22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
P hoenix’s colorful silhouette cut a stark contrast against the pale morning sky. A cold electric current tingled through Rowan’s senses, connecting her to her undead familiar and sending flashes of the narrow, winding cobblestone streets of Stonehaven to her mind.
Her boots crunched on the gravel as she and Casimir entered the village. The muted bustle of daily life greeted them with a warm hum of activity. The scent of flowers and herbs from the local apothecary mingled with the musky undertones of horses and hay. In the distance, a blacksmith’s hammer clanged against iron.
Stonehaven was one of the oldest and largest villages in the kingdom, its age evident in the weathered stones, each bearing tales from different eras. Buildings were pressed together as if vying for space, with vibrantly painted doors in hues of teal, red, and yellow. Window shutters in matching shades added extra charm, making the village a living canvas of history and color.
Rowan stole a glance at Casimir, taking in his stoic demeanor as he surveyed their surroundings with a ramrod-straight spine.
“Let’s split up,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of eagerness. The thought of exploring the village filled her with a sense of adventure. “We can cover more ground that way.”
Casimir’s gaze flicked to her. “Don’t stray too far.” His tone carried something more than concern .
She gave him a playful wink. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my delightful company for too long.”
Rowan cringed inwardly at her reaction. She knew she was overcompensating for the remaining uncertainty between them, but she couldn’t help it.
They parted ways, and she approached the villagers with a warm smile, eager to learn about their knowledge of ancient books and folktales. The blank stares that greeted her were like cool water dousing the fire of hope. Her spirits sank a little lower with each shrug and shake of the head.
She caught sight of Casimir speaking with an elderly man, his stance casual but his expression intense. He caught her eye for a fleeting moment, then abruptly turned back to the villager, maintaining that cautious distance he had set between them. Rowan knew he was simply honoring her desire for a platonic relationship, but his aloof manner irritated her.
“Good day. Blessed be the Exalted Ones,” she addressed another villager. The woman had a kind, oval face that was flushed from exertion, sweat shining on her brow as she hung linens. “Have you ever heard of a folktale about the Queen of the Dead?”
The woman laughed, a hearty sound. “Blessed be, dear. Dead queens are for ghost stories. We deal with the living here, eh?”
“This place doesn’t seem very lively to me,” Rowan muttered under her breath as she walked away. She felt a prickle of awareness at the base of her spine and turned to see Casimir’s eyes on her again.
He strode toward her. “Anything?”
“Nothing but cobwebs where the stories should be.” She turned to him with her hands on her hips. “You?”
“Same. Maybe we’re just not asking the right questions, or perhaps we’re not asking the right people.”
“I agree. Let’s keep trying. I’m not ready to give up just yet.”
“Then lead the way.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm. “Fair lady.”
“Stop it.” She jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “We’re partners in this, remember? None of that chivalrous nonsense.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Old habits are hard to break. Particularly when one has lived as long as I have.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep searching. We can’t waste any daylight.”
He nodded, falling into step beside her .
Together, they weaved their way through the curious and sometimes wary locals, approaching them with a combination of charm and persistence. Rowan’s personality and wit often broke the ice, while Casimir, ever observant, picked up on subtleties in their responses.
“Perhaps you’ve heard of an old library?” Rowan asked an elderly woman with rosy cheeks and gray hair, who was busy beating a rug in the sunlight.
“Library?” The woman gave a dismissive wave. “Child, we’re simple folk. Our stories are passed down by word of mouth.”
Holding the woman’s gaze, Casimir interjected smoothly, “Surely there must be some written accounts, for those who can read and wish to remember the words exactly as they were told.”
“Words can be treacherous, young man. They change with the teller.” A subtle emotion, perhaps fear, thinned her lips and pinched her features. “Besides, the Brotherhood burned most books and scrolls in these parts long before I came into this world.”
Leaning closer, his dark eyes locked onto the woman’s, Casimir pressed, “I understand, but many times important books have been hidden away. We shouldn’t forget or alter some things.”
“Your friend speaks true, Mara,” another voice said. Rowan turned to see an elderly man with a bushy white beard leaning on a wooden cane in a nearby doorway. Wrinkles lined his face, and suspicion filled his hooded eyes as he peered at them.
“Stories have power,” Rowan said, directing her attention toward him. “Especially those about queens of the dead.”
The man’s eyes widened, and his mouth clamped shut at the reference. Casimir reached into his pocket, producing a few gold Primes.
“Maybe these will refresh your memory?” The sunlight reflected off the gold in his hand.
The man glanced around cautiously before nodding and motioning for them to follow.
Rowan silently commanded Phoenix, her ever-faithful familiar, to soar ahead and survey for any potential threats. They followed the man through the narrow, twisting streets until the village faded into the encroaching wilderness.
An ancient structure stood before them, nearly hidden from sight in the trees, its walls weathered by the passage of time.
Casimir handed the gold to the villager. “Thank you. ”
“Be careful,” the man warned. “Some tales are best left forgotten.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Casimir watched as the man retreated to the village.
