Chapter 18
Vera and I were shielded by the mist that held back the moonlight. Corpses had not chased us—the wood was only filled with foliage, olden air, and laurel trees that lined our path to the Raven Estate.
Skye neared the stables, panting after the full day’s ride. The crimson flag caught a breeze, and rusty air filled my nose—that dark magic, plaguing the estate. It hit me at the same time Vera’s arm tightened around my waist. She sensed it too. Leaving Skye to sleep beside water and hay, Vera and I walked down the aisle of laurels.
I kept my eyes from Amelia, hearing the statue grind as I walked past. Chills needled my skin.
“This place…” Vera’s voice matched the lifelessness of the air.
“It feels odd. Different than any dark magic I have felt.”
“Whatever it is, it is something I have yet to understand.”
Rotten leaves squirmed in the breeze. Vera kicked a pebble into the brambles at the edge of the path. The rustling made me flinch. Amelia kept grinding behind me, but Vera didn’t seem to notice. Laurel trees stood like the king’s guards, branches drawn like blades. The sky weighed down upon me—or, perhaps, that was only Deceit. Sands, the air was thick. Rusty. And I couldn’t get the guild out of my mind.
Red. Everything was red.
Something cold touched my shoulder. I twisted on my heels. No one stood behind me, but the dark magic clung to me. I had to think to breathe, the air failing to fill my lungs.
“Rhoswen, what is it?” Vera rested her palm upon my back.
I made myself take another breath.
“I did not think it’d be difficult returning.”
“But you are not alone anymore, sister. You have someone who truly knows you.”
Except for the god living in your head and the thorns of roses where the princess bled.
I stumbled up the first step to the estate, the god breaking his silence.
If you’re going to speak, can you not be uplifting?
Deceit ground his teeth. I listen to the endless cries of souls this night, child. Corruption brought a day the gods had not foreseen. Shadows strengthen, lurking in the obscene. Conspiring. But it is the frailty of your heart that worries you?
My fingers touched the doorknob, and a flooding of frost coated my veins.
I paused, not knowing if I was able to walk beneath the threshold. To step back into a house determined to see us all die. To face a lord marked by Shadow.
Every burden, each thought, drowned me.
Vera stepped forward and set her hand upon mine, warmth settling in. She hardened her grip, and, together, we opened the door to the estate.
“I am with you, sister,” Vera hushed as the hinges cried.
We stepped inside.
Dim moonlight traded for embers, starving for life. Only one hearth was alive. Our soles knocked against the ebony floor, and I caught sight of a silhouette in the dark, monocle reflecting embers.
His bird nose pecked the air.
“Miss Fallen.” Jones was hardly distinguishable beside the doorframe. Taking a sip of wine, he traded a glance between Vera and me.
“I did not think to tell you, as I assumed it was a given, but visitors are not welcome at the estate.”
“I will take it up with Lord Alistair,” I remarked with eyes shifting to the still corners of the room, noting the hanging silence.
“Where is everyone?”
“Celebrating in the great hall,” he said with narrow eyes measuring Vera.
“She cannot be here.”
“I will take it up with Lord Alistair,” I repeated, not willing to mask my annoyance. The estate was celebrating—my anguish and their celebrations were undoubtedly related.
“It is I who inspect those who enter the estate, Miss Fallen,” Jones said as he pinched his monocle.
“She is not welcome.”
Bitter cold seeped deep, pouring into my veins. My vision darkened for a spell.
The Shadow.
“You celebrate the fall of the guild?” I asked.
“Indeed, though she is unwelcome to celebrate beside our estate.”
I latched onto Vera’s arm, walking past Jones.
He grabbed my wrist with tight eyes, his monocle ready to shatter. He articulated each word.
“She. Is. Not. Welcome.”
Tucking my chin, I showed him the darkness in my eyes, the blood in my memories.
“Be careful what you rejoice, Jones. The gods are not known for forgiveness in this age.” Gods, my blood was cold.
“Your sins will be remembered.” I ripped my arm from him and strode on.
“Gods, woman, bite your tongue!” He called to my back.
This sensation, this dark magic—a piece of myself wanted to lean into it. It validated my anger, greeting me. In thoughts of the guild’s ruins, I wanted to give in.
