Chapter Twenty-Four
The housekeeper led me unceremoniously down numerous corridors, each as cold and vacant as the next. Remains of old red candlewax dripped down the peeling walls. Mould speckled high on the ceiling, with cracks appearing in the corners, barely disguised by the thick cobwebs.
I was almost halted by a sprouting of mushrooms that had appeared from the skirting boards beneath a side table, but her pace was unforgiving.
The last thing I bloody needed tonight was to get lost. So, I moved on, greeted only by the unpleasant aroma of stale cigar smoke, saints’ incense and the bitter scent of old polish as we made it up a creaking threadbare staircase. I was worried about my muddy boots on the carpet but by the lumpy feel of it, and the crack of weak floorboards, the mud wouldn’t make a difference.
I pushed the thought aside as the housekeeper finally came to a stop at a nondescript door, opening it before rushing off without a bow or backwards glance, clearly desperate to be unburdened by my company.
Even mortals far beneath the elite they served still saw fey as being under them, despite our circumstances being so similar.
It took me two deep breaths to find the courage to go inside the bedroom, to accept where this game was going.
There was the faint smell of damp despite the small fire being lit. A small tin tub sat before it, already full of water. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a small bed with greyish linens, a wardrobe and a vanity with a chipped porcelain washbowl.
The dark curtains were moth eaten, covering small, latticed windows.
I crossed the room to open one, allowing in only a crack of air, bracing my hands on the windowsill and dragging deep breaths in. A futile attempt to keep my anxiety at bay.
What had I done? The phantom sting of my true power remained, a slight trembling in my limbs. Knowing the magic in my blood was already hungry for more freedom. To hunt and avenge from what it had found in the wood.
‘You’ve survived worse than this,’ I reasoned under my breath as I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
No matter how much I wished to wallow, it wouldn’t solve anything.
The mud on my boots was beginning to dry and crumble onto the worn carpet. Then I noticed how much of it was clumped against my skirt, how torn and filthy the fabric was. I stripped off my ruined clothes, slightly horrified to notice the bodice of my dress was so torn my corset had been visible the whole time. No wonder the voyav was grinning. I shuddered as I got into the small, lukewarm tub beside the hearth.
There was a lump of brown soap on the side, along with a rough washcloth. I used it until my skin was pink and the water turned murky with dirt from those ruins. I winced as I sank beneath the water to wash my hair. My temple was tender and aching, along with the rest of my body. It had been too long since I’d used my true strength. Since I’d tested the limits of my body. Since I’d allowed myself to be who I truly was, to access that part of my nature.
Murderer . I shivered in the cooling water, knowing I couldn’t hide there all night I got out, using the rough towel to dry myself. I’d only been left with an ill-fitting nightgown that must have belonged to a guest a few decades before, judging by how frumpy it was. The lace yellowed with age.
Not wanting to suffer any further humiliation of trying to put it on, I rummaged in my bag, reaching deep beneath my notes to find my loose training garb instead, and the spare underthings I carried just in case.
I pulled on the trousers and knotted the tunic, then sat before the fire to comb the knots from my hair with my fingers, not even allowing myself to contemplate what came next. How angry Emrys was, whether William was okay, what Alma would say or who on earth the mysterious voyav had been.
A demon from long ago, a creation of the Old Gods will, a story. An impossibility, and yet, all those things seemed to be meeting at the same point. Right here in this old rotting house.
Too many things to consider, and I didn’t have any remedies in my bag for any of them. No, I simply had to wait for my fate.
A creak coming from the corner of the room turned me sharply to take in the small wardrobe. I didn’t usually fear spectres, but in an unfamiliar location the prospect of an uninvited guest turning up didn’t sit well with me. Another clatter came, louder this time.
The doors of the wardrobe rattled, the wood squeaking in protest. The latch creaking, unable to open.
I lunged forwards, wrenching the doors open, only for someone to come tumbling through them with a familiar head of dark curls and bright green eyes looking up at me in surprise as they sprawled across the floor in a mess of skirts.
