Chapter Twenty-One
Morning came, but Emrys was gone. Which was evident as I stood in the middle of the study that had miraculously returned to its former cluttered self. William had explained that the room held a magic of its own, which was why the tallet didn’t get far with its attack, why the room had a window again and not a gaping hole. Not even a smear on the glass to evidence our battle.
I wasn’t greeted by William, but by a small paper bird waiting atop a stack of books on my desk, drenched in a stream of soft winter morning light and fluttering its wings in excitement at my arrival.
‘Do you have something for me?’ I smiled, holding out my palm as I reached my desk. The magical paper hopped up into my hand and unfurled instantly.
Croinn, These were the ones I thought you’d find most useful. I hope they are. Emrys
Foolish emotion welled in my throat. It’d been late last night when he’d left the kitchen. Had he stayed up to find these for me? The note folded itself back up and I tucked it into my pocket before letting my fingers run over the weathered spines of the books piled on my desk, ancient tomes of transfiguration and the shifting of verr, still dusty from disuse.
Books I could only have dreamt of stumbling upon in the Institute, and Emrys leaving them for me was an act of kindness I was too unfamiliar with, unearthing strange emotions from a secret quiet place inside of me.
‘Thank you.’ The words seemed important despite the fact he wasn’t here to hear them.
I pulled the tome on transfiguration he’d given me last night from my bag, my numerous notes sticking out from the pages, and put it with the others.
Only I couldn’t sit and focus on books I’d longed to read. Not when I was burdened with everything that had come the day before. The words of that tallet still echoing in my mind. Kyvor Mor. Words it shouldn’t be able to speak.
If dark sickness was returning to the earth, there had to be a starting point. The village by Paxton Fields had fey who were desperate enough to leave, to abandon their sacred grounds, but it didn’t point to a darkness this powerful originating there. Which meant it had come from somewhere else. Somewhere close enough for a fiend to travel without feasting too often.
Emrys’s absence plagued me. Something about it felt wrong. The look on his face at those pages in The Crow’s Foot , the darkness that shouldn’t be there.
I wandered around the shelves, extracting the newest maps I could find, noting that Paxton Fields was a cluster of farms in the south, on a narrow strip of flat land between the South Wood and the lands of Fairfax Manor.
I opened older maps of the south and laid them flat, finding no such place as Paxton Fields or Fairfax Manor, just wastelands where the Battle of the South Wood had taken place centuries before. The lands must have been redistributed after the event, making me wonder what they’d been before, and why darkness would choose to manifest there.
I ventured further into the shelves, rummaging for war logs and Verr surges. I gathered the darkest and heaviest volumes in my arms and laid them out.
The Battle of the South Wood had been a massacre in the ancient tales. They said the ground split and such darkness poured free it was almost impossible to contain. Master Hale had his own historical records of it and some fragments of a surviving tapestry that depicted it.
I didn’t know much about the Fairfax family. They weren’t mages, at least not anymore. They were one of the older families who built its wealth on the backs of fey enslavement and the wars, having little skill or merit of their own. Now, they’d apparently chosen cursed earth to settle their name upon.
I turned another page again, not understanding why someone would settle on ground willing to kill them. Grounds where darkness lurked closer to the surface. Unless, of course, that was exactly what they wanted.
An anthrux wasn’t just a consequence of the earth and its creations; a spell had summoned it, and now I needed to work out which one. If someone in Fairfax was summoning, what were they summoning for?
There my theories took a manic turn as I pulled out all my notebooks and emptied my bag to see if any samples I’d collected from that cursed wood could hold an answer to the puzzle.
Yet I was unable to escape the guilt that if I hadn’t used my magic, maybe Mr Thrombi would still be here, maybe none of this would have happened.
Those thoughts plagued me, my shoulders becoming stiff as the study grew dimmer and dimmer. The books darker in matter. More fragmented history of the Verr, the ancient enemy of the Kysillians. Of the Verr’s dark deeds, their vicious will, and the cruel Old Gods they worshipped.
A simple tale. Perhaps too simple. For if darkness was returning, maybe such evils could never be beaten after all.
Rain began to pound relentlessly against the window from a storm I hadn’t anticipated. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I rubbed my neck. Turning another page to try and decode a brief section of curses before I finally relented. I needed William’s chatter to chase away my unease, and as I looked at the gloomy sky I knew I also needed to check on Alma, hoping Emrys’s tonic had helped her settle.
A soft rattling of bells came from the back shelves. The weak fire in the hearth flickered as if disturbed by the sound. I turned towards the shadowed maze of bookcases, now somehow more ominous.
