Chapter Thirty-Four
Many make the mistake of thinking that tales are merely that; tales. Simple stories spun by firelight, meant to entertain or pass the time. But if we truly listened, truly heard the words beneath the words, we would come to realise they carry something far greater.
Something important.
Something vital.
Tabitha Wysteria
‘Get up,’ Mal ordered, yanking the covers from the sleeping witch without a hint of gentleness.
There was no need to wonder where Allegra had been hidden.
In this desolate castle where only a chosen few were permitted to dwell, no soul wandered uninvited.
It was clear that Thanatos had offered the witch shelter.
Allegra bolted upright, her eyes wide, still shrouded in the fog of sleep and confusion.
Mal stood at the foot of the bed, arms loosely crossed. ‘You’ve five minutes to ready yourself. Then my training begins.’
‘And if I refuse?’
Mal tilted her head, eyeing the witch with a detached curiosity, as though she were observing something caged.
Despite her time in Hell, Allegra looked unchanged—her skin still held a lovely brown richness, and her dark curls bounced with every flicker of movement.
There was a resemblance to Vera, yes, but Allegra’s features were thicker, rounder and unmistakably more beautiful.
‘What was it like?’ Mal asked, her fingers brushing across the black linen sheets. ‘Hell. Tell me, what was it like?’ She didn’t need to look up to sense the tension that rippled through the air like a drawn bowstring. Allegra had gone rigid.
‘Dreadful, I imagine,’ Mal mused, her voice low, the silence pressing in around them like mist. ‘A place you’d rather not return to.
’ Only then did she lift her gaze, slowly, until her eyes met Allegra’s.
‘You have two choices. You either teach me... or I send you back.’ She offered a shrug, cold and unbothered. ‘The decision is yours.’
And with that, Mal turned on her heel, her voice echoing as she strode from the chamber. ‘Five minutes.’
The moment she stepped into the dim corridor, Mal swore under her breath.
Of course he was there—Thanatos, lounging against the wall, inspecting his nails as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
That maddening, curling smile of his played upon his lips.
Dangerous, smug, so unlike Ash’s. And yet…
it was a smile she had come to enjoy far more than she should.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped, striding briskly down the blue-lit hallway, already knowing he’d follow.
‘Charming as ever, sunshine,’ he purred, easily matching her pace. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Mal halted, whirling on him with a glare. ‘What do you want, Thanatos?’
He gave an exaggerated shrug, that ever-present smirk etched deep into his expression. ‘Why must you always assume I want something?’
‘Because you usually do.’
His laugh, deep and velvety, slid through the air like a blade sheathed in silk. ‘Only came to observe your little witchy lesson.’
She resumed walking, the hem of her black dress brushing softly against the stone. The garment was simple, designed for movement. An outfit fit for war, or something close to it. She wasn’t entirely sure what witchcraft training would entail, but she intended to be ready.
‘Did Hades send you to spy on me?’
‘No need,’ Thanatos replied smoothly. ‘I simply enjoy watching you.’
‘But you won’t teach me yourself.’
He shrugged again, maddeningly nonchalant. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
A slow smile bloomed across his face. ‘On how well you behave.’
Before he could utter another word, Mal surged forward and slammed him against the wall, her forearm pressing tight against his throat. No blade was needed, her fury was weapon enough.
‘You refuse to tell me the truth. You withhold the knowledge of how to harness my divine power. So tell me, Thanatos. What exactly do I need you for?’
He didn’t struggle. Instead, his body relaxed entirely, as if her fury only amused him. One hand slid to her waist, his touch infuriatingly calm as he drew her closer.
Mal recoiled with a hiss, releasing him and stepping back with fire in her eyes.
‘You need an ally,’ he said, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he drank in her expression.
‘Oh? Is that so?’
‘In the Underworld? Most definitely.’
‘And tell me, why on earth would I choose you?’ She leaned in, so close their breaths tangled in the shadows between them. Her purple eyes drifted towards his mouth—lips she had once kissed, once tasted. The memory threatened to rise, but she banished it ruthlessly.
‘Because,’ he whispered, his gaze riveted to her face, ‘somewhere deep in that ancient soul of yours, you trust me.’
He took her hand, her stubborn, reluctant hand, and placed it over his chest, above a heart that had long since ceased to beat.
‘I cannot die, Melinoe,’ he said softly, ‘but if I could, I would die a thousand deaths for you.’