‘Alma?’ I asked, bewildered by the sight of her on the rug as she jumped to her feet, arms around me instantly.
‘Thank the ancestors you’re all right !’ she snapped, pulling back to strike my arm. ‘Bloody listen to me next time you menace !’
‘Ow !’ I exclaimed, barely having a moment before she pulled me into another embrace.
‘You’re a pain in my arse,’ she seethed against my shoulder, her grip so tight it threatened to squeeze all the breath from me.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘As you should be.’ She pushed out of my hold with an annoyed sigh, turning to consider the room. The lecture I expected didn’t arrive, probably because she was too disturbed by my current accommodation. ‘This room is abysmal; I’ll have to bring over a cleaning enchantment to sort it out.’
Her now-mortal eyes came back to my face. ‘Help me with your things. Since we’re going through the pretence of you being a guest.’
She turned her attention back to the wardrobe, reaching inside and lugging something towards the entrance. From where the back of the wardrobe was supposed to be, instead there was the strange glow of a portal entrance. A large, battered chest with fabrics trying to burst out of the wooden confines came tumbling through.
‘These aren’t mine.’ I frowned, but still reached for the handle to help her pull it through, dropping the monstrosity onto the worn carpet.
‘They’re the gowns William found; he wrote down some incantations to help me alter them.’ She sighed.
‘Why do I need gowns?’ A horrid feeling had begun to seep through my chest.
‘William mentioned something about a dinner,’ she continued, unbothered by my clear distress at the idea, as she popped the lid of the trunk and began to pull out swaths and bundles of extravagant fabric.
‘I don’t need …’ I began but realised it wasn’t important to argue right now. ‘How is William?’
‘Emrys was dealing with him.’
Of course he was, probably telling him off when all of this wasn’t his fault.
‘I should go and check on him.’ I tucked my wet hair behind my ears.
‘Dressed like that?’ she scolded, her eyes flaring, pupils lengthening as a furry pattern appeared on her cheek.
‘I’ve done more scandalous things this evening,’ I pointed out dryly. Having my breasts out in a lord’s house being one of them.
‘True.’ She relented, although she wouldn’t look at me, giving a scratch on the side of one of the trunks her undivided attention. ‘You may need to speak to Emrys for me and make an apology.’
I frowned. ‘Why?’
‘He wasn’t best pleased with how I woke him up,’ she muttered, her cheeks flushed, which made me instantly suspicious. Alma didn’t get embarrassed.
‘He was asleep?’ I couldn’t imagine Emrys doing anything so remotely mundane.
‘He sleeps deeper than you do.’
That instantly made me remember all the demented ways Alma had woken me up in the past.
‘What did you do?’
‘I’d rather not remember it.’ She practically shuddered, clapping her hands together to usher me from the room. ‘You’d best get out of my way while I sort out this room.’
Her words brought forward the horrific realisation that I’d actually have to stay in that miserable-looking bed. A maid could come in unannounced at any moment, a spy to see that I was behaving myself. I didn’t need the rumours of what it meant to be missing from the bed. The thought unsettled me. I hadn’t spent a night apart from Alma since Daunton. The nightmares still prevailed with her company, but it was better than being alone.
Resigned to my punishment, I climbed through the wardrobe, finding myself crouched on the other side, emerging from the Portium door in the back shelves of the library. Dusting off my sparring trousers as I made my way through the labyrinth of bookcases, guided by the orange glow from the hearth.
Wondering why the house hadn’t taken me straight to William or the study, I continued on.
I got my answer as I came to a stop between the final shelves.
Bloody bastard house.
Emrys sat before the fire, one leg thrown up on the small footstool and a glass of amber liquid dangling precariously from his fingers as he rolled it with boredom.
He’d changed too, crisp fresh shirt partially undone, sleeves rolled up to show the scarred muscular surface of his forearms and the light dusting of hair that caught the fire’s light.
