Chapter 17
RAANA
When Raana closed her eyes, she dreamt of him.
When she settled deep enough into the threadbare pillow, she could pretend any warmth it offered was from Adrien’s arms. She could pretend the press of her suffocating shadows was his body against hers, feeling his kisses pepper over her shoulders, her neck, his hands roaming and exploring her skin. Unrestrained. Unafraid.
Once she awoke, she sat in her own darkness.
She didn’t bother chastising the icy shroud draped over her body as the shadows protected her.
It would’ve been easy to say she needed protection from Nerissa.
Easy to say it was from the horrific monsters that stalked the forests beyond with their skin-tearing talons and teeth.
But what Raana truly needed safety from was her own shredded heart.
Because if she remained in the shadows, if she steeped within her own darkness long enough, the rest of the world didn’t exist, and she could feel nothing. She could remember nothing.
Not that the closest person she’d ever had to a mother had betrayed her. Not that a target the size of the mortal realm itself had been placed on her back by the King of Wolves, and… not that she’d betrayed the one person who may have cared about her.
Within a week, she’d lost everything.
But there was a voice, a tug, from somewhere she couldn’t see, telling her to get up. And for some reason, she always listened.
Even now, begrudgingly.
The halls of this ruined palace smelled of rot and horrid things, but Raana no longer scrunched her nose as her keener senses took it all in.
She moved like a wraith through the narrow, dilapidated corridors, the sound of her footsteps dulled by the shadows that rippled by her feet and behind her like the train of a gown.
It had been three days since Nerissa had brought her here.
Of them, she’d been conscious for two—thanks to the unfamiliarity and overuse of her magic that horrible day—and she’d spent them doing this: exploring their new refuge in all its destroyed glory.
And it was going… well, terrible, quite frankly.
Every door she passed on this floor was locked or warded—or both—and she’d almost killed herself trying to overtake the spells to get inside.
But maybe this time…
“Shit!”
Lightning shot up Raana’s arm when she wrapped her fingers around the rust-splotched door handle. She pulled it back, shaking away the pain and redness as she glowered at the entrance. She should’ve known—
Iron.
Every damn door here was locked and made of iron. And even if they appeared to be crafted of wood, somehow the cursed metal laced them.
For a little while, she thought Nerissa had been responsible for every obstacle she encountered, but the elder witch hadn’t been hiding out here long enough to install solid iron doors.
At least, Raana didn’t think so. Which meant they’d been installed long before her time, back when this place was still brimming with life rather than decay.
Five hundred years ago.
The ghosts of the past would be happy to know their enchantments and protections, clearly meant to deter magic, still held after all these centuries.
Her shadows hadn’t seemed to learn from her mistakes. She watched, brows drawn as they struck the barrier like asps, recoiling the moment they touched the surface in a trembling smoke.
“That was foolish,” she scolded. She wasn’t sure whether they were only protecting her or if they were equally curious about what lay on the other side.
At that thought, the ground shifted, and a low, steady groan reverberated through the walls.
Raana stumbled back as the stone beneath her feet shook so hard she wondered if it would give way, and a gust of wind rushed down the corridor. She threw up a hand, the shadows curling around her as rock and debris hurtled by.
That was the other thing. This palace, this former Pack Hall of Phobos, as wolves had once called the kingdom, was haunted. Or rather, it was cursed—imbued with the dark magic that had destroyed all else around it.
It was another reason Raana found exploring so difficult.
Doors and hallways were constantly changing.
Just yesterday, a trip to locate the decrepit kitchen area had her walking in circles before she gave up and circled more before returning to her dusty bedroom.
Good thing she hadn’t really wanted to eat, anyway.
Despite the inconvenience, she couldn’t deny her fascination. Whatever this magic was, it was unlike any other she’d ever sensed. Different from any witch, too powerful for any witch, and different from her, too. Nerissa hadn’t done this either.
It tickled at the back of her brain, how nothing seemed to add up with the tales she’d heard. What kind of magic had truly destroyed this place?
A rasping squeak drew Raana’s attention to the door she’d once stood before. Only now, it was different. It was no longer dark wood, but a lighter hue, and the knob had become a handle. She wouldn’t need to touch it, thankfully, as it was open a hair.