“Are you all right?” Vera asked, halting our steps.
“No.” The dark shrouded my sight and continued to thicken. Vera’s hair washed to grey.
“What’s wrong?” She held my shoulders, peering into my eyes.
My tongue clicked on its own accord.
“Our brothers and sisters have fallen, Vera.” I toyed with a strand of her hair.
“Your hair seems so dull compared to the blood that stained the streets.”
Vera took back her curl and looked at it like it was cursed.
“What are you talking about? What’s the matter?”
I could tell her—The dark magic that plagues this realm has been lingering by me, making me have evil thoughts and turning my blood cold. But, no. I held my burdens with the god.
“I’m sorry, I do not feel myself. After everything…” I trailed off and gathered a breath.
“I’m fine. Well, as fine as anyone could be.”
Vera inspected me with a crinkle to her nose.
“Can you hold yourself together? Should we leave?”
I shook my head.
“Can you be Deception, Rhoswen? Remember, Deception is subtle.”
“But the act of the king was not. The princes. The lords. Even when I was attacked by corpses… Nothing is subtle anymore.”
“Do not tell me you lose faith.”
No, no. It is not of faith, the god said. It is a Shadow at your back. I can feel the dark magic in your blood, child. The god swelled within, warmth gaining.
“No,” I said.
“I do not lose faith. I am only tired.”
“We should go rest then. We can bother ourselves with the estate tomorrow.”
“It must already be curious I fled the night the guild fell. We need to join them.”
My heels resumed their stride, though Vera held me back.
“Are you certain?”
I insisted.
“Come, meet the others.”
Music played in the distance, slipping down the banister. I followed its beckon until I was surrounded by jubilee. The grand hall had been decorated in heather garlands with candles and torches aflare. The crystal chandelier reflected speckles over us like stars.
People swayed to lutes and harps. Violins and violas hummed, and the pianist tickled ivory keys that told a tale of battles won. Crisp air flowed from the open doors, biting at my skin, and the grand hall cradled scents of the gardens where music bled into the night, sweeping beyond stars and moonlight.
It was sickening.
Joyous grins swirled in dance and swilled wine. As I paced, I held the residents in my sight—each soul praising the death of my people. The cold in my blood began to burn, anger kindling, the god hissing.
“Tell me all the gossip, Rhoswen.” Vera held a glass of wine, the drink sloshing along the brim.
“Who hates who? Who loves who? And who sleeps with who?”
“This place is drawn on hatred alone. Love does not know it.”
“Then tell me who’s fucking who.” Vera begged in my silence, grumbling.
“Please, entertain me. If I shan’t be amused, I shall waddle off to bed.” She smiled at me, but it wasn’t returned.
I sulked at the table’s edge, angled from the crowd, and plucked a stem from the mound of glasses and sipped. Down my throat, it curdled in my empty stomach, so I drank more. Wine filled the gaps. Once I dried the cup, I exchanged it for another.
“Slow down, love.”
I ignored Vera. I wanted the wine to replace my blood and numb the pain.
She cleared her throat with an eh-hem.
“Sister, you’re being watched.”
The hall had grown darker, and the touch had grown colder. My blood thickened. I didn’t answer her.
“Rhoswen, are you certain you wish to be here?”
Deceit twisted as I leaned against the table, fists marring the tablecloth. You are alluring to the dark that haunts these halls, Rhoswen. Be vigilant. Be cunning. Do not allow the dark forces to deceive you. You are a child of Deception.
I dried another glass and slammed it against the table.
“I need to be here.”
There was an ire lurking in me.
I looked at the estate, those damned people celebrating the fall of the guild. Some were watching me—Lucien, held in his glare, and Neil who was quickly distracted by Catriona sloshing about. Then, there was Maisie.
Maisie’s seer gaze only validated what I knew. With widened eyes and slacked lips, skin fallen ashen, Maisie looked—not in the distance, not at my shoulder—but at me.
From behind her, a wall of mist drifted over the tiles, pouring down the walls. Candlelight withered until the dark consumed them. Music drained from my ears, cast out by a low drone that my dark desires danced to. Vera said my name, though she sounded distant, as though I was buried underground.