‘Hello?’ I frowned. A silence followed that almost made me think I’d imagined it, but the soft jingle came again. Taunting.
‘William?’ I called. But only ominous silence answered. A flash of lightning broke overhead, making the shadows between the shelves appear endless.
Picking up the small lantern from my desk, I worked my way through the shelves, following the sound of those bells, worried Alma had changed again and lost her way or maybe the house wanted to show me something.
I moved further into the gloom, unease prickling against the back of my neck. My breath misting before me halted my steps, the hairs on my arms raising. Books on the shelf next to me began to bounce and shake, creaking deeply with distress.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move deep down the shadowy aisle. A centre of darkness that stood out more strongly than the rest, long and thin. I turned with the lamp, light stretching across the narrow passage, but there was nothing there.
Just the endlessness of darkness.
My magic rose in response, hot and relentless as it made my fingertips burn with insistence. Something was here.
‘Hello?’ I called foolishly, swallowing down my fear as my heart climbed further up my throat.
Breath stuttered through my lips. Magic rolling unsteadily through me as I tried to rationalise my growing anxiety. My magic bitting more sharply into my skin. Almost in warning.
That icy sensation streaked down my spine. A prodding pain at the base of my neck, making me grip it.
The crash of a book tumbling from a shelf made me jump, turning me around, and there it was. A dark, long, humanoid shadow pressed between another set of shelves, watching me between the volumes.
Terror seeped into my veins as I watched its shadowy fingers curl around the shelf as if to pull itself closer.
‘I’m surprised you don’t smell of him yet,’ came a voice from behind me, harsh in its coldness, that sent me spinning towards it with a cry of alarm. My lamp flew from my grasp to shatter on the hardwood, magic dispersing and plunging us into stormy darkness.
I stumbled backwards into the shelves, knocking free a stack of volumes that tumbled to the ground at my feet.
A roar of thunder and another flash of lightning illuminated the stranger.
Just a man. He had a shock of brown hair that had been slicked back so harshly that it reflected the dim light. His eyes were dark, too harsh in his face. And they were solely focused on me. Something cruel in the severity of his features, too angular to be found handsome. His clothes were pristine, the intensity of his cologne so sharp I should have smelt him before I heard him.
‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded, forgetting myself as I pressed my trembling palm over my pounding heart.
‘How bold.’ His thin lips curled in disgust. ‘I see Blackthorn’s loosened your leash.’
I bristled, my grip on the bookcase behind me tightening as my fingers started to burn in warning. ‘I don’t know who you are.’
‘Oh, but I know you,’ he mused bitterly, leering at me. ‘Master Hale’s little treasure. How sick the old bastard has become with his longing.’
Revulsion rolled through me, my hands squeezing into fists at my side. Then I noticed the pristine cut of his dark clothes, seemingly like a council uniform but one I didn’t recognise.
‘I’ll summon Lord Blackthorn and he can deal with you himself.’ I smiled tightly.
‘I wish you would, pet .’ A cruel smile twisted his face into something not quite human.
Bastard. I tried to move past him as I bit my tongue against a string of curses but he stepped closer, forcing me to back into the shelves. That unease sharpened in my chest. I’d been cornered by enough men to know their intent and no matter how I wished my rage to build, only a small helpless fear manifested in its stead.
My magic burned through my veins in response, painful in its desire to be free. The bells began to ring weakly next to us – not from the books, but because the house willed it.
Relief flared through me that someone would hear them. Hopefully Alma with claws and teeth.
Then that hope was smothered as the vile stranger threw out his hand, some invisible summoning slice cutting through every string until those bells clattered uselessly on the ground.
The house let out a horrid groan as if pained by the spellcasting.
‘I didn’t permit you to leave.’ He assessed me as if I was some form of parasitic creature.
His eyes raked over me with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. A sickness filled my throat, and I wanted nothing more than to vanish.
‘However, I’m certain Emrys is already on his way here.’ He inclined his head, dark eyes practically gleaming. ‘He has a special sense for danger. Haven’t you noticed?’
A horrid fear moved through me at his familiarity with Emrys’s name. Why did Emrys know this man? Why was he here?
‘Though … I suppose you’ve probably been busy with other things .’ There was a short, disgusted laugh to finish.
Pig. My magic was almost molten now, as sweat gathered on my palms. Begging me to let it go.
I tried to charge past him, not caring what title he might have held. He moved fast, faster than my weary limbs could account for. His hand wrapped around my wrist, pain seared through my flesh, right to my bones. Igniting them with agony.
