Chapter 22
Who was the predator and who was the prey?
It was difficult to know as the Andraelian princes sat with lords, advisors, and a matron—taken down from their unholy thrones and set beside those who bowed at their feet.
All of us sat around a table carved with the map of Andrael, housing flags of various colors and emblems marking specific regions. The crimson raven stood over Tharen Crest and Cindermoor. Further west was an emblem I hadn’t seen before—silvern with a dove and two vines at the wings. I could only assume this was the elvish emblem. An olive shield marked east, past the castle, above Hollow Spire—Percy’s house, inherited by Lord Douglas.
Prince Knox drummed his rings along the table, blue eyes fixed upon Evandor, his golden bands quaking the cusp of the elvish lands—drum, drum, drum. His teeth clacked together, and his foot pounded repeatedly. It must have been difficult for this slayer in a crown to lay down blades and sit still.
In the quiet, apart from Knox and Neil’s wheezing breath, I counted the men.
Alistair and Briarwood sat beside Evandor, Lucien beside Briarwood. Neil was across from the lords, seated by Eoin and an old man I did not know. Seeing Eoin again—face shadowed beneath a hood, body covered by a cloak—he did not give me the same discomfort he had in the library. Though perhaps that was merely the Shadow’s influence.
Evandor took a slow breath to rival his brother’s fidgeting. His spine relaxed with the curve of his chair, his arms crossed, and his forest eyes studied the company.
All the while, dark magic sloshed in my veins.
I did not understand it, the Shadow, but I was becoming curious.
The matron’s lullaby continued to come and leave, caressing the ripples of my mind, and the Shadow settled deeper and deeper—past my body and into my soul.
Evandor sucked his teeth.
“Briarwood, the crown would like to extend our appreciation for your success in unveiling the guild. Were it not for your efforts, they would still be scheming under our noses.”
Briarwood bowed in his seat.
“Prince Evandor, it is my honor to serve you justly. I would slay a thousand men for the longevity of your father, long live the Torrance reign.”
Fist to table, Knox struck the carving of Caelithien shores.
“You will be compensated well, Briarwood. Enough drink for a hundred homes and a thousand whores!”
Briarwood bit his lip with a foul smile.
“I will gladly accept your reward, Your Highness.”
Evandor threw himself forward, setting his elbows on the table and waving his hands.
“Yes, yes, homes and whores are swell, indeed. The guild has been conquered, and we must now navigate the aftermath.”
“Aftermath, sire?” Neil asked, hands shaking.
“Consequences were bound to happen.” The young prince set his fingers along his brow, pulling them to his temples. Exasperated.
“We have received numerous ravens claiming the gods’ chosen are fleeing to neighboring lands. Volants have been spotted nearing the fortress of Shalimier, Feytras have been found both north and east of Sariem, and Bloodletters conceal in Sariem’s mountains where the storms are too aggressive for the crown to reach.”
Knox gave a low breath.
“We cannot get past a little storm?”
Evandor sent a sharp glare.
“Evidently, the God of Carnage and the Goddess of Wind are amicable. When the scouts—”
“I don’t give a damn what happens in the gods’ sick haven!” Knox shouted, vein bulging from his neck, causing Neil—even Lucien—to jolt.
“Who are you sending up that mountain, brother?” He laughed.
“Some damn peasants with the plague, falling over dead at a bit of wind?”
Evandor pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.
“Elite scouts attempted to invade the mountain. Bloodletters ripped off their limbs. The winds threw legs and arms twenty miles north.”
Knox scoffed. Evandor scowled. We all watched the exchange, eyes shifting left and right.
“For the time being,” Evandor grunted.
“unless anyone has another thought, we will cease our aims to take over the Bloodletters.”
Briarwood cleared his throat.
“Has the castle any potions that could help scouts on the trek? Perhaps an incorporeal form?”
“No,” Evandor muttered.
