Chapter 21
Deceit uncoiled his spine, the knots pinching my mind.
The gods did not sleep. At least, that is what the God of Deception had told me.
I used to ask Deceit what he did while I slept, but he often gave rude comments that my morning self was unwilling to amuse. I lay still for a moment, letting the grim sunlight attempt to enliven my spirit that sank further into the mattress than my body did.
The morning draws late, the god uttered. Tell me, dear, did you dream of anyone in particular?
You would know. I spoke wroth.
The heels of my palms pressed against my eyes, swollen from tiredness and tears, and I howled a yawn with a cracking spine, lifting from bed. I looked out the window to see decayed sunlight skimming over the lands. I didn’t want to get up. Mankind had risen, and my desired darkness—the solitude of night—was absent.
A root was tight around my stomach as I remembered… Remembered last night. Remembered the dark lord of Shadows and bloodlust. I had wept before him. Gods, I wept before him. Disgust filled my breath, and I was half tempted to fall back into the riddle of blankets.
The god twisted with a groan of gargled stone. I am in your blood, and today I thirst. Nourish your deceptions, or I’ll bleed the cup empty.
I set my head in my hands. After everything that has happened… How can I face them?
Let us adorn ourselves in the art of my craft, child. Marrow and breath, clay and speech.
I remained still.
Deceit clicked his tongue with a low breath. Where is your friend, darling?
My eyes darted to the bedside.
Vera, the woman who romanticized killing, was gone. My heart hurled against my sternum. I wrestled into a gown of burgundy and golds, took a cloak, and left my hair down.
Down the banister, laughter echoed, chasing the hallways.
I traded the stairwell for the front room and slowed my steps.
There, nestled beside the twisting fire, were hairs of the same, roaring and wild. Her laugh clinked like silver on glass. I grinned at the tune. Vera was playing the part, attempting to fall within the ravines of the estate. I knew, because her true laugh was deep and uncanny—a laugh imparting knowledge that she had known too much heartache and loss.
Freya was beside her, wearing her frown in an upturn, teeth beaming in the light of the flames. An unusual sight. Once Freya found my eyes, her lips set straight.
I nearly took my place beside them, though another voice summoned me.
“Miss Fallen, good of you to join us.”
I did not know the time. Andrael's muted light did not distinguish time clearly.
My muscles tensed in my curtsy.
“Your Highness.”
Those forest eyes marked me once more, tracing my features in evaluation, and it took all I was to remain calm. The prince’s palm rose to the Everlaides, requesting I rise. Evandor stood as stone beside Alistair—the two unbearably rigid.
Staring into those eyes, I got swept up in my own mind with thoughts of Evandor killing the Volant, and my blood began to burn. Before the thought could finish, Deceit suffocated it in his hands.
Deception, child, he hushed.
“Have you ever been acquainted with the castle?” Evandor asked with a furrow to his brow, looking me up and down.
“No, Your Highness,” I lied through relaxed lips.
Evandor spoke over his shoulder.
“Alistair, I admire that your residents are so well conditioned in their respects. But please, Miss Fallen, address me as Prince Evandor. Your Highness is the title of my brother, and I am gladdened to be discerned from him.”
A grin took one edge of my mouth. I softened my eyes that begged to scowl and left a chirp in my timbre to mask my ire.
“Then might I request you call me Rhoswen?”
“If such pleases you.” A line sliced Evandor’s mouth, forming the sly grin I’d known in childhood.
“Your appearance is vaguely familiar to me, Rhoswen. I feel as though I have seen you a hundred times, though not as you are.”
The god spoke through a faint chuckle. Do you wish I had changed your precious eyes now, my darling?
“How do you mean?” I dared to ask.
“I have yet to know.” He leaned closer.
“At the risk of sounding peculiar, I felt chills cover my skin when I first saw you. Like a ghost’s touch.”
Deception is subtle, I told myself before saying.
