Chapter 18 #2
He cast me a mock-thoughtful look. “You’re doing wonderfully. As long as you don’t start doubting yourself, you won’t plummet to your certain death.”
I blinked. “WHAT?”
But he was already dropping away, twisting midair before diving straight toward the three sorcerers below.
“No, no, no! Arawn, get back here!”
I yanked too hard on the handle. CRACK. The broom slammed against the top of a stall, and the shaft snapped clean. It spun out of control, and I was kneaded like bread dough, my heart hammering against my ribs as I rose higher and higher.
I glanced back. Arawn was fighting the sorcerers, a storm of ash and sand swirling around him, swallowing almost the entire market.
“He’s going to reduce everything to rubble!” I cursed, stamping my foot against what was left of the handle. “Come on, broom, we need to go back down there!”
But of course, it didn’t listen. The handle jerked violently, then flipped… upside down. I fell.
Air howled past my ears, the ground rushing up to meet me. I stretched out my hands in desperation to grab the broom, but it too was plummeting—just as useless as I was.
What a pitiful way to die!
The wind whipped my face. I shut my eyes, bracing for the crash. And then—
Arms.
A sudden embrace. A dull impact, not against the hard earth, but against something alive. The air stopped roaring around me. My breath left me in a sharp gasp as I realized I was no longer falling.
I opened my eyes. Arawn was holding me tight, one hand anchored at the small of my back, the other supporting my legs.
His mask had been carried off by the wind.
My cheek brushed the fabric of his dark tunic, and despite myself, my body instinctively pressed closer.
His chest was solid beneath my clenched fingers, and every beat of his wings sliced through the air with effortless grace, as if the chaos beneath us were nothing but a mild inconvenience.
“I doubt we’ll be welcome back in this market anytime soon.”
He was joking? After I almost died? And beneath us, the market was nothing but scorched ruin!
“Arawn!” I screamed, struggling in his grip. “You broke your promise! Look at this disaster!”
“They came after you,” he said, his steel gaze locking onto mine, his voice so sharp it sent a shiver down my spine. “I’d do it again without hesitation.”
My anger faltered for the briefest second, replaced by something far more unsettling. He… cared about me?
“And besides, it took you forever to get that broom off the ground,” he added.
My fury had wavered for a heartbeat, only to blaze up again. “Wait, you were in the alley?”
He nodded, expressionless. “From the moment you started shaking that poor broom like a hysteric. I wanted to see how you’d manage, but honestly, it wasn’t looking good.”
“And you didn’t step in sooner?! You wanted them to kill me?”
He sighed, exasperated. “Don’t be so dramatic. I would’ve torn their hearts out before they laid a deformed finger on you.”
My heart skipped. “I…”
“I searched the entire market for you,” he cut me off, unsmiling.
His grip tightened, his arms becoming a cage, drawing me closer. I was trapped by more than his embrace.
“And when I couldn’t find you… I was furious,” he added, his lips pressed tight. “And when I’m angry… let’s say I wanted to hear you call for me before I interrupted the catastrophe you’d gotten yourself into.”
Furious? Him, who seemed detached from everything? I crossed my arms and turned away, too proud to admit how wildly my heart was pounding. I didn’t know how to process it. He was stealing my feelings. I was the angry one. I was the abandoned one. I was the one who thought he wasn’t coming back.
“As you can see, I didn’t need you. So don’t bother coming back next time.”
The sorcerer let out a low chuckle. “You did remarkably well. If only your heart weren’t so pure, you’d have made an excellent witch.”
“Now having a pure heart is a flaw?!” I shot back as he began his descent.
We skimmed the jagged crest of the red mountain. Below, the once-market was chaos—ruins and hungry shifting sands. Splintered stalls lay half-buried, while scattered figures scavenged through the wreckage.
“Don’t you ever leave me alone like that again. Understood?” I muttered as my feet hit the ground.
As if to emphasize my words, a slab of rock split from the mountainside and thundered down into the ruined market, raising a choking cloud of dust and scattering looters like rats from a trap.
Arawn blinked. His wings folded back into a cloak, his bone antlers withdrew, and his silk hood draped smoothly over him once more. “You just said the opposite a moment ago.”
He remembers everything, the insufferable—
“Well, I’M ANGRY, ALL RIGHT? I’m trying to be strong, I really am, but I’m not a witch! Just… don’t abandon me ever again!” My voice cracked on the last words, as if something inside me had snapped.
My breath came in short, uneven bursts. Bits of sugar broke away from me. Arawn watched me for a moment, lips parted, his gaze narrowed.
“All right. Sorry.”
I glared at him, searching for irony, a smirk, some crack in his mask. Nothing. He was dead serious. “Good. And I’m never getting on a broom again!”
Arawn raised a brow, covering a brief, muffled laugh with his hand. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option. It was either save you, or fetch our tower.”
I opened my mouth… then shut it. My shoulders sagged. A weight lifted from my chest. He had still chosen to save me.