“And, with the head alchemist dead, I truly doubt his apprentices will be of any help.”
“The head alchemist is dead?” Briarwood barked.
“When did this happen?”
“Whoever stole the Potion of Disguise decided they were the only ones to know its ingredients. The potion and recipe were taken. The head alchemist, killed.”
“And what of the castle’s weaponry?” Lucien chimed.
“Are there any inventions that could reach the mountain?”
“Unless we have a dragon, Lucien, no artillery can reach.”
“Our resources would be best left in the east then,” Alistair said in sureness.
“If Volants are nearing Shalimier and others join, the crown might lose hold of its greatest stronghold.”
“You’d know something of that, wouldn’t you, Raven? Near losing Cindermoor to the elves,” Knox growled, and Alistair bit his tongue.
“Those damn god servers won’t make it past the Shalimierian walls. Not even the Vikings could take back their city.”
Evandor sighed again.
“After their city was taken from them, because—sorry to disappoint you, brother—but people can make it past the wall. As much as I do love the idea that our fortresses are impassable, conquests are a part of our history.” The prince lifted his hand, index finger pointed up.
“Which is precisely why I have concerns about the Bloodletters. We do not know how many are in the mountain, but I have seen one kill fifteen men.”
Play the part. Assume the character. Deceive man.
“Are there any means of drawing them from the mountain?” I asked, ignoring Lucien and Briarwood’s glower.
“Any weakness that might bring them near?”
Briarwood rose one eyebrow with narrowed eyes.
“What is a weakness to Carnage, Miss Fallen?” He asked with disgust, unstifled.
I did not delay in marking Briarwood with a glare of my own.
“Lord Briarwood, you mustn’t forget—it is not only the God of Carnage they serve, but also the Goddess of Wisdom.” I addressed the first heir.
“If we can reason with wisdom, they might leave the mountain.”
Lucien shared in Briarwood’s tone.
“And what would you propose?”
Neil’s hands kept shaking, and, gods, I wanted to tie them down.
“As you have said, Lucien, chasing whispers is wise, is it not?” I asked.
“We can spread rumors that surviving brothers house within the caves of the North. Away from the castle, away from the crown, they might feel inclined to venture out.”
My eyes were drawn to the matron. She eyed me with such a beautifully haunting gaze. Her ruby lips stole an eerie grin, emphasizing the line of her high, defined cheekbones. I couldn’t help but lean towards her, subtly, feeling a trance to be near her. Spellbound. Shadows danced in her irises.
“And how would they receive word?” Lucien questioned, but I didn’t hear intrigue—only waiting for my suggestion to fall apart.
Briarwood goaded.
“Fair question, Lucien. You may have forgotten, Miss Fallen, but the Bloodletters are hiding in a secluded mountain that no man can reach.”
I did not bite my tongue.
“You may have forgotten, Lord Briarwood, that gods call upon their Chosen. We do not know if it is with words or a pull of emotions or passion, but time has proven—in some way, the gods do communicate with their people.”
Alistair’s lips tugged at the corners. His dimple flickered, and dark hairs concealed his brow.
“Should our rumors catch the ears of the goddess,” I continued.
“she might impart such to the Bloodletters and persuade them to vacate before dying of the cold.”
Knox’s rings tolled against the table.
Evandor hummed—the wood of thought teemed in his eyes.
“It begs reason, though I cannot say if the gods would fall for such a trap,” the young prince said, then motioned towards the old stranger at my side.
“Lachlan, what says you?”
Lachlan was dressed in a robe of rich greens. He groomed his snowy beard, skin covered in wrinkles, and his voice gargled.
“The assumption is far reaching. We have never attempted to lure guildmembers by means of their gods’ direction. Perhaps we experiment through trial. Should deceiving the gods be successful, we might find other use for the tactic.”
The matron kneaded my mind, her voice a soft thrum, You know much in the arts of deception, do you not, Rhoswen Fallen?