“Princes cannot be titled peculiar. Best, everyone has chills upon meeting me than to title the Andraelian prince anything apart from wise, cunning, or clever.”
Evandor’s laugh was soothing as a caw.
“That charm is best used on my brother, Rhoswen. He might appreciate empty praise, but I favor honesty. Meaning. Call me peculiar, and I’ll aim to determine the why.”
“But what is a prince without the praise of his people?” I asked.
“Second to the throne,” Evandor said flatly, lifting a brow.
“I have the benefit of all eyes on Knox rather than me.”
“Giving you time to find your ‘why’s?”
“Exactly, and whatever else I wish to do.” Evandor looked at his people, one by one. He saw Maisie and Catriona chatting—Catriona holding her hungover head—and his eyes lingered for a moment. He watched Maisie take her place beside Neil, then continued surveying the estate.
“Best we away,” he said.
“We are already late.” And the greens of his eyes marked me a final time before departing towards the oak door.
Alistair stayed back as I turned, heading for Vera. His fingers grazed my wrist, giving me pause and causing me to glance back at him.
In Alistair’s eyes, the darkness was a nourished stream of black water. I tried finding the hatred in them, anything that’d remind me he was born of darkness, but, as he softly tugged me from the others, I only saw the unreadability that made Alistair, Alistair.
“How are you feeling, Miss Fallen?” he hushed in the corner, releasing my wrist.
Any emotions I had, I gave to Deceit. I’d be as stone as the Raven Lord.
“I am well,” I said plainly.
“And are you well this day, good lord?”
Alistair took a step nearer, so I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and clasped my hands at my back, mirroring the stature I’d always seen him wear. His stature hardened in return.
“Rhoswen, last night—”
I held myself, austere.
“In the great hall, when…” He paused and looked at those around, ensuring privacy, then spoke quietly.
“I only caution you, be careful of the Shadows. I have known its sway for many years, and there is no ease in breaking its hold.”
I felt my heart, my throat, my mind. Mourning, tears, questions. Deceit held tighter, keeping me steady.
“Lord Alistair, there is something I wish to ask you.” He tilted his head towards me, dark hairs grazing his brow. I continued.
“You made the Shadow leave. I thought…” Lords were supposed to welcome Shadows.
“What incantation did you perform yesterday?”
“I cannot say.”
A thread of eagerness slipped through Deceit’s fingers and caught my tongue.
“Teach me,” I said, a swift pang reminding me who I spoke to—a formidable lord. I lessened with a.
“Please. Please, teach me.”
His fingers ran through his dark hair, rebel strands falling back in place to conceal the strain locking his brows. His strong, sharp jaw caught torchlight. As did his broad shoulders.
“I cannot teach you, Rhoswen.”
“Then what will become of me? What I saw, what I felt—”
“It cannot be taught.” His whisper shook me inside.
“It is innate.”
“You lie.” I stood to my toes, letting a glare finally bloom on my face.
“Man is not born with incantations.”
Alistair leaned forward, closing the gap between us—it made me want to get off my toes, sharing the same air as him, but I held myself tall. Not as tall as him, unfortunately. Upon my toes, I only reached his shoulders.
He growled.
“Perhaps I will be honest with you once you are honest with me.”
“In a realm where lies are spread as truths, you are quite obsessed with honesty.”
What I said made him crack a grin, but I was in agonizing frustration.
“When you left in the night, where had you gone?” He asked, leaning nearer, swallowing me in his shadow. A challenge.
“Where does your sister come from?”
I stayed my ground, toes aching.
“As I said, savages overthrew her village in the East, outside Shalimier.”
“Where does your sister come from?”
“East.”
“Then tell me, Miss Fallen, how did you manage a four-day ride in two?”
Sands. Deceit couldn’t keep my emotions at bay—the strings of everything I felt were twining throughout my body. Feet flat on the floor, only my mask held steady apart from the grit of my teeth.
Alistair kicked himself back, shadows stern on his features.
