Chapter 37
Isla
The castle rises. Towers go upward into the darkness. It’s thankfully a moonless night, and even though the stars are shining bright, it serves me well. I plan on taking full advantage.
I crouch in the shadows at the base of the outer wall, my back pressed against rough stone. My magic hums beneath my skin, eager and ready. I’ve wrapped myself in it, bending the darkness around my body like a cloak. Anyone looking in my direction would see nothing but shadows.
Getting past the outer guards was easier than I expected. They patrol in predictable patterns, their torches leaving wide swathes of darkness between their rounds. I slipped through one such gap without incident.
Now comes the hard part.
I tip my head back and study the castle’s facade. Towers, battlements, narrow windows glowing with candlelight. My mother is somewhere inside those walls. The woman who raised me. The woman I thought dead for so many summers.
I take a deep breath, then I reach for my magic and let it lift me.
I don’t need my silks anymore. The shadows obey my call, solidifying beneath my feet like steppingstones made of darkness. The air responds to my firefae blood, creating currents that support my weight and guide my movements.
I rise along the castle wall, silent as a whisper.
My hands find holds in the rough stone, but I barely need them. The magic does most of the work. I swing from one ledge to another, my body moving with ease.
The first tower I reach is the tallest spire of the keep. It is where the king would live, but since there is no king, I suspect that the Ruler General might occupy these large quarters. I find a window with shutters slightly ajar and ease it open, slipping inside.
The chamber is large and lavish. A four-poster bed sits in the center, its curtains drawn back to reveal silk sheets and embroidered pillows. Everything is pristine. Untouched and empty. There is no fire in the hearth and no candles burning.
I move through the room on silent feet, still using my magic to keep me hidden. There’s no sign of habitation at all. In fact, it looks like it was recently cleaned.
I slip back out the window and continue my search, using my shadows to rappel down the side of the tower and back up the next one.
The next section holds offices and meeting rooms. Even at this late hour, there’s light through some of the windows. I give these chambers a wide berth. My mother wouldn’t be housed among administrative spaces.
I swing around a corner and find myself facing a smaller tower. It’s not as grand as the keep, but it’s positioned well, with views over the courtyard below. A solar, most likely. Private apartments for those of high standing.
One window sits slightly open, letting in the night air.
I walk around the tower, preparing to ascend, when I hear someone approaching. I press myself flat against the exterior wall, wrapping shadows tighter around my form.
Two guards round the corner.
“Did you hear that?” one asks.
My lungs burn. I don’t dare breathe.
“Wind, probably,” the other says. “It’s picked up since darkfall.”
They pass just in front of me. If the one closest to me moved even an inch to the right, he would brush against me.
“The Ruler General has us jumping at shadows,” the first guard mutters. “Ever since the battle, she’s had patrols doubled.”
“Can you blame her? Her own daughter turned traitor. The little wench helped the Shadowfae King escape. There’s an even bigger bounty on the girl’s head now.”
My chest constricts.
“Do you think she’d really turn in her own blood?”
The other guard laughs. It’s not a kind sound. “Absolutely. I know I would.”
They move on, their voices fading into the darkness.
I wait until I can no longer hear their footsteps before I allow myself to breathe, then I scale the tower, reaching the open window.
The room inside is warm, lit by the glow of a hearth. I can see the edge of a settee, a table with decanters of what might be wine.
For just a moment, I falter. Would she turn me in? Or would she be happy to see me?
There is only one way to find out.
I slip inside the room, but it quickly becomes apparent that it is occupied by a man. From his helm, I would say that he holds a high position. I might be in the right tower.
I climb higher until I reach windows made of colored glass with swirls of bright yellow, deep red, and midnight blue.
This is a room that belongs to someone of importance. Someone who has been here long enough to commission such windows. My heart beats faster.
I make my way to a smaller window beside the main panels. This one is clear glass rather than colored, likely meant for ventilation. I press my palm against it and reach for my magic.
The lock is simple:, an iron latch on the inside. A thread of shadow slips through the crack between frame and sill, coiling around the mechanism. I feel it click open.
The window swings inward on silent hinges.
I climb through and drop into a crouch on the other side.
The chamber is dark, but warmth radiates from a dying fire in the hearth. I’m in a sitting area with comfortable chairs and a writing desk. Beyond an archway is another space.
Candlelight flickers from within.
I move toward it, my feet quiet on the thick carpet.
The bedchamber is grand but not ostentatious. A large bed with dark curtains. A wardrobe of polished wood. A dressing table with a mirror.
And there, at a small desk in the corner, sits a woman.
Her back is to me. She wears a simple shift of white linen, the kind my mother used to wear when she would brush my hair before bed. Her dark hair falls loose past her shoulders, no longer bound in the severe style of a military commander.
She holds an ink quill in her hand. Papers spread across the desk before her. She’s writing something. The scratching of the nib against parchment is the only sound in the room.
I stand frozen for a long moment, just watching her. She looks so…ordinary. So much like the mother I remember from my childhood.
“Mother,” I say. The word comes out rough and scraped raw.
She drops the quill.
Ink spills across the parchment, spreading in dark tendrils across whatever she was writing. She doesn’t seem to notice. Her whole body goes rigid.
Then she turns.
Her eyes find me immediately, even wrapped as I am in shadow. Her face is older than I remember. Lines around her mouth that weren’t there before. A few strands of gray threading through the dark hair at her temples.
But her eyes are the same. They’re my mother’s eyes, exactly as I remember them.
“Isla,” she chokes out. “It’s you. I didn’t think you’d come. I hoped… I longed…”
For a while, neither of us moves.
Then she’s on her feet; her chair crashes backward. She crosses the distance between us in three strides, and her arms are around me, pulling me against her, holding me so tight I can barely breathe.
She sobs out a desperate sound.
I hug her back, my face pressed against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her.
She smells like home. Like days gone by.
“My girl,” she whispers into my hair. “Oh, Isla, how good it is to see you.”
The tears come before I can stop them. They spill hot and fast down my cheeks, soaking into the white linen of her shift. I’m shaking, but then she’s shaking too.
“I thought you were dead,” I manage to say.
“I know.” Her voice breaks. “I know, my darling girl. But we are together now, and that is what counts. You came back to me. We can be a family now.”
She pulls back just enough to cup my face in her hands. Her thumbs brush away my tears, though her own cheeks are wet. She studies me like she’s memorizing every detail.
“Look at you,” she pushes out. “You’ve grown into such an incredible woman. So strong. So beautiful.” A sob escapes her, followed by a laugh. “So powerful too.”
Then she pulls me close again, one hand stroking my hair the way she used to when I was small, scared, and uncertain of my place in the world.
“This is how it should be,” she murmurs. “You can finally embrace who you truly are.”
I go still in her arms.
She pulls back, her hands on my shoulders, her eyes bright.
“You are Isla of the House of the Dark Dagger,” she says, her voice ringing with pride. “My daughter. Descendant of Ruler General Fenrik himself. You have a legacy, a birthright.” Her smile widens. “Welcome home, my darling. I told Queen Snow all about you. She can’t wait to meet you.”