This was dark magic.
This was the Shadow.
I wasn’t afraid. A portion of me was still tempted to lean into the dark magic, and this portion grew and burrowed beside my pain. It held me. It welcomed me. And I welcomed it.
Vera’s palm set upon my shoulder. I still couldn’t make out her words, but the warmth of her skin allowed a flicker of flames to ignite. A thread of chords broke past the hum in my ears.
But the cold… It was stronger. Heavier. Carving like ice beneath my skin. Peering down, I watched a vein, dark as ink, creep along my wrist. I should have been afraid, but—
Footsteps resounded, near and far, like a weary knock in an empty void.
As I raised my chin, a man stained my vision.
Briarwood.
I nearly lost sight of everything. Briarwood was a figure lurching in a sea of darkness, the mist swarming, and my anger festering. A devious smile wallowed to both corners of his lips. His tongue flexed in his mouth, and I thought of all the malice he’d spoken, the lives he’d taken. His voice whispered to my thoughts—Whores are weak. Beat them enough, and they’ll talk.
Briarwood killed my people. He laid waste to the guild. The guilds’ blood was now as familiar as mortar to the stones of Sariem, and Briarwood walked in this estate without a lick of crimson to his skin. My fists clenched, jaw tightened, and eyes hardened so much so that I thought they might turn to rocks.
Rhoswen, Deceit called. Calm yourself.
But I was long gone.
Briarwood marched with shoulders raised and chin drawn, gaze measuring me.
Offering his hand, I did not accept, so Briarwood took my hand, chaining me to him. He did not speak to Vera, making no time for introductions. He only cast a glare, sharp as a blade, with an unspoken warning to stay away. Prying me from her side, Briarwood led us nearer to the lutes, their muted tune expanding beside the low drone in my ears.
We danced.
“Who is the woman who accompanies you?” Briarwood asked.
“I do not believe that is your concern.”
He was quick to retort.
“Those who harbor truths are often guilty. Of what, I have yet to know.”
Obedient to the dance, we severed for a moment. Our hands remained clasped as we shifted to stand side by side, then pivoted and collided into a close, repulsive embrace.
“You, my darling,” he resumed.
“are a wolf among wolves, only not a part of this pack. An outlier.”
A long sigh spilled from my lips.
“Please, my lord, cease with the dramatics. She is my sister who was merely in need of other accommodations.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Of course she is.”
He did not believe me, though his tone did not try to convince me otherwise. This lord was playing games. I twirled beneath his arm, and the dark mist curled alongside me. As I fell back into his wake, Briarwood held me tightly.
“Fallen.” My name met me in foul breath.
“Upon our first meeting, I must say I regret our initial interaction.”
Gods, the anger was a roaring fire within, and I was the oil or kindling or whatever made me powerless and this dark magic dominant. I… I wanted to send Briarwood to the sands myself. His blood on my hands—I could live with that.
Deceit tensed.
“Perhaps we can simply leave it to be forgotten,” I said bitterly.
His chest concaved with a groan, and he heightened his tone.
“It only bothers me so. I hit you before the entire estate, but still… it did not seem to affect you in the slightest.” He scoffed, eyes chasing fantasies.
“I only wish to have hit you twice. Or perhaps with a chalice in my hand. Something that would have demanded a response from you.”
I laughed a vicious laugh—one I did not recognize, reminding me that dark magic flooded my veins.
“Oh, it is a response you are after? Any response at all?”
“I cannot trust a woman who does not cower to my hand.”
“So it is your power over others that cultivates trust.”
“Those who are not beneath me have convictions of their own. Such, I cannot trust.”
“Well, whatever reasonings you have for your short temper, you give me no incentive for response, really. You’re distasteful, rude, violent, and still—” My tongue clicked three hollow clicks.
“I feel so underwhelmed by you.”
A menacing cackle clawed its way through his throat.
“In my house, Miss Fallen, do you know what I would do if someone talked to me the way you do?”
“I can imagine, yes. But I am not in your house. I serve Lord Alistair.”
Briarwood pulled me closer, his body firm against mine. His flaring nostrils drank air, as though he was breathing me in.