I did not respond.
Lachlan continued.
“Carnage has become the cry of the Bloodletters. I value the apprise of the goddess’s influence of wisdom.”
Knox chortled.
“Ah, brother, our strategist has forgotten about wisdom.”
“Our strategist has been far more occupied in recent days, brother.”
Knox grunted.
“And for the Feytras and Volants.” Alistair’s voice set deep.
“Do we have a strategy for handling them?”
“Always excited, your friend is, Evandor.” Knox slung himself forward, marking the Raven Lord.
“All guards and soldiers have been tasked to kill a guildmember on sight.”
“Unfortunately, our men fall with them,” Evandor added, his voice tossing an underlay of annoyance at Knox—these brothers were not as cordial as I imagined they’d be.
“Our resources in the cities are growing thin. Too many have fallen to the swift winds of the Volants or the Feytras’ flames. On top of all this, we’ve begun to see our men turn ill, as though another wave of fever is upon us. We have no record of these powers.”
This was strange. I had never heard of a god bestowing illness.
“Sires?” I beckoned.
Briarwood cracked a glare.
“Again, Miss Fallen?”
“Shut it, Briarwood,” Knox cut, and Briarwood lessened.
“Has the crown ever considered recruiting those who serve neutral gods?” I asked, knowing backlash was bound to be had, but, with the Shadow collecting me in poise, I did not need a mask to beg confidence—I was enough as I was.
Briarwood and Lucien cackled in their seats. I did not expect a glare from Alistair, but it came to me, all the same.
I continued.
“There are many of those that serve gods who are unbiased towards the crown. At the beginning of the war, the executions drove all servers towards the guild for shelter. They merely fought the crown because there was no other choice presented. Now that the guild has fallen, the survivors are scattered and lost. The king could recruit those who wish to serve.”
Knox rubbed his square jaw. He was intrigued, I could tell, but I knew—no one would join the king. Not after everything he’d done. But my recommendation could be a distraction, so that a true solution might never arise.
Evandor scoffed.
“Rhoswen, that is outlandish. The king would never agree to such a proposition.”
Knox severed his eyes from mine after a pause.
“She might be on to something great.” A darkness plumed in his eyes.
“Lachlan, who are the neutral gods?”
The royal strategist gnawed at the end of his quill, shaking his head.
“Sire, not much is known of the gods, as the king marked them an enemy, rightfully so, at the beginning of the war. I am only aware of Slumber and Sight.”
Briarwood bit across the table.
“Happen to know of any other neutral gods, Rhoswen?”
“I do not.”
A cunning smile stretched his lips.
“Of course you don’t.”
Alistair growled, his furrowing brows trading between the princes. He refused my eyes.
“We are not actually considering this, are we?”
“We are,” Knox affirmed.
“No, brother, we are not.”
“You wish to play this game, Evandor?” Knox’s chair grinded as he arose—his beastly hands, scarred and callused, threatening the table’s integrity as he leaned forward.
“You wish to speak on behalf of the crown as second heir to the throne?” At Knox’s question, a novel vein pulsed upon Evandor’s temple.
“You are clever in a thousand ways, only you were born second. I will personally speak to my father about this. Lachlan will join.”
Evandor tensed. “Knox—”
“You might appreciate reading one of your books about the hierarch of monarchy, little brother.” Knox took his seat with a devious grin.
Briarwood cut his eyes towards me before addressing Knox.
“If I might be of any service, Your Highness.”
Knox gestured to Lachlan.
Lachlan cleared his throat.
“Lord Briarwood, it would be of benefit to visit the other lords and their cities. We must understand more of the gods’ servants that walk these lands and if any bare desire to serve the crown.”
The heir squared his shoulders.
“You will take some of our men to accompany you.”
I noted Evandor’s silence as he brewed at the other head of the table. Neil continued to quiver—a stark deviation from the matron and Eoin. I’d nearly forgotten Eoin was here, being more silent than shadows.
