Chapter Twenty-Five
There is an ancient witch in the west. A blood seeker, luring children into the night and binding their blood to her cause. To her rebellion which seeks to decimate our world. Killing innocents and purging Elysior back into war. Pray to the saint the stories are wrong, for her greed and desire for power will ruin us all .
– Recovered Council correspondence to the southern fields – 1835
The land beyond Fairfax Manor was nothing but a green smear through the filthy glass of my bedroom window. I glanced to the dusty clock in the corner, which clearly hadn’t worked in years, before pressing my palms against my tired eyes and wishing, for once, I could have a peaceful night’s sleep.
However, the horrid lumpy mattress and the draughty room was my own fault. I’d woken numerous times during the night fearful I’d somehow ended up back in the Institute’s cramped quarters.
Unable to bear the discomfort of the bed much longer, I’d got up, but the cramped confines of the room still felt stifling. I lingered at the uneven dressing table and considered the items I’d dumped there. All the papers and notes for the things I should be doing, and yet all I could think about was that horrid cavern forgotten in the woods.
The dark scrawl of runes on the inside, the bitter taste of fear in the air. The screech of that creature and all the cruel things it was made of.
The chaos of that darkness, how vicious it remained after centuries. How my palms still ached with the power of my magic, how feral my flames had been. Then my thoughts wandered, remembering the firmness of Emrys’s chest beneath my palm. The strong thrum of his heartbeat and the teasing bite of his magic. The strong erratic nature of him and just how dark his eyes went the closer I got.
Croinn. The subtle playfulness in his tone. Unwilling to let me go.
I let my fingers drag across my collarbone before catching on the chain around my neck. The weight of the gift he’d given me was a strong comfort as I pulled it from where it rested between my breasts and let the stone sit in my palm.
A wishing stone. Old magic. How beautiful it was, delicately made and kept safe all these years. How the stone glowed radiantly against my skin, reminding me of that troublesome dust sprite in those ruins. The little cretin that had started all this.
Maybe I needed to go back and thank the beast.
‘Good, you’re up,’ came Alma’s sharp greeting, making me jump and knock my knees painfully into the dressing table.
‘Alma,’ I hissed, flushing as I tucked the necklace back into my nightgown. ‘You could have warned me.’
She stood with clothes freshly pressed and folded over her arms, her eyebrow raised disapprovingly – knowing every scandalous thought in my head.
‘I wasn’t in the mood to summon a necromancer to rouse your corpse,’ she drawled, crossing the room to lay my clothes on the bed.
‘I don’t sleep that deeply.’
Something shot from the still-open wardrobe, tiny and white, its wings fluttered impatiently. It landed on Alma’s shoulder and pecked at her hair to get her attention.
‘Shoo,’ she slapped it in my direction. ‘That bastard thing clearly can’t operate the portal on its own.’
I held out my hand as the message in tiny bird form tumbled but caught itself, fluttering over to land in my cupped palms before unfurling.
Croinn, I’ve acquired some horses. I’ll meet you at the stables at ten o’clock. —Emrys.
‘Why is he calling you a witch?’ Alma asked nosily over my shoulder.
‘Never mind that.’ I shook my head, slipping the note onto the dressing table, ignoring her suspicious stare as I walked around the moth-eaten changing screen to put on my chemise. ‘How is William?’
‘Sulking, considering Emrys has forced him to rest for the day.’ I could hear the clatter of her re-tidying the vanity as I emerged from behind the screen.
‘I should have gone to see him.’
Alma waited with the corset, frowning as her gaze locked on my chest.
‘What is that?’ she asked. I looked down to see the wishing stone dangling free.
‘Emrys gave it to me.’ I tucked the chain back inside my chemise and turned before she could examine it any further as she fit the corset and went to work.
‘How chivalrous of him.’ Her lacing motions were tighter than usual. ‘Was this before or after his horrid guest arrived?’
‘That wasn’t his fault.’ Montagor’s sick amusements were his own. The house had tried to warn me, and as always, I hadn’t listened.
‘Fine,’ she huffed, blowing an errant strand of dark hair from her face as she turned me around to offer me my shirt. ‘Was it before or after you accosted him while he was half undressed then?’
‘I didn’t !’ I protested, ignoring the burn of my cheeks. Remembering the hard planes of that chest and just how it had caught the morning’s light.
‘William said he barely had a shirt on,’ she continued, ruthless as ever, as she held the riding skirt for me to step into. ‘His trousers were unbuttoned too.’
‘They were not.’ I scowled as she laughed at the flush that had taken hold of my face. ‘William is a terrible gossip.’
I went to step into the skirt. Then I saw there were two leg holes.
‘Are they trousers?’ I asked, trying to pull the skirt apart to see, but she slapped my hands away, tugging it up my legs.
‘ Secret trousers, and you better not tell anyone,’ she half muttered, yanking at the fastenings with more force than necessary.