“I do not know where your sister comes from, if she is your sister, but do not think I am a fool.”
“You are not a fool,” I said—he was reminding me of this each time we spoke. Unable to hold his eyes, I found the tops of my shoes far more bearable.
“Then do not treat me as though I am, Miss Fallen.”
I watched his feet step away from me with smooth movements. He passed me, and I reached out, catching his fingers with my own. Once more, that pang reminded me who this was, so I crossed my arms and wedged my hands between my arms and ribs.
Alistair turned to me, his brows softening.
“Thank you for what you did yesterday,” I hushed, neck craning to make his eyes.
“I do not know what would have happened to me had you not been there.”
His stillness was broken amidst a sigh.
“Unfortunately, it is you being here that has summoned the Shadow of this estate. If you had never come, the dark would never have touched you.”
“How are you so certain I was untouched by the dark before my coming?”
“I do not see a dark in you, Miss Fallen. You keep secrets, but it is not of the Shadows.”
“Has the Shadow marked me?” I asked, tension swelling in my throat. I feared the answer, but I needed to know.
His nod was my defeat. “Yes.”
Deceit hissed.
“Do you know why? Why the Shadows would choose me?”
He let the blacks of his eyes pour over me, captivate me.
“Perhaps if you would allow me to know you, I could give you an answer.”
Alistair left me there.
I followed the shadows of men to the carriages. The sun suspended in the sky, mist risen over the frosted foliage, and a breeze chimed frozen branches. The dark magic in the air was already slipping into familiarity—I barely smelled it.
Stepping past the army of statues, I dared to look, and I wish I hadn’t.
Amelia was where she always stood, only her body was angled towards me—as though she knew exactly where I’d be when I looked at her. Her arm was lifted, her teeth were bared, and her hand was flexed like she’d choke me again.
Our positions were no longer aligned, and her eyes alone followed my gait to the carriages.
Murderer, her stone lips mouthed.
I quickened my feet, looking to see if it was only me who noticed her. It was. Everyone else was busy rubbing away the ice from their hands or fixing themselves into the carriage. Vera motioned me near, but I denied her and headed towards Neil and Lucien. As much as I wanted to join her, I needed to keep close ties to the other advisors.
She shrugged and gave me a look of understanding.
Prince Evandor hoisted himself onto the royal carriage step. The Torrance Tree, engraved in gold, stood beside him. He relaxed his princely self against the bar fastened beside the door with arms crossed.
“Briarwood, Alistair, join me.”
I approached Neil. He stood outside the carriage, speaking to Maisie.
“I will talk to the doctor about getting you more sleep tonic, dear.”
“I do not need medicine, Father. I wish to leave the estate and never come back.”
“Maisie, we cannot keep having this conversation.” Neil shot himself upright as I approached.
“Ah, Rhoswen, a pleasure.” His bow was hindered by his belly, but his smile balanced the effort.
“Will you be joining us to Tharen Crest?”
“If there is room, I would love to accompany you.”
Maisie and I exchanged a knowing look before Neil urged her into the carriage.
Lucien sat within, letting the shadows mask his presence.
“Miss Fallen,” he muttered, tipping his plait, and the carriage door shut at my back. The tip of his chin was the only feature catching meaningful light, making it look awfully sharp, emphasizing his shallow cheeks.
The ride was rather drab.
Maisie continued to look out the window, counting trees, as Lucien and Neil bantered. Rather, Lucien bantered, and Neil tried softening the edge of Lucien’s tone.
“The light of elves is egregious,” Lucien said, to which Neil corrected.
“It is merely different than what mankind is accustomed to.” I had my say here and there—Lucien seemed to bite his tongue, and Neil would question as though to validate my thoughts, giving many hms and interestings.
We arrived at Tharen Crest, and the city was buzzing in the latter hours of morning.
Merchants withstood bartering patrons, demanding far more for far less. I could hear it from the carriage alongside the clomping of hooves down the cobblestone streets.