My knees almost buckled, a horrid desperate cry escaping me as I found myself backed against the bookcase, his hips pressing sharply into my own.
‘Careful.’ His tongue clicked in disapproval. ‘I’ve heard worrying tales of you, our rebellious little troll.’
My breath was too short. Too desperate. That pain clawing at my skin, making me arch closer to him against my will. Almost begging for it to stop.
Pain I’d felt only once before. At the hands of Daunton.
Beg, little troll.
‘Do you know what happens when forsaken iron enters the blood?’ His grip tightened, and I swallowed my scream, tears filling my eyes as I glanced down to see the familiar horrid iron forming rings on his fingers. Forsaken iron leaving merciless red welts on my skin.
With the moment of distraction, he took hold of the loose hair at the nape of my neck. The smallest mercy was that it was with his other gloved hand, shifting my head to see me better. The brutality of his grip almost pulling the hair from my scalp.
His eyes dipped to my trembling lips and lower. He leant closer, pressing that pain further into my flesh. Tears slipped from my eyes and down my cheeks. That made him smile. A smile I’d seen a hundred times before.
Beg , came hissed in my memory, my magic surging painfully in my veins, mixing with the agony of that iron.
‘What big ears you have.’ His breath brushed my cheek, the scent of him burning my nose with its intensity. Reminding me vividly of saints’ herb, the bitterness of it. How Master Daunton would wear it, and the vulgar nature of his touch.
Beg. Little troll.
In a moment, that agony took me back. So small and weak. Kneeling at a saints’ altar, that horrid metal burning around my neck as he forced me to wear it. Waiting until I could bear it no more, until I hit the cold stone so his torment could begin. Blows swift and cruel. Amusement in his twisted sneer.
Just as it lay in this man’s eyes as he leant closer, his breath brushing upon my face, and I knew I was going to kill him.
My magic a wild thing within my chest, thrashing against my ribs. Smoke crawling up my throat, the lick of phantom flames all over my skin. Searching for a way out.
Wishing to boil him inside his skin, just as I had Daunton.
Murderer , that dark voice hissed inside my head.
No.
Before my magic could seize control, I broke his hold. One sharp, shove with all my strength, forsaken iron burning my flesh, but I pushed through the pain, balled my fist and struck him across the face.
He stumbled back, knocking books and a collection of small sample bottles to the ground.
My magic rushed through me as I slumped back against the bookcase, gasping for breath as I forced myself remain silent. I willed my body to move. To leave. The fear penetrating too deeply for what I’d done. How close I’d come to doing it again. Hands trembling with the agony of those burns.
Murderer , hissed in the back of my mind.
The pain of my magic surging bowed me over, as the shelf I held onto cracked beneath my hold. Panic tightening my chest as I heard the intruder moving, coming closer again, but I couldn’t move.
The bookcase rattled and then the largest compendium on the shelf shot free, hitting him in the groin, Doubling him over. Another book tumbled to my feet, where it began to bounce and ruffle its pages in annoyance. Small pieces of paper flying free. I kicked it, sending it skidding in the man’s direction, and a clawed hand made of ink and paper reaching out and taking hold of his boot, claws burying themselves in the leather. An annoyed grunt left him, as he tried to kick it away.
I gathered my skirts and ran through the dark shelves towards the safety of the hall, panting as I glanced behind me, only to slam into something hard. A cry peeling from my lips.
I raised my hand to fight, only to find myself pressed against Emrys’s chest, my forearms caught as I panted against the exposed scarred skin of his throat. His coat wet from the storm. His eyes black as night.
‘Kat?’ His brow was creased with worry before he heard it. The footsteps behind us. I turned from his hold, spinning myself so I was behind him. I kept moving backwards, clutching my chest as I tried to pull in breath. Tried to push down the urge to let the wickedness in me free.
The shelves around us creaked, a rumble beneath the wood, a tension about to snap.
‘You better have a good reason for being here, Montagor.’ Emrys’s words were as sharp as a knife as the man stepped from the shadows of the shelves, leaning casually against one.
Lord Montagor. The King’s bastard. Currently in charge of managing the fight against rebel fighters in the north.
‘Your pet hit me, old friend.’ The Lord grinned, wiping at his mouth where I’d split his lip as he leant one hand on the side of one of the study pillars, looking down at the blood on his fingertips with amusement.
There was no relief in being away from him, or Emrys being between us as my skin continued to burn.
