Chapter Fifty-Five
Some have always wondered why witches do not have creatures like the rest of the kingdoms. Wyverians have their wyverns, valkyrians have their winged horses on which to fly on.
Even the desert folk have their enormous serpents.
And yet, witches have nothing. We do not possess creatures to travel on from city to city. We use carriages and horses.
I asked my mother once about this.
She said that witches would never have permitted a creature to cast them into shadow, to prove that another could be greater than them, greater than their magic.
Tabitha Wysteria
Ylva was sick upon the forest floor the moment she and Hagan appeared upon the lonely road that cut through the trees.
The violent wrench of magic-travel left her stomach churning, the world tilting beneath her feet.
When Hagan informed his witches and warlocks that they would no longer travel by magic but would continue the journey by carriage, a quiet wave of relief washed over her.
Ylva had no idea where the carriages had come from, though it was plain enough they had been stolen from some nearby town and brought to the clearing where Hagan waited.
At the sight of the horses her chest tightened painfully, the memory of her white-winged steed rising unbidden in her mind.
For a fleeting moment she could almost see him again, bright as frost beneath the sun.
But before she could linger on the thought, Hagan seized her arm and dragged her roughly towards one of the waiting carriages.
Ylva had no chance to search the others for Arden, though she clung to the quiet hope that he was unharmed.
She frowned the moment she realised this carriage would hold only the two of them.
‘Wouldn’t it be quicker to use your magic like before and simply whisk us wherever you intend to go?’ she asked.
‘It consumes too much of our power,’ Hagan replied curtly. ‘And I require everyone fresh when we arrive.’
‘But won’t they be exhausted travelling like this?’
Hagan seemed to remember, all at once, that he was speaking to her at all. His expression hardened instantly, the brief thread of conversation snapping like a frayed rope. ‘Stop asking questions and be silent.’
So Ylva obeyed.
For hours she remained quiet, watching the world pass through the carriage window as they rattled along the narrow forest paths. The trees pressed close on either side, their branches knitting a restless canopy overhead.
They encountered no Fae along the road, which surprised her. But then again, they were likely nowhere near a great city.
‘The city of Floridia was destroyed,’ Hagan said suddenly, as though he had reached into her thoughts and plucked the question from them.
‘Most of the Fae have fled to larger refuges such as Hollowmere, where they may conceal themselves. Those who choose to fight will have gone to Velunthar.’
‘Velunthar,’ Ylva echoed. She had heard the name through Zagreus and Kage in the Underworld, though her knowledge of the place was little more than whispers and fragments.
‘It is their stronghold,’ Hagan explained. ‘Used in times of war, as it is nearly impossible to penetrate.’
‘Then why are we going there?’ Ylva asked.
‘Because we witches possess magic,’ Hagan replied. ‘And magic, if wielded with enough strength, can bring down even the mightiest of mountains.’
‘What about Eris?’
‘What about her?’
‘Are you not worried she might… go against you if she discovers that—’
‘Discovers what?’ He leaned forward as he spoke.
Instinctively, Ylva pressed herself back against the carriage seat, retreating as far as the cramped space would allow, but there was little room to escape. Their knees had been touching for most of the journey, a contact she had loathed from the very beginning.
Hagan seemed to notice.
And whenever the opportunity arose, he made certain that some part of him remained in contact with her.
‘Never mind.’
Ylva kept her attention fixed upon the winding road ahead, refusing to look at the warlock seated opposite her. She could feel his purple eyes resting upon her all the same, narrowed slightly as though he were studying her, searching for something hidden beneath her silence.
For a long while the carriage rattled onward through the forest.
‘We will stop before reaching Velunthar,’ Hagan said at last. ‘We must gather our forces and confer with the witches from the north.’
Ylva frowned, confusion knitting her brow.
‘We will attempt to find an entrance from the other side,’ Hagan continued.
‘Is that even possible?’
What Ylva truly wished to ask was why he was telling her any of this at all.
Hagan had never been inclined to share his plans—not with her, nor with almost anyone else.
The thought crept uneasily into her mind that perhaps he truly feared Eris might turn on him.
But even that did not quite explain why he was revealing so much.
‘It might be,’ he said.
That wicked smile curved across his lips, and the sight of it sent a cold ripple of unease through her. Nothing good ever followed when Hagan smiled like that.
Ylva’s blue eyes widened as the realisation struck her.
‘You have witches already inside Velunthar.’
‘Of course not,’ he replied smoothly. ‘The Kingdom of Fauna was the one realm we avoided. The Fae can sense our magic, which makes it difficult to glamour ourselves among them. It is precisely why we intend to destroy the kingdom.’
At that, Ylva allowed herself a small breath of relief.
At least no witches had already infiltrated Velunthar.
‘How did you know about Eris?’ Hagan asked suddenly.
Ylva stiffened at once. ‘I told you. She mentioned it before leaving.’
The faint spark in his eyes told her he did not believe a word of it.
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ he said thoughtfully, almost to himself, ‘and it does not seem quite like Eris.’
‘You know her so well, do you?’ Ylva asked before she could stop herself. The moment the words left her mouth she regretted them. Her foolish tongue would be the end of her one day.
Hagan’s large hand closed around her knee and squeezed.
She knocked it away at once, but his grip returned, firmer this time, tightening slowly until the pressure became painful. He squeezed harder and harder until she winced.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he said, his jaw set tight. ‘How did you know?’
A tear slipped from Ylva’s eye as the pain flared through her leg, but she said nothing. She would not tell him.
He must have seen the truth in her silence.
After a moment he released her and simply watched her. Then he leaned forward and brushed the tear from her cheek with a gentleness so unexpected it almost startled her.
Almost.
‘You shouldn’t cry,’ he said softly. ‘It will do you no good.’
‘Have you never cried?’ she asked, pressing herself further back into the seat, desperate to put as much distance between them as the narrow carriage allowed.
‘Once,’ he replied.
His attention had fallen to the tear that still clung to the tip of his finger.
‘When?’
‘When I found my mother dead.’
Ylva knew she should not care. She knew it would be wiser not to feel anything at all for a man like him. Yet the shadow of pain that crossed his face stirred a flicker of pity within her.
‘Sorry,’ she said quietly, so quietly she wondered if he had even heard it.
But the way his entire body tensed told her he had.
‘Why are you sorry?’ he asked with a faint frown. ‘You are not the reason she is dead.’
‘I am still sorry,’ she said. ‘That you had to go through something like that. It must have been awful.’
Something strange flashed across his expression then, something she could not quite name. Slowly he lowered his hand, the tear still glistening upon his fingertip, and stared at her.
And within that stare, Ylva glimpsed something that looked almost like wonder.
She had no idea what to do with it.
Neither, it seemed, did he.
Before she could speak again, Hagan struck the side of the carriage, signalling for it to stop. The vehicle jolted as the horses slowed.
He cast her one last look, something fractured lingering in his eyes, before climbing out into the waiting silence of the forest.