She made to pull away, but he caught her hand with his own, anchoring it there. ‘Look at me, Melinoe.’
And she did.
The moment their eyes met, she felt it. That stillness, that certainty.
Something ancient and irrevocable stirred in the air between them.
She didn’t know why. She didn’t want to know why.
But in that breathless instant, she knew.
He would kneel for her. He would sever his own limbs if she asked it.
He would bleed every shadow from his soul if it meant easing her pain.
‘The curse…’ she began, her voice a whisper of doubt.
‘It’s not the curse,’ he said quickly, the plea raw in his voice, his eyes dark with desperate truth. ‘It’s not the curse that binds me to this.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘You,’ he breathed. ‘Only you.’
Mal looked away, but his fingers found her chin, tilting it with quiet insistence until her stare met his once more.
‘Trust me, Melinoe,’ he said, the words a ghost of breath against her skin. ‘It isn’t the curse.’
‘How am I meant to trust someone who keeps secrets from me?’ she muttered, her voice laced with venom.
‘Ash—’
She shoved him hard, fury flashing like wildfire in her purple eyes. He flinched, recognising his misstep instantly, and raised his hands in quiet surrender.
‘Don’t you dare speak his name, Thanatos,’ she hissed, jabbing her finger against his chest.
His gaze dropped, shame shadowing his features. ‘Does he not lie to you?’ he asked quietly, as though he could not bear the storm he’d conjured in her eyes.
‘What would you know?’
‘I know your husband plays his own games,’ Thanatos said, his voice hardening. ‘And that you're neck-deep in this cursed mess because he didn’t think it necessary to tell you the truth.’
‘How dare you—’
‘Am I wrong?’ He lifted his head at last, meeting her stare with blazing sincerity. His jaw was taut, fists clenched at his sides. ‘Tell me I’m wrong, Melinoe.’
‘It’s none of your concern,’ she snapped.
‘But it is.’
‘Why?’ she challenged.
His chest rose sharply. He took a single step forward, and something fractured across his expression, something fragile and furious. ‘Because you’re my—’ But the words caught in his throat, and he turned away sharply, biting down on his fist to stop them escaping.
Mal shook her head, disbelief and exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
‘Say whatever you like, Thanatos. But even you are incapable of giving me the truth. You hoard secrets, spin half-truths, bury the rest in shadows. And now you ask for trust?’ She lifted her hands, her voice tired, but unwavering.
‘Do what you please. Be whatever it is you claim to be. But don’t ask for what I cannot give. Not now. Not to you.’
She turned, her silhouette receding into the corridor’s gloom, never once looking back.
…
‘Witchcraft is taught and learnt,’ Allegra said softly, her voice like the hush before a storm.
‘But more than that, it lives within us. It is woven into our blood, a birthright etched in every thread of our being.’ She lifted her hands and the black runes spiralling along her arms shimmered faintly.
From her fingertips, a curl of green smoke unfurled, writhing like breath made visible.
‘You must feel it from within. Seek it. It lies dormant inside you. Magic slumbers until we are old enough to wield it. Witches undergo the Awakening at the age of five, when the power within finally stirs and claims us.’
‘Before then you have no magic at all?’ Mal asked, her brow furrowed.
They were seated just beyond the front doors of the shadowed castle, surrounded by dead grass that stood stiff and unmoving, untouched by breeze or breath, in a realm where wind had long since ceased to exist.
‘The magic is there, yes,’ Allegra replied, her tone almost wistful. ‘But it sleeps. It would be far too perilous for a child of two to command such force. At five it awakens, but it is still faint. The runes mark the moment our magic comes to life. That’s when we truly become witches.’
Mal glanced down at her own pale hands, ghostlike in the stillness. All she could see were the delicate black veins beneath her skin. No runes, no sign of dormant power.
‘Close your eyes,’ Allegra instructed gently. ‘Feel for it. Search for that elusive thread of magic.’
Mal obeyed, her eyelids fluttering shut. She reached inward, though she wasn’t certain how. All she found were shadows, memories she had no desire to revisit.
‘Be patient,’ Allegra murmured. ‘Your magic has been buried for a very long time. It won’t come easily. But it’s there. Waiting.’
Mal drew a long, deliberate breath and forced her shoulders to soften. She emptied her mind, willing whatever lay hidden within her to rise and lead her to that silent reservoir of power.
Nothing stirred.