Rowan’s mood lifted as she took in the sight of the building. Intricate carvings and elegant columns adorned the structure; clearly it had once been an important place.
“Shall we?” Casimir extended a hand toward her, an invitation to explore the secrets that lay beyond the heavy wooden doors.
“Absolutely.”
The doors creaked open with a groan of protest, and a billowing cloud of dust greeted them as they stepped into a poorly lit room. The air exuded a musty scent of aged parchment and leather. Shelves, visibly straining under the weight of countless books, lined the walls of the spacious interior.
“It looks like no one’s disturbed this place in decades,” Casimir said.
“Which could mean we’re on the right track.” Rowan’s eyes scanned the room eagerly. She reached out to touch an old spine, stirring up a small cloud of dust that made her sneeze uncontrollably, sounding more like a kitten than a grown woman.
Casimir chuckled at the sound. “I prefer my reading without a side of dust.”
Their laughter intertwined as they made their way through the maze of shelves, fingertips grazing the bindings. Each title they passed whispered of potential, but none felt quite right.
After several hours of searching, they discovered a secluded section entirely devoted to folklore, myths, and legends.
“Look at this,” Casimir called out, his excitement clear.
Rowan rushed over to where he stood in front of a bookshelf that emanated a sense of intrigue. Her eyes locked on one particular volume—a worn leather book with intricate gold engravings on its cover.
“Is this it?” She could hardly dare to believe they had found what they sought.
“Be careful,” he said. “The pages are old and delicate.”
The book seemed to exhale the fragrance of ages past as they opened the cover together.
“Look at these illustrations.” Rowan gently traced a finger over the detailed drawings that decorated the margins. “They’re beautiful, and haunting.”
“Much like yourself.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment before quickly darting away.
Her stomach turned to butterflies. “Shameless flatterer. We need to focus. We came here for answers, not compliments. ”
“Of course. My apologies.”
As they delved deeper, the stories came alive beneath their fingertips, each page revealing more of an ancient world they’d only glimpsed through whispered legends.
“Could these stories be true?” Rowan’s mind raced with the potential implications. She studied the intricate artworks that depicted a succubus extracting secrets and desires from a mortal man, mermaids shedding tears of pearls, flying daemons, and many other supernatural beings.
“We use the saying ‘truth is often stranger than fiction’ for a reason. It holds true, especially in our world.” Casimir’s hand brushed against hers as they turned a page together. She shivered, despite not being cold.
“So it would seem. It’s strange, though, you know? These creatures and this world are hidden in plain sight. I can’t believe I’ve walked among them for years without realizing it.”
Casimir nodded. “You’ve been closer to more supernatural beings than you know. Often, their true nature is shrouded by illusions and veils.”
She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Vivian.”
The name hung heavily in the air between them.
Rowan arched a brow. “She’s not human? But she seems so . . .”
“She’s a succubus.”
Rowan felt as though the floor had disappeared beneath her. A torrent of thoughts whirled through her mind as she shuffled through memories of Vivian—the seductive smile, the captivating charm, the inexplicable power she seemed to hold over men.
“A succubus?” she repeated, needing to be sure she’d heard correctly.
“Aye.” Casimir looked back down at the ancient text still lying open between them. “She feeds on one’s life force, emotions, and desires through seduction and secrets.”
Rowan threw up her hands. “Of course she’s a daemon. No wonder I didn’t trust her.” She let out an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. She pinned him with a sharp look. “Did you ever do more than drink her blood?”
He met her stare head-on. “Never. I told you the truth before. I’ve never been intimate with her. The nature of our relationship has been purely transactional.”
Rowan’s jealousy was as pronounced as her building insecurity. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth .
“I only drank from her once in a moment of weakness.” He inched closer, until they were almost touching. “I have no interest in Vivian. She could never compare to you.”
Her pulse raced. The magnetic attraction between them was undeniable, pulling them irresistibly closer. His alluring scent of woods and spice engulfed her senses, and for a moment she forgot why she needed to guard her heart from him.
She licked her lips, watching as his gaze descended to her mouth. The action was unconscious on her part, but he stared, transfixed, as her tongue traced the fullness of her lips.
Casimir shook his head as if waking from a dream. Tearing his eyes away from her, he fisted his hands at his sides and abruptly changed the topic.
“The supernatural world has always existed alongside the human one. A realm concealed by shadows and secrecy. It’s a delicate balance, and honestly, a necessary deception. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone knew?”
Rowan fought to suppress the burning wave of desire he had ignited within her. “Maybe.”
“Besides, you’re part of this world now.”
“About that,” she said hesitantly. “There’s been something that’s been weighing on my mind. This world we’re in—I understand that it sometimes requires violence. But when you interrogated that vampire . . .” She trailed off, a line forming between her eyebrows. “Do you enjoy that? Inflicting pain?”
“No.” Casimir’s voice came out rough with sincerity. “I don’t enjoy the suffering of others. There’s no pleasure to be gained from pain. At least not for me. I’m not a sadist; I’m simply a realist.” He looked away. “But . . .” he continued before hesitating, pulling back slightly as if struggling with his next words. “Part of me has been hardened by this world and its brutal realities.”