“It would be an honor.” Briarwood lifted his chin.
“I will also discuss with my contacts to ensure we utilize all resources to achieve our aims. I have many ears throughout the realm. If there are those who wish to fight for your name, my men will know. I will begin northwest, then carry east.”
Glancing from Knox to Evandor, I was caught halfway, finding the depths of Alistair’s eyes marking me. Measuring me. Measuring me as he had upon our first meeting. He sucked his lips as his mouth drew thin. A subtle clench of his jaw, and I knew he did not approve of my suggestion.
I told myself I didn’t care what he thought of me.
“Great. Now that we have that nonsense out of the way, thank you, Rhoswen,” Evandor remarked in satire, ribs expanding in a lungful of air.
“I will be accompanying a group to the East upon our departure from Alistair’s estate. We will be chasing whispers of a potential sighting for the Amulet of Light.”
Lachlan’s shoulders tensed.
“Are you certain it is wise to remain away from the castle with the unrest in Sariem?”
“You know I am not one for politics. Besides, everyone has failed in uncovering the amulet thus far. I will continue the search on my own.”
“He who carries the amulet, carries the light.”
A shower of chills flitted across my skin, the matron’s voice a breath laced with darkness.
“The Shadows search but cannot find,” she whispered.
“It remains hidden from my eyes.”
Neil spoke with no calm, no composure.
“Matron Constantine, can the Shadows truly not see the light of the amulet?”
Constantine’s neck stretched, jaw tilted up, and her eyes fell far beyond anything in the room.
“The Goddess of Light had fallen so many years ago. Upon her death, the Shadows festered in the dark. They do not know the source that would leave them decaying to ash.” Looking at Neil, lashes drawing shadows across her face, she extended her hand towards him, and Neil leaned back in his chair.
“My children grow restless, Sir Neil. They starve to consume the light until nothing is left.”
“The Shadows,” I inquired.
“They are able to extinguish the light?”
Constantine looked at me, lips twisting.
“Yee who carries the amulet, carries the light, my dear. Yee who carries the amulet, controls the light. The age of the gods will end once my children command what means to destroy them.”
“The strength of the Shadows continues to fortify,” Eoin claimed as Constantine kept purring in my mind. Alistair’s glare shifted between the matron and me at the cusp of my sight.
“Even the corpses have been enticed by the dark’s influence. No longer do they stalk the wood, but raid those sworn to the gods.”
I felt no fear at the mention of corpses. I couldn’t—not with the black blood twining in me.
“Corpses have begun to attack guildmembers?” Lucien questioned.
The matron held her eyes on mine.
“The light continues to suffocate, bending to the inevitable rule of the Shadows.” You are destined to dwell in the shadows, Rhoswen. A rose of white, fallen to the will of the dark.
“The matron has been tireless in her search, watching through the eyes of the Shadows,” Evandor recounted.
“She will continue her efforts as I search for the amulet. Knox will be traveling north, visiting houses on the way to ensure lords remain faithful to the crown.”
“Too many filthy guildmembers have been found in the estates,” Knox grunted.
“If any have been influenced by the gods, I’ll have their heads.”
“After adequate judgment at the castle,” Evandor added.
“I cannot imagine guildmembers remaining in the estates after the guild’s fall.”
“Indeed, Sir Neil,” the young prince uttered.
“We’ve word that advisors, servants, and groundskeepers fled the night the guild fell. Of course, we presume they serve the gods.”
I did not look at Briarwood, but his eyes bored into my skin.
“As for now, we cannot say for certain if other members remain.”
“Gods, Prince Evandor, it is disgusting!” Lucien gagged on air.
“Our good Lord Alistair cut one down but weeks ago. I cannot believe I shared quarters with a server of the gods.”
Briarwood’s voice churned, nails scratching the table.
“You never know, Lucien. There may be others we have yet to unveil.”