I moved my legs, feeling the fabric between them, but looking at my reflection, the garment looked like an ordinary travelling skirt.
‘I love them.’ Not knowing it was possible to have both comfort and propriety, but of course, Alma found a way.
‘Hopefully that means you’ll take care of them.’ She sighed, holding out the matching jacket for me to slip my arms into. Something in her teasing expression reminded me I had my own questions to ask.
‘What were you doing in Emrys’s room?’ I asked as she bullied me to sit before the misty, aged mirror, starting on my hair.
‘Looking for secrets.’ She shrugged as I watched her work in the reflection.
‘Did you find any?’
A mischievous glint came to her eyes. ‘No, but there is still time.’
Time . What Mr Thrombi had run out of quicker than the rest of us. Because of me. That truth was harder to swallow than the rest. I looked down at my hands.
‘Do you trust him?’ Alma’s voice was quiet, as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. Leaning down to rest her hands on my shoulders, her head next to my own as she watched me carefully in the mirror. That stone against my breastbone warmed in comfort.
‘Master Hale does.’
‘I’m not asking Master Hale.’ She raised a dark brow in challenge, but there was a softness in her eyes. Cautious of my emotions.
I should have thought about it, but all I could see was the warmth of William’s smile, his ease with the house, Emrys’s work to heal Mr Thrombi, his disdain for the Council and how easily he’d forgiven me for almost killing him with a ghoul.
‘Yes.’ The word left me without doubt. I did trust him. Maybe foolishly, but perhaps I was tired of suspicion, tired of running and fearing everyone’s motives.
‘Fine.’ She smiled reluctantly, before leaving me to find my boots. ‘I’ll forgive him then.’
I laced up my boots as she tidied up the room and grumbled something about the horrid bed. I watched her, the ease of her movements, the natural flush in her cheeks. No longer weakened by her transformations, despite the fact she’d had one mere hours ago.
‘How did you do it?’ I asked. Watching her sharp eyes turn to me, not needing to ask what I meant.
‘It wasn’t a choice. Or perhaps the racket you were all making irritated me enough to test my limits.’ She smiled, running a palm over the horrid bedspread to smooth it into place. ‘Just as you killed those dark things so effortlessly. I think there is something in me that wants to … change.’ She contemplated her words for a quiet moment. ‘Something that wants to be free at last.’
My magic shifted within me, a warm rush in agreement that made me ball my hands into fists to hold it back.
‘That doesn’t scare you?’ Did it scare her as it did me? To be everything that had been forbidden for so long?
She crossed the small space to stand before me, such vulnerability in her suddenly feline eyes as she looked up at me, reminding me how much smaller she was. Yet there was nobody stronger or more imposing than Alma. Maybe Emrys.
‘What do we have to be afraid of, Kat?’ The was such a gentle strength to those words, I found my fingers interlaced with her own.
Nothing. There was nothing left to fear now. We’d seen it all. Survived it all.
Then a wretched knocking came on the chamber door.
‘Don’t get soul-snatched !’ Alma snapped before ducking through the wardrobe, the doors closing behind her of their own accord.
Being soul-snatched appeared to be the least of my problems as I opened the door to another dour-looking servant. This one was younger but held the disposition of someone twice her age as she turned sharply on her heel and forced me to follow at pace.
We went down the creaking stairs to the quiet, dim halls, where the scent of tobacco lingered and the wallpaper was threatening to peel.
It was unusual for lords to let their houses sink into such disrepair, then again, by the job Lord Percy was doing monitoring the lands, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise.
I was led past a busy kitchen to the back of the house and out onto a gravel path to a carriage house. A familiar figure stood there, dressed in dark grey riding attire cut close to the imposing form of him as he fixed his gloves, surveying two grazing horses.
The maid left me without a word – chased back inside by the cold – and I was suddenly grateful for the thickness of my jacket as I made my way over to Emrys.
His riding coat was a fine suede, trousers the same, and boots not having a mark on them, despite the muddiness of the ground surrounding the stable.
‘I don’t suppose Hale taught you how to ride a horse when he was planting a seed of rebellion in you?’ He smiled in way of greeting, the breeze forcing his hair onto his brow. Out in the sunlight I was momentarily startled by the handsomeness of the man, and just how oblivious he was to it.
‘I know how to ride.’ I stepped around him to assess the dark horse I’d been given. At least it was tall enough for me. I lifted the saddle to check the girth, tugging on the straps before dropping my attention to the stirrups.
‘My father used to rescue and raise perrybons,’ I added over my shoulder, watching with interest as he stroked the side of his own mare.
I remembered the ancient creature with deep affection, their shape similar to a horse, except larger and with small twisting antlers, closer in appearance to deer. Wild and fearless animals that demanded respect, not control.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a perrybon,’ he mused.
‘There are hundreds on the northern islands to the south, if you know where to look.’ Too wild to be coaxed onto ships and I often wondered how they were getting on, undisturbed now, since most beings had abandoned the islands after the wars.
