared to confront them head-on, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder: Will it all be worth it in the end? Will the truth set me free, or bring more pain and heartache?
Despite her misgivings, she knew she couldn’t turn back now. The unknown was daunting, but the weight of her past was becoming too heavy to bear.
It was time to unravel the mysteries and face the consequences, whatever they may be.