Chapter 20
“You shouldn’t go alone.” Jestin has already said it a dozen times. Like a barrel organ — persistent and irritating, but still somehow impressive.
I have no idea how he manages to keep his hair flawless while grieving. I looked like a gravehag for months.
I won’t snap at him, only because he’s suffering. Instead, I settle on rolling my eyes. They are in danger of falling out from the repetitive movement. Knowing the prick, he won’t stop, even when my eye fluids decorate the mossy soil.
Goodbye, my beautiful golden eyes. It was nice to have you here.
Aidon only shakes his head. If I didn’t know better, I would say he is disappointed that I can’t let it go.
I have every right to be upset.
Riven offers me a tiny smile, but I don’t return it. I don’t want anything from them; they can stick it up their arseholes and push it up their bowels with a plunger, to make sure it stays there.
I thought Fae get even, not pitiful, says Aidon. I turn to glare daggers at him, but seeing his amusement, I muster a poker face.
There’s no winning with him. He raises an eyebrow but lets the topic rest.
“The Forest Witch is ancient and cunning; she certainly has plotted something,” Riven warns.
I get in his face, barely reaching his shoulder, yet I raise my chin and glare daggers into his unyielding moon-kissed orbs.
It takes all the will I can spare, aside from keeping the power in check, not to let his expression soften me up.
I am determined to stay upset.
“If I needed your advice, General, I would ask,” I reply flatly, and observe the pain appearing behind those gorgeous eyes.
I ignore the pinch of guilt. What’s one more crime against an ocean of it?
No one else says anything, which I take as a clue to go on with my visit.
I turn away from them, from the tent I created for us, and head on the road to the Witch’s hut. It’s a short, fairly safe walk from our temporary campsite.
For the first time since I decided to resume my duties, I am alone. Was it only an illusion of sharing the burden with them? Or am I brooding?
I pause my inner monologue and take a deep breath, bracing for a sarcastic retort, but it doesn’t come.
I suppose I am alone.
I am not your entertainment. Aidon sneers in my head.
Shame burns my cheeks, but it washes away as soon as I see my destination.
The hut looks weird in the dense Forest. It must be the only Fae-built building here, yet it gives the vibe of belonging exactly in that spot.
I check in with my power. The energy’s swirling, alert. Ready to be used, but only if I keep my temper. But how the fuck does one keep their temper while living through so much?
At least I am alive. Not like Nulok. Or the others.
I step on the veranda, my steps unapologetically loud on the wooden floor. Is knocking the correct procedure, or should I establish who’s the powerhouse and barge in?
Before I make up my mind, the door swings open with a creak. Is this supposed to be an invitation? I’ll pass.
A short female with dark walnut hair appears on the other side of the frame and greets me with a waist bow.
I acknowledge her.
“Are you coming inside, or what?” Hora’s voice sounds from the inside of the hut, which looks even less welcoming up close.
“I guess I am,” I mumble under my breath and walk in.
As soon as I step through the threshold, I detect a slick magic barrier.
Trap? Protection? Is it soundproof? Definitely no ‘kill any visitor on the first step’ kind of barrier, so I store it for later and focus on the female. She looks young, but the air around her trembles with her concealed power, giving off both a strangely familiar and foreign scent.
I inspect her face for any signs of deception and find nothing indicating evil intentions. She is standing still, letting me pass judgment. Finally, I nod. In reply, she offers me a dimpled smile, reaching to take my coat and hangs it in the cluttered wardrobe.
“I’m Karo, happy to be of service, My Lady.” Her tone is gentle and unbothered. She gestures to follow her, and I do that.
From the outside, the hut seemed much, much smaller.
We walk through a narrow corridor with dozens of strange paintings and shelves of mostly forbidden ingredients.
I guess even a Queen cannot prosecute for all acts of lawlessness. In reality, ruling is walking a very thin line between supervision and totalitarianism.
Finally, we enter the farthest door from the left, and the smell of blood hits my nostrils, making me gag.
In my defence, I am a lady, not a fucking peasant.
The female lets me maintain my dignity and doesn’t comment on it, so I assess the room. An alchemy lab; nothing more, nothing less.
A jumble of ingredients barely fit on the shelves, which are on their last… nails. On the floor lies a crimson carpet, full of darker discolourations from Gorok knows what, and in the centre of the room sits a giant fireplace with a worn-out cauldron.
The Forest Witch stares into it, totally ignoring the smoke which is assaulting her face.