Aware he was being watched, he turned his head lazily to see me. Taking in the bedraggled sight of me – my messy damp hair tangled around my ears, loose training attire and my bare feet on the rug. A tension moved through his jaw, a power to his gaze that unsettled me.
‘Have you come to torment me some more, Croinn?’ he asked, dropping his foot and finishing his drink before leaning forward to set the glass on a stack of books. He bowed his head to rub the back of his neck. Dark hair falling forward onto his brow.
I stopped at the large table, like a barrier between us, hands fiddling with the edge of my tunic. ‘I came to see William. How is he?’
‘He has a sprain and some bruising. Both will be healed by morning. I gave him a sleeping draught so the healing incantations work better. Sitting still isn’t a skill he possesses.’ There was a sharpness in his gaze that told me he was annoyed I possessed the same habit.
‘I’m sorry,’ I replied.
His dark brow raised. ‘For getting caught?’
‘I should have waited for you,’ I admitted. No matter what had happened with Montagor, I’d been foolish to let fear guide me so recklessly and William had paid the price. ‘I was … angry with everything.’
Emrys brought his knuckles to his lips, considering me thoughtfully over them. ‘It’d take a king’s commander years to figure out how to fight magic that dark on its own terms.’ There was a lightness to his tone as if I’d impressed him.
‘You could say I have a secretly vicious temperament.’ I let my gaze drop to the table, considering the vastness of his notes that he’d left out, as if he’d been disturbed from work. The chaotic nature of them as he spoke of Mr Thrombi, of the thing he’d turned into. The ancient nature of the dark.
The impossibility of everything.
‘I wouldn’t say there is anything secretive about it.’ His voice softened, as I felt the weight of his presence where he’d silently come to stand behind me. The power of his warrior’s build radiated heat as his hand rested next to my own, the warmth of him travelling down my back.
‘Do I want to know why the house is forcing me to crawl through a wardrobe?’ I asked over my shoulder, wondering if it was some form of devious punishment.
‘At least you can fit through yours,’ he offered wryly, and it was then I saw the tear at the shoulder of his shirt. As if he’d caught it trying to do the same thing. ‘The house misbehaves in my absence; it also doesn’t like competition for my sleeping arrangements.’
‘Jealous?’ I teased him with a smile, watching his face darken with annoyance as the door behind us creaked loudly with confirmation. I could only agree – I wasn’t fond of his absences either.
The sudden desire in that thought chased my mirth away, heating my traitorous cheeks as I turned quickly back to the table.
‘That tallet shouldn’t have been able to speak.’ I swallowed uneasily at all the foolish mistakes I was making. ‘Have you seen that before?’
There was a sudden pensive nature to his face as he considered the papers before us. He was so close I could see the fragments of light grey trying to purge that darkness from his eyes, the wickedness of the scar down his cheek.
‘Close to a seal during the war.’
‘There are no seals in the south.’ I frowned, turning to him, ignoring the sting of fear in my chest.
Seals were the ancient points where Kysillians had eradicated the darkness. Most were buried by now, their locations lost to record thanks to one of the many mortal kings’ plundering. I didn’t know anyone who had seen an ancient seal and lived to tell the tale. Hadn’t even heard of one apart from in my father’s bedtime tales.
‘You didn’t tell me you saw Thean at the village.’ There was a quietness to his words as he changed the subject. A guarded nature to his expression. His attention moved to my face, focusing on my lips once more. Waiting for a lie.
‘I didn’t know who they were. What they were. They presented themselves differently. I thought they were looking for you.’
He huffed out an unamused laugh as he moved around the table, putting distance between us. ‘I’m sure Thean enjoyed that.’
A chill in the air penetrated the thinness of my training attire with his absence. There was something in the pensive nature of him, a heaviness to his shoulders, troubled deeply by his own thoughts.
‘A voyav isn’t good company to keep,’ I warned. ‘Who is Thean Page?’