‘She’s not my pet and we’re not friends,’ Emrys replied, a coldness to his voice that didn’t reassure me. The tightness that had taken hold of Emrys’s mouth seemed to consume his whole body. The shelves around us creaked, a rumble beneath the wood, something about to snap.
‘How you wound me, dear Emrys.’ Montagor grinned, pressing his hand over his heart, his distaste coating every word. ‘You can imagine my surprise when you requested the troll.’
Troll. The panic in me continued to rise, my skin flushing as magic shifted in my blood, responding to the burns on my hands.
Disorientated, I pushed myself further from them, unable to breathe, the coldness of fear and the bitterness of my shame for being afraid chasing after me.
I wanted to vanish, to run, but I was unable to move as I pressed my palms to the cold wood of the shelves behind me. The darkness pressing closer and closer with every breath.
‘I know you like to play games, Emrys. This is a step too far. Kysillians are highly valuable.’
‘Miss Woodrow is under my mentorship and therefore my protection.’
‘You lie as badly as your father.’ Montagor laughed, the humour sickening as a wave of pain from the rage of my power almost bowed me over. ‘We both know the Council wants rid of the creature, why delay the inevitable?’
The truth in his voice only ignited that inferno inside of me.
Stupid, ugly troll. Those words always came back to me, that pain always came back. As bitter and sharp as the sting of a lashing. My breath stuttered through my lips, my magic surging in response to the mere memory of the pain.
I was losing control again. Another rush and my knees almost buckled from the energy of trying to contain it. Tears filled my eyes as the echoes of screams came back to me.
Stop. I bit down on an anguished sob and ran. Stumbling over my own feet, heat flushing my skin, ripples of pain searing through my chest. Catching myself on one of the last shelves, which had lowered itself – as if to assist me. The house creaking with unease.
‘Please,’ I whispered, overcome with a terrible childlike panic that made my blood run cold. Nauseous with my energy as it built.
Moving weakly for another passage amongst the shelves, only to find myself stumbling into my room. The house putting me where I needed to be most.
A relieved sob slipped from my lips, my trembling legs finally giving way as I crawled to the hearth like a wounded creature.
Thrusting my hands into the newly stacked wood, a horrid cry leaving my lips – the hearth engulfed in bright blue flames. Surging from me violently, scorching the mantelpiece as they tore up the chimney, brutal in their intensity.
Kysillian fire that left me gasping for breath as my now trembling palms rested against the cold tiles before the fire. The iron burns on my wrist throbbed but I couldn’t catch my breath long enough to care.
Of all the things I’d suffered, I wanted to press the feelings down. To bury all my emotions. But they poured through me, horrid and bitter. I’d allowed fear to make me mad. Make me subservient and weak. I’d allowed them to win.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the guilt. What I’d allowed myself to become.
Through tear-filled eyes I looked down at the burns on my wrist. No balm would heal them, only time, and I’d just have to suffer until it did.
Just like all the times before.
It was all just a game. I’d forgotten that no matter what I did, nothing would change. I was lesser than them and I always would be.
‘Kat?’ Alma called, her worry sounding so distant to me, but suddenly she was there, crouched before me. Her cool hands a blessing against my cheeks.
Those green eyes so wide with distress. ‘What happened?’
‘I … I don’t know,’ I sobbed, wilting in her arms as the horrid wailing left me, muffled only by her shoulder. Again. I’d almost done it again. Allowed myself to be consumed by the rage of the fire. Felt it simmer so close to surface, knowing if I let go there would be nothing left.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered in my ear, her hold tight and firm as she began to rock us. The intense heat of the fire was unbearable but she stayed. ‘I’m here.’
Here . She always had been. In this nightmare with me that only made me hold her tighter.
‘Montagor is here,’ I whispered, like a child afraid of a shadow, my breath catching on my sobs.
‘Montagor?’ She pulled back, pupils lengthening to resemble those of a snake. ‘I thought he was busy raiding fey villages in the north on one of his witch hunts .’
‘I don’t know.’ I shook my head, unable to understand any of it. Another tremor ripping through me as I pulled from her grip, dragging myself closer to the fire.
Fearful I’d lose control again. Needing the release.
There was movement and then the running of water. I dragged shallow breaths in through my teeth, holding onto the cold stone, bowing over to rest my flushed brow against it.
Please, I begged helplessly in my mind, uselessly, knowing there was nobody listening.
Then Alma’s hands were a firm pressure on my back, soothing circles until she gripped under my arms.
‘Come on,’ she urged, trying to get me up, but my limbs trembled too wildly. As if I was about to come out of my skin. Losing control in my panic.