‘You’ll have to show me,’ he replied easily.
It felt like a promise, as if there would be time after all this. Time he wished to spend in my company. His eyes said the same, an intensity to them genuinely awaiting my answer.
‘My Lord.’ A young serving boy emerged from the stables with his own smaller, and far less impressive, mount. The old beast looked like it would keel over at any moment, but the boy mounted it anyway.
Emrys nodded. I assumed this was the scout.
‘Come on, before the weather changes.’ Emrys moved closer to help but I ignored his chivalrous offer.
The animal shook its head in annoyance as I mounted, shifting beneath my weight, but I was thankful for my trousers as I settled, and watched Emrys mount his own horse in one effortless motion.
The boy moved off, compelling us to follow down the rest of the path and into the vast muddy lands. I patted the horse’s neck as it resisted slightly, uncertain of the path. The wind picked up, forcing me to turn my face out of it, glancing behind to see the imposing structure of Fairfax Manor in the distance for the first time.
A grand structure of stone, bold and out of place in the enormity of the nature that surrounded it. I could also see the extent of the damage the fire had caused. What Emrys had warned me about.
Half the building was gone, hollow and dark. What little remained clawed up towards the sky in sharp charred points.
The devastation shocked me, and yet the lord inside pretended there was nothing wrong with his home. Oblivious to the scent of smoke even now. Emrys followed my gaze, a troubled expression on his face. As if the madness of the old man’s grief hadn’t missed his attention either.
‘Lord Fairfax knows you.’ I was curious to know just how deep his connection with higher society went before the uprising.
‘I was at the Institute with his son,’ Emrys replied distantly as he returned his attention to the mud path, steering his mare round a deep divot.
‘What happened to him?’ I asked, despite knowing from the gloom that lingered around Fairfax the tale didn’t have a happy ending.
‘I killed him.’
‘What?’ I almost slipped in my saddle. Unsure if I’d misheard him or he’d lost his mind. ‘Does Fairfax know?’
‘That his son became one of the dark fiends he worshipped? No. I saved the old bastard that at least.’ His response was devoid of emotion, and where that could have pointed to cruelty in some, I’d learnt it pointed to a depth of emotion in Emrys.
A hesitance lingered in his voice, cautious of sharing. As if these events had taken place in a different lifetime. To a different Emrys.
‘Richard wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. He believed that he could be smarter than the darkness, use its power against it. He didn’t stand a chance.’ A bitterness accompanied those final words.
I considered the troubled profile of him, this lonely, strange being.
We manoeuvred the steep land and came to the opening of the woods, the trees bleached of colour, their branches like sharp claws tangling with each other high above. No leaves on the ground, and the smell of rot was prominent in the barren surroundings.
He’d made me forget with his words and attention that there was a war happening. That there was an Emrys long before he strode across my path. An Emrys with secrets and a past. Perhaps even darker than my own.
I fixed my gaze ahead, unsure if I was more worried about what those things could be, or how little they bothered me.
‘It’s easy to misjudge how well a being can fight the temptation of the dark.’ Emrys’s words were softer with caution, his gaze straight ahead. Monitoring the dark press of trees for a lingering threat, but I could see the stiffness in his jaw and hear coldness in his voice.
‘Not me.’ No, because what could it offer me? This world had already taken everything and that was the dark thought that burdened me.
Emrys was silent.
We pressed deeper into the forest, the horses protesting as they stepped over large roots and maneuvered the undulating trail that was barely visible. The trees were green despite the winter season, and thick mud covered the ground. There was no evidence of the darkness consuming this earth, despite it devouring it so viciously on the other side around Paxton Fields.
‘Fairfax seems open to our interference here,’ I observed.
‘I wouldn’t find too much comfort in that. He’s half mad, talking to the dead and telling the servants his son has returned,’ he commented wryly.
‘Grief is a potent monster.’ A demon all its own and one that could never be exorcised.
Emrys looked at me with that dark knowing gaze, his lips parting, but no words left him.
‘Here you are, my lord,’ the boy called, jumping down from his mount. He fixed his cap as he crossed the path, ducking into the thicket to indicate a narrower and more overgrown passage. There was stone hidden beneath the moss – ruins of what used to stand there. The remains of metal gates merged with the great trunk of an oak tree. ‘The trail is too narrow now for the horses.’
‘Thank you,’ Emrys replied, flicking a silver coin to the boy, who caught it and rushed back to his horse, turning swiftly and guiding it back down the precarious path. Clearly he’d decided we wouldn’t need a guide back.
Emrys dismounted with a smooth kick, landing easily. I followed with a little less grace. The horses moved aside to graze on the grass that protruded from the uneven stone ground as I ducked under a low hanging branch to reach Emrys’s side.
There was a worn, cobbled footpath concealed under a blanket of moss. Through the thicket, the remains of a manor house, or the ruins of what used to be one, sat deep in the woods before us. Statues of saints watched from the darkness between the press of trees.
We were here.