“Fine. Then let’s go fetch it,” I grumbled, folding my arms as if it might help me find my composure again.
“Retrieving the tower is going to be… an issue.”
“What kind of issue? You’re in trouble?”
“Me? No,” he said, with the audacity to smile. “But the chaos I caused freeing the Cursed probably attracted the witch patrols, and—”
“YOU DID WHAT?”
How could he cause so many problems in so little time?
“You’d have approved,” he assured me, his sharp features sculpted in shadow, exuding nothing but cold certainty. “They were caged and starved like slaves. I slept in those kinds of cages myself to control my urges when I first turned into a stag dragon. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
His gaze darkened slightly. A muscle worked in his jaw. My stomach clenched. That witch, Zelda… had caged him? I gripped my broom so tightly that, if I’d had the strength, I’d have snapped it like her cursed neck.
“You’re still breathing? Or worse, still angry?
” The sorcerer sighed, running a hand through his hair, as if what he’d just confessed were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“You needn’t fear the Cursed. Your people don’t understand them, but being born of dark magic doesn’t make one evil.
” His eyes met mine. The sharp gleam was gone, but something darker swam there.
“They’re fed sucremort to grow stronger, to evolve into higher categories.
Tortured until they obey, until they lose themselves. Zelda uses them to build an army.”
Something tightened in my chest. A knot. I nodded. “You did the right thing. But you… you’ve tasted sucremort, haven’t you?”
Arawn turned away, a twitch in his throat.
“You can trust me,” I whispered. “If our partnership is to work, I need the truth.”
A breath.
Another.
“I… I am its source.”
My mouth opened. A gust of wind tore between us. The ground slipped from under my feet.
“She draws the sucremort from my heart.”
My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt, so hard I thought I’d tear it. A heart born from the world’s darkness. Zelda didn’t need an army. She only needed him. If she truly owned him, if he let his cursed form consume him, then all would be lost.
Only a confectioner’s heart stronger than his could kill him.
A flawless heart.
My temples throbbed. The sucremort was the sworn enemy of every confectioner. It was Evil itself. But I refused to make Arawn my enemy. He was on our side.
“I’m just… very angry. But not at you.”
He tilted his head slightly. For a moment, he almost seemed surprised. “Interesting. I thought I was the only one who could rile you up like this.”
I rolled up my sleeves, drew a deep breath, and met his eyes. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt so many… murderous urges. I feel… hateful. It’s awful. How do you even deal with it?”
His smile sharpened. “You’re asking me for advice? Now that’s new.”
I glared, nostrils flaring, my heart pounding furiously.
“You can’t. Either you let the rage out or it eats you alive. I could find you some wretch to practice on, if you’d like to torture—”
I screamed. I screamed with everything I had. Raw, primal, tearing from my throat all the frustration burning me inside. Dozens of birds burst from their nests in the mountain’s hollows. My breath came ragged, my shoulders trembling. Tears stung my eyes.
“Or… you could do that.”
I didn’t answer. I grabbed a rock and hurled it over the cliff, watching it ricochet against the jagged walls.
“ZELDA! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU DEMON WITCH! THIS ONE’S FOR ME!”
Another rock.
“THIS ONE’S FOR MY MENTOR!”
Another.
“AND THIS ONE’S FOR ARAWN! HE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU! HIS HEART IS FAR TOO PRECIOUS FOR YOUR FILTHY CLAWS!”
Breathless, I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. Then I turned, all smiles.
Arawn’s eyes, usually half-lidded with sovereign boredom, were round as gold coins. His mouth opened, searching for words, and I swore his cheeks had turned a rare shade of pink. I clapped my hands, sending up dust—and a few sugar-sparkles from myself.
“Well then!” I said, hands on hips, ready for battle. “Let’s go fetch that blasted tower.”
He cleared his throat, as if he’d been the one screaming from a mountaintop. “As I was saying… they’ll be waiting for us at the tower. And if it were up to me—”
“Not a chance.”
“That’s what I thought. Which means you’ll have to manage with the broom.”
A strange sound buzzed from his cloak. A grating hiss. Arawn pulled a small pouch from his pocket. He opened it and out popped a dwarf ostrich. It perched on his shoulder and hissed at me.
“What is that?”
“An ice ostrich,” Arawn explained, with mock innocence. “A Category One Cursed. Very temperamental. Only lays eggs when she’s perfectly content. An endangered species, since she spits ice that can freeze anyone solid. You’ll need her egg for our recipe.”
I swallowed, stepping back, not eager to test a pat on her beak.
“Oh, and we should hurry,” Arawn added, far too amused. “You wouldn’t want to miss your birthday dinner.”
With that, he shifted into his cursed form and soared into the sky, followed by the ostrich (because apparently, she could fly too).
I stared down at the shattered remains of my broom, my stomach knotted with disgust.
Why hadn’t I been cursed with something useful?