Rowan’s chest tightened at his confession, and she instinctively moved closer, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. The linen fabric of his tunic did little to hide the solid strength beneath her fingers, making her stomach dip in response.
“I’ve had to make choices I wish I didn’t have to make, do things I wish I didn’t have to do,” he continued. “That vampire had information we needed. I had to appear as ruthless as his master to get him to reveal what he knew. Please believe me when I tell you I was just playing a part.”
“How do I know you’re not simply playing a part right now?” She studied his face, desperately wanting to believe his words, but lingering doubts remained .
“I couldn’t play a part with you even if I wanted to.” His eyes met hers in the dim light, full of raw sincerity. “When I’m with you . . .” He paused, touching her cheek gently. “You’re the only person I can be myself with.”
Rowan was torn between the man in front of her and the monster she’d seen. “How can I trust you?”
Casimir lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze again. His thumb traced small circles on her cheek. “I can’t ask you to give your trust blindly. But I can ask that you give me a chance to earn it.”
Silence filled the room as their eyes stayed locked on each other. Rowan saw honesty in those dark depths, and beneath all that, a burning desire. Not just for a physical connection, but for her belief in him.
“I’ll try,” she said softly. Her mind screamed at her for being reckless and foolish, but her heart urged her to take this leap of faith.
A smile spread across Casimir’s face. They stayed in that pose for a moment that seemed frozen in time, the air between them charged with an electricity that made Rowan’s breath hitch and her skin pebble. The energy he exuded was intoxicating, full of alluring danger.
Then the rational side of her woke up with a jolt, shattering the moment. She forced herself to look away, retracting her hand from his arm abruptly as if scorched. Her gaze drifted back to the ancient tome they had been inspecting.
Casimir’s face fell at her withdrawal, but he stayed silent. Shadows danced around his angular cheekbones, making him appear sinister and yet irresistibly attractive. He watched her as she read, the tension still hanging heavily between them.
The blood drained from her face as she turned the next page. It bore an illustration that felt so familiar it sent a shock through her entire body. There, drawn with precision, was the profile of a queen mounted on a regal horse, poised on the brink of battle. The tapestry hanging in the Reaper’s castle was an exact replica, confirming Rowan’s suspicions that her past was somehow intertwined with this enigmatic queen.
The room’s temperature dropped, almost as if acknowledging the connection between Rowan and the woman in the illustration. Casimir’s eyes traced the lines of text as she leaned in, their faces so close their noses almost touched. The parchment crackled under their fingers as they turned the page together. The next page depicted another illustration of the queen. She exuded such a commanding presence that her aura seemed to leap from the book.
“Look at her.” Rowan pointed. “She has my hair and my features. Do you see it? ”
Casimir nodded. “It’s uncanny. The same silver-blonde hair, the same upward tilt of her eyes, the same pronounced cheekbones and delicate nose. It’s almost as if she’s your . . .”
“Ancestor?”
“Perhaps,” he said cautiously.
Their study of the text revealed a legend of a queen who had risen from the ashes of her fallen kingdom to command an army of undead warriors. Her consort, a figure shrouded in shadow and whispers, shared in her power alongside her, their reign one of both terror and awe.
“An army of the undead,” Rowan read aloud. “Leaving nothing but death and destruction in their path.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Too familiar.” She looked up at him, searching his face for reassurance. “What does this mean for me? For us?”
He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. “It means we tread carefully.”
Rowan didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I’m glad you’re here with me. It means a lot that you stayed.”
“Where else would I be?” His voice came out husky and low.
After a few seconds of silence, Casimir directed her attention back to the pages.
“Look at this.” He pointed to a particular passage. “It speaks of a technique for controlling vampires.”
“Controlling?” She scanned the section he pointed out, her lips moving silently as she read. “The description of the queen’s power portrays it as an outward push, resembling an aura of bluish-white energy emanating from within her.”
“Does this hold any significance for you? Can you remember how it felt when you immobilized those vampires?”
“Yes, there’s a connection here,” she said eagerly. “With Phoenix, it feels like I’m pulling on a thread that connects us. But when I first used my powers . . . I recall thrusting out my hands and my mind at the same time.”
“This could be the missing link we’ve been searching for. If you can master this technique, it could change everything. ”
“Or it could be the end of everything.” An icy knot formed in her stomach. The similarities between herself and the Queen of the Dead were becoming disturbingly apparent.
“Rowan.” Casimir took hold of her hands, embracing them delicately in his own. “You’re not her. You possess a strength and purity of soul that could never be tainted.”
“Will that be enough to shield me?” Her voice trembled. “What if the very act of using necromancy inherently corrupts? What if my powers become too strong for me to control . . . or worse, what if I can’t control myself?”
“Then I’ll be by your side to assist you. I won’t let you face this darkness alone.”
“Even if it means standing against me?”
“I will stand by you and fight anyone who tries to harm you—but please don’t ask that of me.” His lips pressed together in a grimace. “I can’t give you that promise.”