Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Nova
( Trusting them feels like a grave mistake. )
I finished reorganizing my bag of jostled supplies and buckled it shut before looking toward Phantom. “I don’t trust them,” I admitted. “But it feels like a better option than traveling the Underworld on our own.” Setting my packed bag on one of the stone benches in the garden, I wandered through the vibrant rows of flowers, studying their hues in an effort to distract myself from the haunting memories I’d already made of our journey—the restless energies of the Nocturnus Road, the wandering spirits that had nearly ensnared us, the cold grip that had wrapped around my ankle…
We were still at the ‘outpost’, as Zayn had dubbed it. He and Aleksander were inside, busily making preparations to leave. I’d stepped outside to escape the king’s imposing presence, and Phantom had been trying to convince me to make a run for it ever since.
We were still here because I wasn’t confident of my original plans any longer; stumbling upon Aleksander and the others had rattled me. I still didn’t know what to make of them—how could the king exist both here and in the living world?
Which one was the true Aleksander?
I hadn’t mentioned the other Light King to Zayn or anyone else, yet; I wanted to observe them and gather more information for myself before I decided my next move—even if that meant staying uncomfortably close to them, against my better judgment.
Kneeling, I picked a flower with deep, luscious blue-black petals that shimmered like the sea at night. If this Aleksander was the fraud, his magic was certainly convincing; how did he make such beautiful things bloom within the deadly air all around us? And brightly enough, strongly enough, that they had continued to bloom even while he was unconscious?
I could feel Phantom watching me closely as I plucked the flower’s petals off, one by one.
“It isn’t as if we can’t escape them if things go wrong,” I assured him. “Have I ever not managed to escape when things went wrong?”
( Your luck will eventually run out. )
I scoffed. “It’s not luck. It’s skill.”
Before he could reply, we were interrupted by the arrival of Zayn. The Lord of the North Reaches stepped into the backyard, his expression brightening as his eyes landed on me.
The more I saw him, the more vividly I recalled our encounter that night at Rose Point. After seven years, my assessment of him remained largely unchanged; it was clear he was related to Aleksander—albeit distantly. Their basic features appeared to have been shaped by similar hands, crafted by artists with a penchant for strong jawlines, high cheekbones, and perfectly refined noses. Yet, they bore the finishing touches of two different masters, each with their own distinct visions of beauty.
Aleksander embodied rugged elegance, quiet strength and perfect poise.
Zayn had a much more approachable look—a youthful charm, almost, even though he was the older between the two, if I recalled my mother’s boring lessons about the Elarithian royal family tree correctly. As he scanned me with his warm gaze, the flecks of gold in his brown eyes seemed to shimmer. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded as if you were having a conversation…with your dog?”
I carefully considered my reply, searching for the answer that would make me sound the least insane.
In this case, I decided, it was the truth.
“It’s a facet of my magic,” I told him. “I can understand his thoughts, and he can understand my speech.” With a slight, rueful grin, I added, “Although, sometimes he likes to pretend he can’t, so that he can ignore me and my commands.”
Zayn’s eyes widened slightly.
“His name is Phantom.”
Zayn crouched down, tentatively reaching to scratch him beneath the chin.
Phantom’s fur bristled. ( Please tell this fool I am not a common house pet for him to coddle and caress. )
I arched a brow. “He likes being scratched between the ears,” I said. “Just above that white spot on his forehead.”
Phantom started to growl in protest, but Zayn was already reaching for the spot I’d mentioned. Phantom’s tail thumped happily in response—though hesitantly, and perhaps against his will.
I gave him a wink, which earned me a flash of teeth.
( You betray me, ) he protested, even as his tail wagged more furiously.
So dramatic, this one.
“It’s been some time since he could enjoy a nice petting like this,” I told Zayn. “He wasn’t this solid in the world above.”
The Elarithian lord stood up straight once more, giving me a curious look. “What do you mean?”
“He died three years ago. I kept him alive with magic, but I didn’t quite manage to give him his solid body back; when we arrived here, though, something in the air seems to have reinforced my attempt. It’s made him more corporeal, somehow.”
“And he can shapeshift, as well?”
I nodded. “Another skill he picked up after losing his permanent body. I’m still not entirely sure how my magic helped with that, but…” I trailed off with a shrug.
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dancing between mine and Phantom’s, before finally settling on my face. He gave me a crooked grin. “You get stranger and stranger, Nova Halestorn.”
“I’ve been called far worse things than strange .”
As if to remind me of my inherent strangeness, the turquoise bracelet suddenly tightened on my wrist. I gasped at the burst of pressure, earning me another curious look from Zayn.
He studied all of my bracelets for a moment before he said, “Another bit of strangeness?”