“Fallen, I’d like you to imagine it. A chalice in my hand, your cheek at the other end of my rage. The power I would show you as you finally succumb to my strength. Does that not sound intoxicating?”
I tensed as his fingers hardened at my waist, but I retained composure.
“Lord Briarwood, I know your type. It does not end with a simple thrash of a cheek. It ends with either myself in a grave or a wrath of my own finding you to your blessed death. A death I pray is forthcoming.”
Lord Briarwood twisted my form in dance, then wound me forcefully in his arms.
“And who do you pray to, Fallen? The gods? They cannot hear you. They’ve abandoned us. This is your place in Andrael. Beneath the boots of the mighty men that pledge power to this realm.”
I wanted to cry the judgment of the gods over him. His days were numbered, and the God of Sands would drown him for his sins. Eternally.
I pressed it down and simply said.
“My place is beside Lord Alistair.”
Briarwood’s hands trodden down my ribs, holding me tighter. Arms, tenser. My breath, thinner.
He spat against my neck.
“That boy is a pawn in the grander workings of the king’s plans.” I did not speak—taken aback by his disrespect—and Briarwood’s lips curled in my newfound silence.
“Miss Fallen, I do find it quite coincidental that your sister was in need of new accommodations upon the very night the guild succumbed to the crown.”
“Coincidences do happen, Lord Briarwood.”
He gave a disgusting growl and lifted his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His words came to me in a dark whisper.
“I do not believe in coincidences, Miss Fallen.”
With clenched teeth, my back twinged in his constricting hold.
“You are hurting me.”
A smile crossed his lips as the lord leaned closer to caress my ear. He whispered.
“You have yet to know pain.”
I no longer sense my heart. I was a flue, choking on the smoke—the Shadow. The dark stirred within, clouding my judgment and leaving behind whatever was left. But I did not recognize what was left of me—a dark piece that’d never seen light.
In Briarwood’s arms, I was concealed from our company.
So, I let my skin soften.
I thought of nothing, and my skin became nothing.
Hands—once tight around me—now molded me down, concaving my skin. My ribs bent beneath his palms, my flesh burning at his touch. I held my hands at his back, weaving my fingers together. They became a muddle of clay, and I hardened my skin, chaining Briarwood against me.
He stumbled in dance.
“What is this?”
“Are you frightened, my lord?”
“You are mad, woman. I do not fear madness.”
My cheek swelled as my lips curled—my clay skin, weighted.
“Touch my cheek.”
“What?” He spat.
“This face—this face you yearn to break. Try. I want you to know what I am truly made of. What you might expect the day you are finally granted all your desires.” I stood on my toes and whispered in his ear.
“Touch me,” I drawled.
He shivered.
Somewhere within, I knew this was unwise. Briarwood’s speculations were at the rim of his mouth since we met, and I was now affirming his beliefs. But, for reasons I did not know, I could not preserve myself. I was freed from wisdom and thrown into the shackles of undisturbed recklessness.
One of Briarwood’s hands rose from my ribs, my skin remaining splayed with his imprint.
This man was incentivized to do my bidding, goaded by his thirst for knowledge. Or rather, the unbearable distress in not knowing. I knew his type. He had to know—could he break me? Could I even be broken?
Patiently, Briarwood’s touch grazed up my neck. I hid myself beside his chest, and his fingers tucked in my hair, his palm resting over my ear. He was neither gentle nor subtle. His thumb hooked the corner of my lip, and he pulled back. The entirety of my mouth went with it. My cheek bunched and burned as he stretched. My lips became long and drawn.
My face was horror—I could see it reflected in his gaze.
Briarwood’s eyelids rolled back until they could no longer be seen. Anger, fear, ruin—each taunting feeling aroused in his eyes as his thumb pinned the edge of my lips beside my ear.
He pulled back his reach. My lips stayed.
“It is impressive, Lord Briarwood, that you do not fear.” The rows of my teeth were visible from canine to molar.
“Most men would grovel for mercy at the sight of my deformities. Only, it is no deformity. It is a blessing.”
My skin snapped, ribs cracking into place, disrupting the song I could no longer hear. Briarwood’s other hand heaved back.