‘The less you know about the voyav, the better.’ He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, letting it fall back across his brow.
‘Yes, because naivety always works out well in the end,’ I argued, watching his expression shut down, a cold mask of indifference slipping into place. The mask of a lord who somehow knew Montagor on unfriendly terms and kept cursed voyavs as acquaintances. Who was he?
I could see the lies working behind his eyes, trying to find a way to spin it. Saving him the effort, I moved from the table with a huff of annoyance, striding back towards the dark shelves that led to the portal.
‘Kat.’ He caught my wrist, but the barest contact made me recoil with a surprised cry. The burns I’d forgotten stung in response to the barest hint of his magic. My wrist clutched tightly to my chest, I faced him once more.
A tension came over him as he stood deathly still, the fire in the hearth dimming.
He reached out gently for my wrist. A part of me didn’t want him to see the weakness on my flesh, didn’t want his pity, but I let him take it anyway, revealing the horrid raised pink flesh beneath the sleeve of my tunic.
‘Montagor’s rings.’ The words left his lips, but they didn’t sound right. They didn’t sound like him.
‘It’ll fade,’ I whispered, not knowing why it filled me with embarrassment.
His eyes closed tightly, as he dragged in a deep, almost painful breath, his hold on me tightening ever so slightly. As if searching for some sort of restraint.
‘He shouldn’t have come anywhere near you.’ The deep regret pressed between those words reminded me of the urgency in his voice when he’d come to find me.
Forgive me. The words he’d left for me.
‘You wanted to see me.’ My breath wasn’t quite steady as the words left me.
‘I was fully prepared to grovel at your feet.’ His thumb dragged over the unhurt skin of my hand. Across my knuckles, following those faint training scars.
‘Alma wasn’t …’
‘I’d take the disembowelment.’ He grimaced, eyes lifting to my own before drifting to the side of my face where it ached at my temple. ‘I’m sorry, Kat.’
I felt that strange bite of his magic, almost as if brushing back my hair to see better. I watched as those grey eyes darkened to black, as if ink had been spilt across a page with the turmoil of his emotions.
‘I know,’ I whispered, seeing a protective softness take over his features, the slight drop of his shoulders with relief. I might not have known all his secrets, but I knew regret too well to distrust him.
In the quiet, with only the crackling hearth, I looked down again at those welts on my skin. Evidence of all the cruelty in this world. Pain those fey had felt too.
‘I was angry with Master Hale.’ I sighed, hating the burning sting in my eyes. ‘Angry at all the lies I allowed myself to believe.’
That any of this was over.
‘I can feel them.’ The confession left me so easily. Perhaps it was the closeness of him, the gentle nature to his hold or the understanding I knew I’d find in his eyes. ‘In those ruins, all I could feel was their pain. Just like those artefacts the council keep.’
I let my head tip up, swallowing down that sadness. ‘It’s like they’re still calling out for help, even after all this time.’
His gaze was so dark, patient and focused on nothing other than me.
‘I can feel it, too.’ His hand shifted gently to avoid those burns, to hold onto my fingers in firm comfort.
In that moment I didn’t feel so alone. Not while burdened with the grief of it.
I swallowed. ‘He should have told me.’ Understanding now why Hale hadn’t. Why would he? When he didn’t need to? I had no choice but to remain.
‘Perhaps he didn’t wish for you to be burdened with it.’
I smiled sadly at his effort to be convincing. ‘You don’t have to make excuses for him, Emrys.’
Those troubled grey eyes dragged over every inch of my face. ‘It’s not for him.’
Something sparked in my chest. No. It was for me. Trying to find a way to comfort me, to make it better – if only for a moment.
‘You should get some sleep. A scout will take us to the ruins in the morning.’ The words were gentle as he let me go, forcing himself to take a step back. Hands flexing into fists at his side.
‘Ruins?’ I pulled back in confusion, my fingers colder in the absence of his touch.
‘The Fairfax family moved their residence a century before the war.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s connected to the remains of that pit you found. So, the source could be there.’
