Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I whispered the word Orin had taught me— somnis —and I tapped on the largest bead of the rose bracelet.
My soul separated from my body with a feeling akin to sinking into a snowbank—brutal cold, sudden darkness, and a muffling of all the noise around me.
But then I was emerging, digging myself back into brightness and sound and striding up to the manor, which looked as unnaturally faded as its gates.
I went immediately to the final destination I’d envisioned; another advantage of this projection spell—or disadvantage, in some instances—was the way time and distance could so easily blur while I moved as a ghost, allowing me to reach my target without too many thoughts or doubts getting in my way.
In the span of what felt like heartbeats, I was summiting the steps outside the banquet hall as if carried up by a favorable wind.
I walked the short, empty corridor to the massive double doors that remained open, as though the guests on the other side were still waiting for me.
If I’d been in my physical body, sweat would have been beading my skin, just as it had on that last, fateful night.
I could still hear the sounds. I could still smell the food. As I passed through the doors, the memories swirled around me like elegant dancers, bright and mesmerizing—yet always fleeting in the end, skipping off the stage before I could look too closely at any of them.
They always got away, because there was no true life in this place. There hadn’t been for seven years. I was the only conscious being here, as far as I knew.
There were the bodies, though.
In a small room off the main hall, dozens of those cursed, frozen bodies waited for me—breathing faintly, but otherwise unmoving.
This was the room I always ended up in, despite the ache it caused in my chest.
The queen stood closest to the door, a sword in her hand. She’d been guarding the ones behind her, I’d surmised.
Or trying to, at least.
But though her eyes remained wide open—eerily aware, even now—her head was bowed, as if she’d ultimately accepted whatever curse had come to take her. And, if the terrified expressions of those at her back were any indication, that curse had arrived baring teeth and horrors beyond anything this kingdom had ever known.
I could only guess at what had really happened. At what might have gone differently, if I was different. If I didn’t have my own horrifying powers that frightened so many in my kingdom—including me.
If I’d stayed to fight instead of fleeing.
I reached to cup my mother’s face, as if I could lift her eyes to meet mine.
But, of course, my hand went through her. Because I didn’t belong here. I’d scarcely belonged here when it was a living, breathing place. I’d felt like a ghost in the crowd then, and now…
The far too-familiar feeling of being an outsider in my own life gripped me, making me lose focus on my spell.
I tucked my head toward my chest and willed myself back into my physical body, slamming into it with far less than my usual amount of control. It took my breath away, leaving me feeling like a specter for several more seconds, even as I became more aware of the world around me.
Finally, the floating sensations subsided. I rubbed the last of the memories from my eyes and gazed around at my current reality. My stomach clenched, again, at the sight of the shadows lashing against the Light King’s barrier.
Not my darkness, I reminded myself . I did not summon this curse.
And yet.
And yet .
Darkness was darkness, according to so many in this kingdom.
I carried more darkness than most. I’d never wanted my death-related powers. I’d embraced them out of necessity, trying to negate the damage they could do. But here in the quiet morning—alone, and still haunted by the memories of all I’d lost—I openly loathed them. I wanted to reach inside of myself and rip them out, or just twist them into new shapes…
I just wanted to be different.
A sudden gust of cold energy lifted the waves of my hair, making me jump. Once my heart stopped racing, I searched the bushes behind me and quickly found exactly who I expected to.
“Phantom.” I sighed. “Announce yourself next time, would you? You frightened me.”
He might have been mistaken for a wayward scrap of shadow, if not for the way his bright blue eyes caught the sunlight when he blinked.
( Paranoid, are we? )
“Yes—likely from no sleep, and from staring down my own impending death.”
( Death is a bit of an exaggeration. You won’t truly be dying, not if Orin does things properly. )
I laughed to hide my nervousness. “You would know about not truly dying, wouldn’t you?”
He bared his teeth at the reminder of his condition.
But, as usual, he was right.
I—much like my spectral companion—was not descending into our world’s afterlife with permanence in mind. I was merely going to locate the magical sword that had passed into it, and then take care of the wound it had caused, whether by destroying that weapon or otherwise.
And then, with any luck, I would return to the living realm.
It wasn’t as implausible as it might have seemed.
There was once a time when living beings could visit their loved ones who had passed on, if only for a short period of time. The Kingdom of Eldris was well-known for this, in fact; legend stated that the most-traveled route between the living and the dead—the infamous Nocturnus Road—came about because an ancient ruler of Eldris, King Argoth, couldn’t bear to be entirely separated from his wife when she died.
It was a story I’d heard often while growing up, given how thoroughly it permeated our society. Parts of the elegy he’d written for his queen were often recited in wedding vows and toasts to long-lasting loves across the empire.
…And if death should take you
I will meet you there;
look for me where the light
gives way to shadow
Seek me where pain and sorrow yield
where time no longer flows;
I’ll find you in the stillness
before any heartache grows…
It used to be much more than a romantic story; people had traveled to Eldris from all reaches of the empire to pay homage to its first queen in hopes that her spirit would grant them passage to visit their lost loved ones.
It had been well over a century since the last known visit. Such travel was now forbidden—even talking of it was considered taboo, and a punishable offense in some places.
But that didn’t mean it was impossible.
The barrier between the worlds was not impenetrable. There were plenty of hauntings and odd phenomenon serving as proof of this—not to mention the fact that the Sword of Light had been swallowed by the ground, and the energy radiating from the wound was clearly from the Underworld.
And, most importantly, there were spells that could still open Nocturnus, that long-abandoned road between the living and dead worlds. It had taken Orin a lot of time and research to find one with true potential to work, but he’d managed it.
Of course, no one ever returned from such descents these days. Even with the proper preparation, to walk this road was the equivalent of signing off on your own death. But I was prepared to die if that was what it took to make things right—so long as I took care of the sword and its distorting power, first.
If I couldn’t make it back, my only regret would be that I wouldn’t personally be able to deliver justice to Aleksander. But Orin and I had an agreement, in the event that I didn’t return. I’d written a series of letters for him to deliver to the queen. So when the wound was healed—and the curse over her and the others ended—she would know what to do next.
I pictured her frozen body. The sword in her hand. The fearless, stoic pose she’d held for seven years.
When she woke, my mother would see vengeance carried out, I was certain.
And the King of Light would pay for all he had done, one way or another.