I stepped from the carriage.
Upon my last visit, the night kept the city hidden, but, beneath the jaded sunlight, I saw Tharen Crest with renewed eyes.
A grouchy stableman shouted at his help, the young boy scooping manure into a heap beside the horse-filled stables. Behind the stables, a fortress wall was lined by scaffolding, workers laying stone and mortar to seal the city from the lands. Crimson flags stabbed the sky, declaring Lord Alistair’s reign over the people.
Proceeding towards the gate, the edge of my sight noted the king’s crest on the royal carriage. I did not look until I thought my eyes were playing tricks—another crest opposite the other. Peering left, then right, there were two royal carriages, which meant…
There were two royals.
I recognized the white stallion at the reins—Knox’s horse since he was able to balance himself at the saddle.
Knox is here, I trembled within myself.
Consider this a family reunion, Princess.
Deceit, this is not amusing.
Perhaps you should have let the lord bleed out in Tharen Crest that beautifully dark night. If only the gods knew what was to come in recent days, he’d have died, and we’d be spared such an occasion as princes and princess. The god curled himself, tapping my mind. Your gown is befitting.
My gown? I glanced down, sickened. I was completely drenched in burgundy velvet and gilded thread.
Deceit laughed, low and menacing. Remember, Rhoswen, you are sworn to the cruelty of mankind this day. Use your deception against man and benefit the gods.
Don’t leave while I’m there.
Do you need me, darling?
I thought of Deceit’s mouth as he smiled—how it was lipless and stretched the span of his cheeks. He told me to forget, but how could I? Sunken cheeks, his mouth a line, the horns, the leathery skin, and his star-speckled eyes. That was my god.
Would you call me weak if I say, ‘yes’? I asked.
You are weak when you fail. Keep to your deception, Rhoswen. I will be with you.
I had sat at meeting tables before, offering counsel that would satisfy the gods. Months ago, I had told Percy’s father to delay executing captive guildmembers.
“Torture them,” I had said.
“Make their words bleed from their mouths, so we might know their aims before they die.” Deceit shared the captives' location, and other guildmembers rescued them.
This was my least favorable role. The most difficult. I could not lean on the god’s magic, but had to use what wit I could conjure without time to prepare. I did not yet know the matters of this meeting, but the royal carriages expressed the severity.
Wet soil mushed beneath my feet, and I held myself high where I wanted to sink into the ground—let it swallow me until the princes return to Sariem.
Maisie walked to Catriona, laid down her troubles, and set a hand upon Catriona’s back.
“Are you all right, sister?”
“This bloody headache is insufferable,” Catriona groaned.
Vera leaped out of the carriage, curls springing with her.
“You know the best way to fight a hangover?” She asked, bumping against Catriona with a wild grin.
“More drink!” She shouted, making Catriona wince and cradle her temples.
“I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”
Vera laughed.
“We’ll get some food in you, and you’ll be fine. We must continue our conquest of forgetting that damn Earnest.”
“Gods, how could I forget him?”
Vera spun her eyes.
“Sands, Catriona, he isn’t even attractive. Your standards are simply too low. Or rather, your pickings are too slim.” She smiled to herself.
“Have you ever been to Sariem?”
Catriona shook her head.
“I swear on my life, one day in Sariem, you’ll forget all about that oaf.”
“I agree with Vera,” Freya said.
“It might be time we expand our horizons.”
I wedged into the crowd with an excuse me and stole Vera.
“Will you be all right?” I asked in a whisper.
“Do not worry about me, sister. I will be worrying for you as you sit with those cursed men.” She kicked her chin towards the group led by Alistair and Evandor.
“Did you see the other royal carriage?”
“I did.”
Vera grabbed my shoulders with narrowed eyes and a one-sided grin.
“You are Rhoswen Fallen, cunning and beautiful and wise. Do not fear these men. They should fear you.”