‘Why would someone be trying to unsettle what darkness rests here?’ I wrapped my arms around myself, unsure why the mention of such things made my magic churn uncertainly in my blood.
He shrugged. ‘Fairfax claims to have no enemies.’
‘You don’t believe him.’
‘Everyone has enemies. You even made one an hour ago.’ His gaze sharpened with his words. Of course, Lord Percy.
‘He was hurting William,’ I challenged, knowing I was right, but that wasn’t the main point I needed to get to. ‘How did you get there so quickly?’
‘I rode from Paxton Fields, which gave me a great opportunity to see something we’d missed.’ He reached into his pocket, producing a charred piece of wood between his thumb and forefinger. ‘The west wing has been consumed by fire, which Fairfax claims is due to a maid’s carelessness with a candle.’
I took the fragment the shard from him, letting it rest in the centre of my palm. It didn’t crumble upon contact, but it did irritate my skin with the summoning still present in the wood.
‘These are magical burns.’ I turned the piece over. Magic burned down part of Fairfax’s house and, judging by Emrys’s lack of surprise, he already suspected such. ‘Why wouldn’t a lord report a magical surge?’ Especially when it was in connection to damage of his property, and especially in times when lords weren’t as wealthy as they pretended to be.
‘They don’t want anyone to know.’ Emrys observed.
Surges of this magnitude were reported often. Some fey were unable to contain their magic, the lack of elders for guidance causing them to become lost. Most losing control, causing deadly surges that could decimate entire villages. The Council hadn’t captured any such dangerous beings recently.
‘How do we know it wasn’t a rebel attack?’ I challenged.
‘He would have reported it. Lord Percy wouldn’t have hesitated and I’m certain Thean would be gloating about it.’
‘Not if they had a good enough reason to attack him,’ I corrected, holding the shard back out to him. There weren’t many fire-wielding beings left, their destructive nature put them top of the list for culling in the King’s opinion during the war.
Emrys took the shard from me, my magic warming my fingertips at the barest touch from him. As if curious, demanding his attention, too.
‘I found something else you might find useful.’ He pushed the shard back into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch embroidered with silver ivy leaves. He held it out to me and I took it gingerly with confusion.
What spilled out of it was a long silver chain with a beautiful glistening crystal wrapped in detailed filigree made to look like vines with small thorns. The stone glowing ever so slightly with an iridescent light. My magic flared soft lavender at my fingertips in interest.
‘A wishing stone,’ I breathed, unsure if he could even hear me as I ran my finger over the metal to check it was real. An ancient gem with the power to trap magic, just enough of it to come in useful for protection. From the glow, it was already imbued with a wish.
‘I took the liberty of testing to see if it was still viable.’ Emrys cleared his throat, fussing with the fold of his shirt sleeve.
‘Thank you.’ I hoped he knew just how much I meant those words. Not just for this gift, but for helping with Alma, for all of it. ‘I’m sorry for more than just getting caught.’
His broad shoulders gave the barest shrug as a soft smile came to his lips. Those strange eyes now crystalline. ‘We would have ended up here anyway.’
I found myself smiling back. ‘By less dramatic means, surely?’
‘Perhaps.’ He nodded, his focus remaining on my face. ‘You don’t have to stay over there.’
‘I’d rather not have the maids gossiping about why I’m missing from my bed,’ I challenged lightly, reaching back to rub my shoulder and finally admit to the exhaustion in my limbs as I made my retreat back to the portal. Looking forward to seeing what trouble Alma had gotten up to in that awful room.
‘Anyway, you should follow your own advice,’ I called over my shoulder, seeing how he watched my retreat. His arms folded, expression troubled once more.
‘Croinn,’ he muttered under his breath, focus shifting to the piles of papers on the table. Despite all the things I wished to say, I tightened my grip on the gift he’d given me, worried it might slip from my grasp.
‘Goodnight,’ I whispered as I left, but he didn’t reply.