“You are a filthy servant to the gods.”
“Briarwood, I always knew you were wise.” I curdled the air in my lungs, sour taste coating my insides.
“But this night is not for me. This night is devoted to you, in all you sinful glory.”
“You will not deceive me in false praise,” he muttered.
“But, my lord, I will.” Each word slipped out magic.
“You see, Deception is the blessing I suffer. A face to stretch, words to persuade, tales to tell. If I say you will not speak of this, you will do as I command, because you will remember this as a dream.” I puckered my lips and blew sour magic to fill Briarwood’s senses.
His tension unraveled, locked in my spell.
My vision darkened in each word.
“Lord Briarwood, murderer of men, hater of gods, this night is in honor of you and your immoral triumph against the guild. Do not lessen it with tales of the woman with skin of clay.” In my spell, glass coated his eyes—his mind was weak. Deliciously weak.
“Tonight, you will drink, for your palate is dry and in need of quench. Tomorrow, you will awake, and this will all be remembered as a strange dream.”
I could hardly discern his irises from the whites. His eyelids fluttered as his mouth smacked open and closed, his tongue licking the roof of his mouth.
He sounded far from here.
“I thirst for wine.”
“Of course, Lord Briarwood. The gods command it.”
My hands fell from their place, and Briarwood only stepped thrice before he fell beyond the veil of mist shrouding my sight. And now, I stood alone. I was only glad for a moment, but the loneliness then scraped at me as I attempted to grapple with the dark forces that contested within. The darkened vision was suffocating.
My heart returned, and it pounded in my throat.
I yanked at my gown’s neckline while feeling the cold blood lining my veins.
Startled in the enclosing dark, I could not find Vera or the chandelier. Faintness pelted me. I did not know if it was the wine or the dark’s chokehold. Black veins chained my wrists. Everything was cold.
Beyond anger, I was now tortured by fear. Fear for whatever was happening to me.
Deceit? I begged for the god, but he was not there. I hadn’t even noticed he left.
“Rhoswen?”
Someone touched my shoulder. At first, I believed it was the dark to drag me down to the sands, but then warmth settled. Tiles harped with the twist of my heels. Lord Alistair stood beside me.
“Are you unwell?” He asked, brows upturned.
The icy blood in my wrists lured my eyes downward. I did not speak. Alistair’s eyes followed mine. I wrangled my sleeves to hide what churned beneath my skin, but he had already seen.
He reached for me. I jolted back. I would have fled then, but my vision was overtaken by the pall of mist. Where would I go? Would I fall back into Briarwood’s arms? Would the Shadow eat me alive? I looked everywhere, but there was only mist. The hum filled my ears.
“Rhoswen,” Alistair said my name again, cracking through the hum, clear as sunlight that no longer existed.
“I need you to trust me.” Leaning forward, he found my eyes, and I found his, dark as night.
“I-I don’t,” I trembled, but I held onto his gaze. Something in his eyes anchored me.
“Only for a moment,” he hushed.
“Only now, you need to trust me.”
The cold, the black blood, flooded my veins and carved up my neck towards my eyes. The dark magic was overcoming me, and Alistair confirmed—
“Your eyes are falling to the Shadows.”
His austerity shattered, the stoned masked crumbled with worry parting his lips and straining his brow. He reached for me again, and I did not pull back. I could barely feel his thumb graze my wrist—the dark magic left me numb. Amidst all this, I could still smell him. The wood, the sage. It was something I could hold onto.
“Stay close to me,” he whispered and drew me in. Alistair took my hands and set them behind his neck. With his own, he gently held my back, as though we’d fall into the rhythm of dance. Then, his lips to my ear, he began to speak foreign words.
I feared what I did not know.
I tore my hands from his neck and dug my palms into his chest, pushing away this dark lord of dark spells. He hardened one arm around me and kept me close.
With his free hand, he softly pressed beneath my chin, lifting my eyes to his.
“Rhoswen, trust me,” he hushed with that worry intact.
I do not know why I stayed, why I did trust him. Perhaps, with nowhere to run, this was my only option. To accede. To let his enchantment pour over me, and it did. It overcame me.