I didn’t reply, too busy searching our surroundings for whatever had triggered the beads’ movement. Was it something about the Light magic protecting this outpost?
And if so, why had it already settled?
Was I ever going to find out what this strange, stupid, beautiful bracelet did?
“…Don’t worry,” Zayn said. “You don’t have to answer me. I’m not usually the prying type, anyway.” The grin slid back onto his face as he added, “I prefer to keep my brain as empty as possible.”
I snorted. “I know what you mean; I often find myself wishing my own was far emptier.”
His smile started to droop in the corners, but he quickly changed the subject, his attention shifting to the bag on the bench beside me. “All packed, then?”
“As much as I can be. Though I’m beginning to think this journey might take longer than I’d hoped, and that I didn’t bring nearly enough supplies.”
“We have extra provisions to share. No need to worry about that.”
I frowned. “That actually leads us to a question I had.”
“Oh?”
“The food and water that sustain you have been cultivated and purified through magic, I understand. But if you’ve been here for so long, how have you managed to find clothing and other things like that?”
“An excellent question,” he replied, “and the answer is simple: Just to the south of here is an area we call ‘Mourner’s Rest’. A place full of impressive statues, stone platforms, and basins meant to hold offerings. We stumbled upon it during one of our earliest attempts to navigate these lands. It’s one of the locations, we believe, where living visitors used to leave gifts, back when the roads between the living and the dead world were more easily and frequently traversed.”
“…Gifts those people brought for their deceased loved ones, you mean.”
“Yes. All manner of things those loved ones must have favored in life—fine clothing, weapons, various trinkets…you name it.”
“You stole these things, I’m guessing?”
He gave me an unapologetic smile. “To be fair, the dead weren’t really using them. Their spirits don’t even enter the area. The whole place is a desolate expanse, devoid of any kind of energy—living or otherwise. It’s an unsettling wasteland, to be sure, but nothing besides our own fears prevented us from taking and repurposing what’s there. We eventually overcame those fears out of necessity.”
The whole practice still struck me as deeply wrong. I found I couldn’t convincingly argue against it, however. I was also in no position to choose morals over materials, so when Zayn suggested I search through one of their trunks full of stolen gifts and take what I needed from it, I begrudgingly agreed.
The trunks were stacked in one of the innermost rooms of the outpost. I located them quickly and began sifting through one before I could second-guess myself. I had stolen plenty to survive in the living world; I tried to convince myself this was no different.
Still, as I caught sight of a particularly fine-looking cloak, I found myself hesitating, wondering about the deceased person who had once worn it.
When my fingers finally brushed against the luxurious fabric, an image flooded my mind.
I saw a young woman enveloped in the cloak, her delicate fingers resting on a brooch that fastened it. The brooch was crafted from lustrous silver, featuring a meticulously shaped tree at its center, its branches adorned with red gemstones that glinted like ripe fruit. The filigree border surrounding the piece resembled intricate lacework, a testament to masterful artistry. But as the vision focused more closely on that tree, I realized that not all of the crimson dots were gemstones.
Some were glistening specks of blood.
A gasp escaped my lips—whether it was my own or that of the cloak’s former wearer, I couldn’t tell. In my vision, her pale hand tightened around the brooch, pressing it deeper into the velvety folds of the cloak. In my reality, an unexpected ache blossomed in my chest, as if that same hand had struck me.
I blinked, and the vivid images faded, but the pain in my chest lingered.
Phantom gently took my hand between his teeth and gave a little tug. ( What’s wrong? )
“Nothing,” I whispered. “Just…just an odd feeling. It’s passed.”
And it had.
Yet, my woven bracelet with its diamond patterns tingled against my wrist, as if it wanted to be used.
My experience with my innate ability to speak with the dead was limited, mostly confined to my conversations with Phantom. I had never attempted to divine knowledge from objects before, even though I knew this was one possible manifestation of my power.
They said a skilled necromancer could uncover long-buried truths from the past…
Had I just uncovered something?
I heard footsteps. Hastily, I shook out the cloak, searching for the silver brooch. But there was no such ornament within its folds, bloodied or otherwise.
I shoved the garment back into the bottom of the trunk. After grabbing a few simpler articles of clothing—which mercifully caused no visions—I crammed them into my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and hurried from the room.
On my way out, I nearly collided with Aleksander.
He started to reach out as if to catch me…only to realize who I was at the last instant. He quickly pulled his hand back, though not before his fingertips brushed mine.
The touch sent an itch crawling through me. Shadows briefly arched up from my arms like the fur of a startled black cat. In the same instant, his skin cracked slightly and light bled through, shimmering faintly between us.