I shook my head but those hands became claws, a commanding pinch in their hold.
‘Up,’ she demanded, stronger now as she pulled me gently to my feet.
I didn’t feel any of it, strangely numb as she quickly got me out my confining day dress, stripped me down to my slip, but my trembling became so bad she put me in the cold bath still wearing it. My hands curled into fists around the wet fabric, sucking in short breaths through my teeth. The water warmed quickly with my burning skin and steam rose before me. I focused on it, on anything but the wildness of my magic as it streaked through my veins.
I bent over my knees as I let those tears drip into the water.
Alma’s hand found mine where it gripped my shin beneath the surface, as she rested her cheek on the tub. Simply waiting. Taking watch like an ancient wyvern over a precious nest.
I found my eyes fixed on the shadows of the room beyond, making sure they moved with the firelight. Not knowing if what I saw in the study was real. But eventually I relaxed enough to rest my head on the side of the tub next to hers, exhaustion almost dragging me to sleep.
A distant knocking made me flinch. Alma cursed sharply under her breath as she moved to the door.
‘She’s resting,’ her voice drifted back to me, harsh and sharp, even though it was whispered.
‘I need to speak with her,’ Emrys responded and I flinched at the pain that seeped through me, curling further into my knees. ‘Miss Darcy, I need to—’ There was a sternness in those words that should have silenced anyone, but Alma wasn’t just anyone.
‘You’ve done enough,’ she seethed and I could imagine the threat in her vivid virescent eyes. ‘Next time, send your friends in my direction.’
‘I came back as soon as—’
‘Too late,’ Alma snapped. Then there was a click of the door shutting and Alma’s hurried steps back to me as muttered curses fell from her lips.
‘Let’s get you into bed.’ She brushed a clawed hand over my hair, scales catching on a few loose strands.
I didn’t move.
‘Kat?’ she asked softly.
‘I heard his voice in my head.’ Those words came broken from my lips, hating the weakness of my fear. How it seemed to echo off the bathroom tiles. ‘Master Daunton.’
She was closer instantly, her arms around me despite how wet and unstable I was.
‘He’s dead, Kat.’ She ran her hand over my damp hair again, those claws sharper now.
Murderer , that voice came back, and it was right. It would be right again. The smell of burning flesh almost made me retch before I could shake the memory away.
‘I can hear them still,’ I whispered, unable to stop the painful nature of that guilt. ‘That was a full house of lost children just like us … and I burned it down for nothing more than rage. Every night, I can hear them.’
‘They were dying,’ she protested gently, but the words were somehow still too loud in the cavernous bathroom. As if it mattered. I’d killed them all the same.
‘You don’t know that.’ She couldn’t know that. We hadn’t been in the dank basement that day, hadn’t seen how many lay there without care. How many were fighting to survive against all the odds, how many I’d stolen that choice from in one moment of rage.
How many were still alive when I’d lost control. How many couldn’t get out.
She took hold of my trembling hands and I let her despite the burns, needing her more than I ever had before. Leaning down so our foreheads met, and I was forced to look into her vibrant and truthful eyes.
‘Whatever monster you wish yourself to be, I’ll still be here, loving you.’ Her words were wrapped in steel. A challenge. Willing me to call her a liar, so she could prove just how much she meant them. ‘I’m here because of you, Kat. Only you.’
Her for them. The choice I’d made. Alma for the rest of them. The choice Daunton had forced me to make, battered and broken as I was.
‘I won’t spend my life haunted by my death,’ she warned, a fierceness coming over her. ‘Neither will you.’
Those words sat like a promise between us.
All I could do was nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. She was right. She always was. If I hadn’t unleashed such chaos, Alma would be back with the menagerie. She’d be dead by now, and I don’t know what would have become of me.
Slowly, as the water cooled again, she coaxed me from the bath, dried me and put me into a nightgown. That numbness not leaving me despite the fierce nature of her words.
She forced one of her precious chocolates between my lips before bullying me into bed and climbed into it too with her dress and shoes still on, wrapping herself around me. Not tight enough, though, as the coldness of my fear seeped into my flesh.
A heavy silence fell with just the cracking of the wood as the fire devoured it, but still she held on. Like she always had.
‘Of all the things I’ve endured, I regret not a moment of that pain because it led me right here,’ she whispered, voice catching on the words with the rawness of her emotions. ‘Right here to you, Kat, and there is nowhere else I wish to be.’
I wanted to smile, but all that left me were tears as I held onto her.