I met his gaze, and the dark wrought beneath my skin.
“Alistair.” Prince Knox rose, all of us following suit.
“Once Evandor returns from his search, our father will be hosting a celebration for the guild’s fall. You and your residents are expected to join. All lords will be invited.”
“A day I look forward to, Your Highness. I will ensure my company will be present.”
“Good.” Knox’s muscles hardened as he gestured around the table.
“Leave us. Alistair, Evandor, stay.”
Each of us bowed and filed out of the meeting chamber. I was quick to exit, walking beside Neil and using him as a wall between myself and the matron.
Trading the meeting chamber for the alleyway, her song began to diminish. She became more distant—quieter. But, as she drew away, the Shadow… it became unbearable. It had been bonded to my bones in the matron’s company, the Shadow and I strung together. Only now, it seemed to rattle within, trapped between bones and blood.
“Rhoswen,” Neil hushed. We kept walking with steady feet, and he looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you all right?” When I did not answer, he lifted his arm. Wrapping my arm in his, he set his hand upon mine.
“Focus on me, Rhoswen. Look at the stones, the golden armor. Smell the crisp wood and ale in the air. Do you feel your soles on the ground, or my finger tapping your hand?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good, then you’re here. Not anywhere else. And you are safe.”
I did not believe him but still gathered a slow breath, smelling the city—bark, soil, ale, breads—and felt my feet tap the ground with each step. I looked at the gilded soldiers, searching for my reflection.
Within my mind, there was a final thrum, a single note, and a voice in the song—My children have plans for you, the matron said while slipping away.
The Shadow went with. My blood began to warm. Redden.
I looked at Neil, witnessing the faultlessness in him. I wished it was his comfort that drew out the Shadow, but I never knew man to banish the dark, save for the Raven Lord. Still, I was glad Neil stood beside me.
“Thank you,” I hushed.
We walked arm in arm through the alleyways of soldiers.
Weaving past gilded plates, something—someone—dire plunged into my mind.
Rhoswen. His voice was bottomless.
What had happened? How… How did she force you away?
Deceit’s words were barbed—sharp and piercing. I was urged out by a song that shattered my bind to you. Your mind had been overcome by another.
The matron.
The Matron of Shadows, Rhoswen.
Near the end of the passages, the air opened up. I took a deep breath with eyes roving over the market street. I unlatched my arm from Neil’s.
“Thank you, Sir Neil. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”
“It is no bother, milady. Will you be joining us at the meadery?”
“Soon, yes.” I smiled, curtsied to his bow, and looked back at the market as he left.
The matron recognized me, Deceit.
The god tapped my mind. She sees through the eyes of her children.
The Shadows.
Yes. She is their ‘mother’. Deceit gave a ghastly noise, between a hack and a groan. What did you tell her? What did you show her?
I paused to think. Nothing.
You must be certain. The fate of the realm is threatened by those she converses with.
I swatted at the dark when Deceit’s tapping was making me deaf.
I did not show her anything, I said. I refused to speak to her, but…
What?
She knew things about me, but it was nothing I had given to her.
Deceit twisted, nails as sharp on my mind as his tail was on my spine. Those who serve the Shadows take what is not theirs. She barters, schemes, and communes with the dark. The matron will take what she can of you, for you have been marked. Marked by her children. Destined, she believes.
Lucien walked past me, a scuff of air wafting from his jacket. He glanced over his shoulder to the meadery, swift stepped, lifting his hood, not noticing me. Deceit’s eyes scraped behind mine, watching.
I asked the god as we watched Lucien, What do you believe of my fate, Deceit?
Your destiny remains with the gods, though you will be tested.
Lucien worked his way through a throng of barterers with eyes searching his perimeter. He moved like a thief, attempting to go unseen, mischievous intent written on his face. When he vanished past the crowds, Deceit was keen. As was I.
Follow him, the god commanded.
I obeyed my god.