“Gods, I’m glad you’re here.” I could have wrapped her in my arms all over again, giving the greatest hug, and savored the bond of our braided path, but I had a meeting to attend.
“I will find you once we’re finished.”
“May the gods watch over you.”
“And you, sister.”
Neil turned the corner past the gate, the tail of his jacket flicking at the end. I picked up the pace, lessened the distance, and lost him at an alleyway’s corner. Twisting around the bend, I immediately stood, ten to one.
“Name,” a royal soldier grunted, dipped in gold, a giant amongst men. He stood one of many, ornamenting the alley in pristine gold.
Their armor was hazy in the Dark Era, but as a child, I’d have to look away from the guards beneath sunlight—the gold glinting so brilliantly, their silhouettes burned behind closed eyes for a time after.
The soldier’s breath drifted through his visor.
“Rhoswen Fallen,” I said.
Prince Evandor appeared, leaning sideways, and found me around the corner. He came closer and lifted his arm towards me.
“Little late, are we?” He asked, propping himself beside the soldier, his head level with the breastplate—though he was, by no means, short. He challenged Alistair’s height.
“Ah-hem,” Evandor muttered loudly, elbowing the soldier, making the giant move with a grunt. Green eyes peered down at me.
“It is a bold strategy, making royalty wait for you.”
“I have no strategy, Prince Evandor.”
He flicked his wrist.
“Don’t admit such a thing. In a dark age, Rhoswen, you’d best have a strategy if you wish to endure.”
“I’ve done an adequate job thus far, my Prince.”
“Yes, I would say so.” His lips quirked a smile, then flatlined as his right brow arched. His fingers stroked his chin.
“You’re a sturdy one, more than what appears to the naked eye.” He leaned closer, a speck of delight in his gaze.
“Do you wish to know how I can tell?”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“You have my interest.”
“It’s your eyes,” he said.
“Your eyes harbor a pain, though I can see you’ve attempted to build a wall, dividing the pain from who stands before me—and you carry it with such grace. Those who truly endure days such as these often have a difficult time living with what they’ve been through. Hence, the wall.”
I did not care for this—my brother dissecting me.
“I take it you’re an inquisitor?” I asked.
“You like to believe you see what others cannot. Or, at least, know where questions lie that need answers. You can live with what you’ve endured, so long as you're digging into the explanations of it all.”
Evandor rolled his shoulders, green eyes shone in the dark.
“Good work, advisor,” he said with his fox grin.
“Come. As much as I do love a good conversation in an alleyway surrounded by cobwebs and my father’s men, we are late.”
Palm offered, Evandor requested my hand. Beneath my skin, I shuddered. But, on the surface, I grinned and set my hand in his. It was odd how his touch felt familiar.
Chills. Chills coat his hand where our skin met.
Something of him recognized me—my eyes or perhaps my mother’s hair.
Are you still with me? I knew Deceit was, but I needed to hear him. I needed his voice to fill the void in me.
I am here, Deceit’s whisper scraped against my mind, and it was a sensation I cherished.
Around dark bends, the alleyway a labyrinth, soldiers lined our path. I walked in silence, my apprehensions growing upon each step. These golden men, once in oath to protect their princess, were now in oath to kill me. Kill the gods’ chosen. Fear was gnawing at my heels. With the gilded legion here, if my eldest brother should somehow recognize me, I’d have nowhere to turn.
I have resculpted you, my dear, Deceit spoke in sureness. Through the embers of my magic and the burning of your bones, I have forged you into anew—a white rose fallen from her throne. If one is to know your mother’s eyes, it’d be the one who prides himself on intellect. Not the beast with blades. Be calm, child. You will not fall this day.
You do not know that.
No. He twisted his spine. I don’t.
I do not recall stepping into a building, but I no longer saw the sky. Evandor released my hand. Paces beyond, a chamber flickered flames, and voices cast from the threshold. The young prince entered first, and I was two steps behind. Taking his place at the head of the table, chair lush in velvet, he motioned me towards the only other empty seat.