As Alistair spoke words I did not understand, I was expecting something dark and sinister—a continuation of fear and rage to wash away the person I was. Hollow me out and leave me an emptied vessel for the dark forces to puppet. But that is not what happened.
The air, it softened. My ribs stretched with expanding lungs. In Alistair’s words, the mist dissolved. Vera was in the distance, watching me as Catriona threaded one of Vera’s curls around her finger. Others drank and danced, and Lucien caught me at the edge of his scowling sight.
The hum vanished. Darkness’s temptation left. There was warmth.
I glanced down at my wrists, and the black blood was gone. Alistair held me, arm around my waist, and I savored the warmth seeping into my gown.
“How did you do that?” I asked, holding his stare with my own.
In his eyes, there was a fleck of silver starlight. So soon, it vanished.
“We both carry secrets,” he hushed, dark hairs stroking his brow. Tilting his head, he stepped to the side, and I stepped with him. In his arms, his movements fluid, we began to dance.
“Do you feel all right?”
“No,” I said, and his brows hardened.
“What was that?”
“You know what it was.”
Shadow. I could not say it out loud. I was afraid that if I did, it’d return.
Alistair seemed to interpret my hesitancies and asked.
“Who accompanies you?” He marked Vera across the hall—her glare held steady.
“My sister,” I said plainly.
“I received word her village was overrun by savages.”
His shoulders stiffened in disapproval, and his question reflected the same level of shock.
“And you went alone?”
“It was urgent.”
“You should not have gone alone,” he said with his arm tensed at my back.
“The savages are a dangerous people.”
I looked at him, high above me, and challenged.
“What reaches of the realm are not dangerous in these days, my lord?”
His eyes darkened with nothing wicked—only depth.
“I hope you feel my house is safer than what lies out there.”
“I do not know if I can honestly say that. You saw my veins.”
“I did,” he breathed.
“I never knew the sway it takes.”
His eyes drew downward to the moonlit tiles.
“Not many do.” Burdens.
I sought his gaze, dipping my chin closer to steal his attention.
“Can you tell me? W-what does this mean?”
Alistair’s lips opened, perhaps to satisfy my unknowing and explain the work of the dark that even the gods knew to fear. But then, footsteps knocked the floor, metal clanked, and all—music and people—fell silent.
A discord of whispers swelled in two words that left me near trembling.
Your Highness.
Alistair held my eyes for a lingering moment, lips parted, because I knew—there was still so much more to say. I wanted him to ignore anything else and tell me. What was happening to me?
Please, I mouthed, but he didn’t. I understood—he had an obligation to the crown.
“I see you took no delay in celebrating our triumph!” A bold voice echoed behind me, and it haunted my thoughts.
Alistair and I traded a final glance, and he stepped away from me.
“My Prince,” Alistair spoke stoically, resuming is stone disposition.
“Apologies for not being present at your arrival. We were expecting you in the morning.”
I listened to their hands clasp together.
“Come now, Alistair. Leave the formalities in the castle. Our victories left me restless, and I was desperate for some time away from my father’s house.”
“It is good to see you,” Alistair said with sincerity.
Cautiously, carefully, I turned to watch the tail end of a cordial embrace between Lord Alistair and royalty. My gaze followed the twists and turns of the ebony circlet wrapping the prince’s throat. Rapid chills spread across my skin.
Evandor began a sentence, though, once he saw me, his breath stilled. Paused. He marked me with his ever-watchful, ever-learning eyes. Dipping his chin with a slight furrow to his narrowed gaze, the prince approached me, stroking his chin.
My stomach sank with locked knees. The god altered my face all those years ago, but Evandor was taken by my eyes—the piece of my mother I did not allow the god to alter.
“And who is this?” Evandor asked the Raven Lord, never taking his eyes off me.
“Rhoswen Fallen. A new advisor,” Alistair said, staying at the prince’s back.
“Rhoswen.” My name hung from his lips.
“It is a pleasure.” The prince took my hand—I fought the urge to recoil—and set his lips upon the back of my hand.
Deception is subtle.
I gathered composure and curtseyed in reverence.
“Prince Evandor,” I said with a smile.
“The pleasure is mine.”