She stepped forward just as the source of the squeak came scurrying out of the room.
A twisted, sad little thing that Raana imagined was once a rat before the corrupted nature of this place took hold. It swept through the mist of darkness at her feet, running for its life, and her shadows, either wanting to play or just be assholes, clung on.
The rat writhed, screeching in pain and terror as a tendril coiled around it and squeezed.
“Enough,” Raana snapped, and the shadow released its grip, spooling back into the others around her feet. They all seemed to collapse into it, reprimanding the rebellious shadow for falling out of line. For a moment, she nearly smiled.
Raana lifted her head to the ajar door. Now, what was that rat running from?
She angled her head, tuning into her enhanced fae senses. Even the air felt different along her skin.
Oh.
Raana grimaced.
She was here.
She walked forward and carefully pushed the entrance open the rest of the way. There were no wards or lightning this time.
The scent of rotting flesh hit her like a slap to the face, and the room pulsed with a noxious smoke whose source seemed to be the cauldron Nerissa hunched over. She wasn’t wearing the scarf she used to cover the scarring of her face.
This room had once been a ballroom. A grand, sweeping, spacious place now with crumbled high ceilings and a floor of shattered glass, partially from the fallen chandeliers that had once dripped like starlight. But also…
Raana turned to the only other source of light besides the lantern Nerissa had at her side and the fire blazing beneath the obsidian pot at her knees.
Even destroyed, the stained-glass window was beautiful.
Fragments littered the floor in shattered pools of silver and midnight blue. A gaping wound to match the one left in her chest. She was sure that if she peered into herself, the way she peered out into the rot of the Wilds, she’d see as much destruction.
She’d sacrificed the lives of two wolves to save Adrien. Maybe that’s how she’d ended up here. A monster who belonged with other monsters.
“You found your way to me,” Nerissa said, her voice soothing yet haunting in its ease.
“More like I was brought to you. The halls shifted.”
Nerissa hummed, seeming unfazed except for her slightly lifted brows. She plucked one rat of many scurrying creatures from the small cage, squeezing it tightly in a fist.
Raana watched in awe, disgust, and fascination as the elder witch honed her focus.
She muttered words in the witch’s First Language under her breath.
The rat stilled, and its jaw opened on a hinge.
Barely reacting, Nerissa reached over to the vial on a rack at her side.
It was then that Raana noticed her other wares—vats of dark blood, monstrous organs, claws, and teeth.
From those beasts. Ingredients for whatever potion she brewed.
Nerissa dropped a rivulet of liquid onto the rat’s tongue, then released it. The creature ran… then collapsed in a convulsing heap before it stilled.
Potions… or poisons.
“Mother above,” Nerissa seethed. “Too much heartstring that time.” She scribbled some notes down in the leather-bound journal at her side. It was filled with recipes and clippings, as well as drawings of plants and animal anatomy.
“Could I ever do that?” Raana asked, curiosity getting the best of her. “Potion work like this, I mean. You’re creating brews from nothing but your mind, and they work—most of the time.”
Nerissa’s features curled slightly at the jab. “Likely not. It’s a rare gift of my bloodline, like the persuasion. As divination is yours.”
“I haven’t really tried divination.”
“I think you have without even realizing.” She flipped to a new page.
“I once killed a man with a cocktail, not realizing what I’d mixed.
All subconsciously. My magic drew me to different ingredients.
” Raana’s eyes widened, and Nerissa waved it off.
“Don’t mourn him. No one did. He was a bastard.
” She pursed her lips, going back to an older page with what looked to be a siren’s tail, before flipping back.
“Magic like this comes on gradually, divination likely even more so. If it didn’t, it would overwhelm you and drive you mad.
It’s why I’m convinced the High Witch never learned about you.
Seers cannot be seen, not truly. Which is why when she finds a powerful witch, one who may be greater than her, she binds them to her by blood before they reach their potential to keep them grounded and close. ”
An undercurrent of malice laced each of Nerissa’s words. Raana didn’t remember much about the High Witch or the mainland, where her image was splashed around on every corner of the three great witch cities.
Nerissa plucked up a vial from a bag behind her, the contents of it shimmering despite the low light. “Are those… siren scales?”