As I approached, a burly laugh shook the room, nearly causing me to lose my footing.
Knox. Upon his golden-haired head, he wore a circlet of the same, with dark rubies and black diamonds affixed. Bulging rings wrapped around each finger, and it did not escape me how scuffed and dented they were. Dressed to the divines, ravished in golds and burgundy, the heir to the throne sat in all his hatred and brutality. He was across from Evandor, at the table’s other head.
Between Knox and Lucien was a woman of eerie beauty—the matron. Sleek black hair, red lips, and a thin face and frame. She batted her lashes at my coming, her all-seeing eyes upon me. She smiled at me, sending shivers down my spine.
Voices began to purr—the feminine song swirling within that drew me to her, just as it had in the castle. All else fell silent to me, the realm slipping away, but she was a dark beacon that enchanted me.
Deceit swelled within to break her song, but the disharmony only grew.
My god… he-he began to shrink—shriveling in her hum.
What’s happening? I asked the fraught darkness in my mind.
She is of Shadows, Rhoswen. Stay vigilant.
Don’t leave me. I wanted him with me. I needed him.
The matron’s powers pelted against my mind, and she did not break eye contact with me.
Deceit?
It was wishful thinking, calling his name and believing he would call back. He was gone—cast away by whatever powers this matron possessed.
Her bloodred lips twisted at the ends. It is good to see you again, Rhoswen. The voice of flat keys had broken into the casing of my mind. She was there. Where the god should be.
I trembled within myself. Upon our last meeting in the castle, I was not Rhoswen.
I was masked as Freya.
“Lord Alistair,” the matron beckoned, lifting her long nails, sweeping fingers in the air.
“We must bid reverence in this hallowed place. The Shadow that had marked your father still remains amongst us.” The matron could see the Shadows, just as Maisie could.
“Many of my children often linger in the makings of Andrael before blessing another with their mark.”
I nearly asked myself what she meant by children, but I would not dare speak in my own mind. Someone else was there with prowling whispers. The Shadow began to stir. My vision altered—colors vanquished, darkness shone—a cold pressed beyond the barriers of my skin, washing me in dark magic.
My fists clenched, fighting as I could to hold back what was beyond me.
The matron purred, You must receive the Shadow, child. With its power, you will be great.
The odd speech in my mind was silenced, the matron fell quiet, and I experienced an unforeseen calm. My sights were hindered by the Shadow, but something of me conceded to it. It bonded to my bones and poured through my lifeblood—a matchless surge of essence. A mature, rare magic ripened through centuries, though something somewhat different than what the god offered me.
Though I could not deny, there was power in me.
Glancing down at my wrists, my lips curled at the sight of black veins.
I met Alistair’s gaze of stone.
If he was pleased—the Shadow once infesting his father now infested me—I would not know. Peering down at the blood in my wrists, his jaw clenched.
I neared the empty seat beside Knox. My curtsy was controlled as the dark soothed my plights.
“Your Highness,” I said, mid curtsy, hardly recognizing the resonance of my voice. It was cold like the matron’s.
Prince Knox arose, his thickset build far outmatching my stature. He looked like an ox in a royal costume.
“Miss Fallen, a pleasure.”
I did not understand these men’s desire to kiss my hand. I wanted to rip off the flesh from the back of my hand and let untouched skin take its place.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.” I sat beside him as the matron watched me—not with her eyes, but within my mind. I believed she still remained there, where Deceit should be.
I did not call out to the god or myself or the matron. I was fearful to speak within. The matron had already known my face, though she had never seen me before. What other secrets did this matron know?
Evandor rose, taking our attention with green eyes boring into us all. Leaning with palms pressed against the table, he slit his mouth into a sly smirk beneath his pinched nose.
“Brother, matron, lords, lady, and men,” he tallied us with an oiled voice.
“Let us begin.”