“Why did you help me?” I decide to use her distraction to my advantage, abandoning the semblance of a good upbringing.
She won’t quit the alliance now. She wants something from me, and I don’t believe she will mince her words.
She tilts her chin, coughs, and forms a maddening smile. Even in her young body, she looks aged. Mature and all-knowing, her gaze has the ruthlessness of someone who has lived through too much.
I spoke of what I know.
I frown as her voice sounds in the air, but she hasn’t opened her mouth. Is it a form of mind intrusion?
“You are not the sharpest tool in the box, are you?” This time she uses her mouth, exposing yellow teeth. “You, my dear, have more pressing matters than the False King and his war. You need to correct what you neglected.”
“Are you talking about the spirits?” I ask, careful to avoid thinking about the implications.
She nods, getting agitated. “The spirits of the massacre are unsettled. While initially they were patiently waiting for your return to perform your duty, now they are reckless. They don’t have long before they vanish completely or get snatched by the Limborians.
” I flinch when she names what I’ve done a massacre, earning myself a scrutinising glare for the rest of the speech.
“Can I do it now?” I ask.
“Commanding the spirits is possible only on Samhain, when the Veil is the thinnest, at the gate Beriganders used to enter the continent. Only a true descendant of Gorok can command and gather all Fae-like folks in the Spiritland, allowing them to cross the Bridge to their resting place. The longer they linger, the less hope there is that they will survive. The suffering in the void is immense.”
“They’ve been wandering in the Spiritland for far too long, but even Vanishing would be better for them than what’s happening now. Limborians hunt them.”
Soul eaters.
I flinch; the ghouls have unlimited access to the Limbo. They are due to hunt any wandering spirits.
“I won’t make it in time!” Panic laces my words.
“Make time!” The Witch snaps, throwing some leaves into the cauldron. “It is your duty.”
She studies me carefully, and the slick power of the hut caresses my shoulders. I let her. What else can I do? Ask her not to?
“You have no control. Even with that leech, you are barely useful for anything.” The Vikan spits, piercing my ego.
Can’t she be fucking nicer?
“I thought I had more time to control my powers!” They should have said something instead of playing games with my feelings. I let myself be manipulated once again. Never again. I will not let others play me.
She shakes her head, as if to say I am helpless.
“I can help you tip the scale, but the cost of the shortcut may be disastrous,” she says, looking at the ingredients behind me.
“What do you mean?” I turn, following her gaze. There’s a small box on the middle shelf, emanating an oddly familiar yet foreign energy.
“I have a remedy that can put a part of your power to sleep, but be warned: it’s deadly and addictive. The root will poison not only your body, but it will eat away at your mind if you overdose.”
“But I could wield the power? I’d be ready?” The hope nearly knocks the wind out of me.
She nods. “But hardly anyone survives the addiction.”
“I will do it.” Not a single bone in my body feels hesitation. I don’t have the luxury of turning away any help. I need to guide their spirits out of the Spiritland and prevent the war, even if it is the last thing I do.
“Not a word to your companions.” She stares me out with those creepy white orbs, and I dip my chin in agreement.
I don’t trust them anyway.
“I have a mind connection with the shapeshifter.” Knowing Aidon, he will not approve.
The Witch muses, searching through shelves. I wonder how she finds anything in that mess.
“I can disguise the image of the root in your mind as a sleeping draught, so even the shapeshifter won’t sense it,” she offers.
“What will it cost me?” Fortunately, I have a deep vault at my disposal.
“When you are crowned, I’ll visit you in your castle, and you’ll grant me a meeting with the Dragons,” she says.
What the fudge now?
“It is impossible,” I protest, shaking my head.
She hushes me with a raised bony hand. “Do you agree, or not?” she snaps, jiggling the remedy.
I glare at the phial. It looks almost like a sleeping draught anyway.
I need it. I don’t have enough time to set my realm straight. I have no control and apparently no trusted advisors.
“Yes,” whatever happens, it will be tomorrow’s problem. Today I need to fix my mistakes.
She smiles, baring her teeth. “I’ll erase the memory of our deal from your mind. It’ll return to you once you’ve been crowned.”
She looks at me expectantly, and I nod. We shake on it, our powers meet, and the bargain is struck.
My stomach twists a heartbeat before she blows dust of a black powder into my face.
Shadows. Clouds. Misery.
I sway on my feet.
“Massage it to your pulse,” the Forest Witch pushes a phial into my hands. “That balm will provide you with full control of your Arken power.”
I do as she says.
The change is immediate.
The storm inside me raises the alarm, then falls asleep, and my mind becomes a peaceful place for the first time since my storm woke up in Dante’s room.
The vault of the never-ending possibilities unseals itself wildly in my chest.
I smile.
“Karo!” The Witch bellows, and the female marches into the room.
“Yes?” she asks, dipping her chin.
“Pack your things, you will accompany the High Queen on her journey, making sure she is well stocked.”
Karo recoils. “Y-yes, lady,” she says, and rushes out of the room.
I set up to leave, stocked with a package carefully hidden in my satchel. The annoying feeling of missing something stops me from leaving the room, but the knowledge is beyond my reach, so I take a deep breath and let it slide.
“Good luck, Seleste Berigander. I am looking forward to our cooperation.” She smiles in a way that makes me nauseous, and I have no idea why.
I have one goal: to redeem myself, not to create a court.
The newfound determination rides me hard.
How could I have struggled so much to set my priorities straight?
It’s so easy; make a decision, and stick to it.
“Be ready to leave at dawn,” I say, stepping into our tent. Aidon lounges nearby, his gaze fixed on Jestin and Riven’s heated game of Curse Dice.
Motherfucking Curse Dice.
“Are you out of your mind?” I shout in outrage. That thing is fucking savage. I once lost an eye, broke a nose, and had all my nails ripped off, my insides exposed — but I still won. It’s only for those reckless enough not to care if they survive. Adrenaline junkies are making a fortune off it.
You start it with a handshake, binding your path. One dice, one opponent. You throw the dice, wait for a curse, then the next turn begins. The first to speak Surrender loses. Some do not surrender — the lure of the blessing is too strong.
The dice carries hexes within. Some are cruel but survivable: a hand gone, your sight stolen; others are merciless, ending lives in a heartbeat.
At the end, the curses lift, reversed by the dice itself. The last one standing receives a blessing: power, luck, or favour, whispered to change their destiny.
It became so popular that bet shops sprang up all across Rhodria. I left my fortune there, and still have nightmares from some of the curses I’ve received.
Many consider themselves fearless… until the dice proves otherwise. Fucking losers.
“We have a debt to settle,” murmurs Riven, and I shake my head. I thought they were smarter than that. For a heartbeat, I contemplate tearing them a new asshole for being so reckless, but I decide against it. Making friends is no longer on my list of priorities.
“Making friends isn’t a priority…” Aidon echoes my own words, making sure every male can scowl at me.
Whatever. I stare at each of them, daring them to make a face. They don’t. Jestin doesn’t say a word. The purple bruises beneath his eyes speak for him. And Riven’s face is coated in remorse.
Good.
“We’re taking a herbalist with us. I won’t accept any objections,” I say and leave before they can answer. As I go, I hear a hiss of pain, a curse forming, but I head towards the shops, leaving them to their stupidity. Even my shattered heart doesn’t bleed at the thought of them in pain.
“What’s wrong with you?” Aidon calls out to me, but I don’t slow down. He has no trouble overtaking me and stands in my way.
There’s no storm… he muses, probably trying to figure out what’s different about me. Something’s missing. You don’t feel the same… you seem… less.
“No winning with you,” I reply.
What happened at the Witch’s? he asks, forcing me to meet his gaze, his presence in my mind a sour reminder of my folly.
Why is he so goddamn nosy? Is it a genetic trait, or just his flaw?
“Have you had trouble sleeping? Hmm?” He searches my face for answers. “No, that’s not it. What have you done?”
Guilt creeps in, but I shut it down. I should buy more refreshment potions…
“Why the guilt?” He is looking more and more agitated.
“Listen, mutt, the time for your questioning is over. If you want to stay, you will respect me. At least, till Gorok blesses me and allows me to break the bond, which will happen because no High Queen has ever been used like that.”
“Or what?” He raises his eyebrow. “You like being used.”
“I will kill you, and suffer through the punishment,” I say, truly believing the words. Strange. So much clarity.
“You adore me,” he says, outraged, pushing harder into my mind.
I feel his presence forcefully tearing through my thoughts.
“Stop!” I command, pushing my will into the words, and Aidon falls to his ass with a mighty thump.
I am not able to stop the smirk.
“You…” he says with sheer surprise.
My chuckle is low and very amused.
“Serves you freaking right.”