Chapter 23
Deceit’s nails carved behind my eyes.
Each of his curiosities clawed within, leaving scratches wherever he touched, but our curiosities were married. Let his tail twist around my spine and nails dig into my eyes, and may his ancient breath stir beneath my skin. Some days, I believed my body was a cage to him. Others, a place to rest. Today, in these moments, I was an instrument.
My heels gnawed at Lucien’s, following his path into the bartering street. I stayed behind stalls, wedging past people tossing coins and voices. A man leaped in front of me, gave me a startle, and misted perfume upon my skin, setting flowers in my face.
“A delicate gift for a beautiful woman?”
Peeking past the merchant, Lucien twisted a corner, falling out of sight. I was losing him.
“How much for that?” I asked, nodding to his stall’s tablecloth, battered and frayed.
He gave me a look I didn’t take the time to read.
“That? Why would you—?”
I reached for the cloth and tugged it, knocking over some perfumes in the process. I set three coins upon the table and took a single, white flower from his hand. He didn’t fight, and I didn’t stay. Wrestling to the street’s edge, I whisked the cloth over my body like a curtain and burned my flesh. I became clay and molded into someone new. Or rather, someone old.
Clearing distance, I clipped the corner. Lucien was in sight. He abruptly threw himself around and marked me, though I was not I. At the other end of Deceit’s magic, I was an old woman plucking flower petals. Tucking the stem behind my ear, I tangled it into wispy hairs and pondered the grey sky.
Lucien seemed to assume I was no trouble and kept on.
My feet followed, spine hunched with an abnormal bend in my leg, making me waddle through the crowds. My breath was ragged, and my lips were dry. I licked them, and my tongue immediately recoiled behind yellow teeth—such an odd sensation, the texture of these lips.
Mere seconds later, the end of Lucien’s jacket flicked around a final corner into an alleyway. Barters had quieted into distant, muffled tunes. I leaned against the corner, and my neck’s saggy skin stretched out as I peered around the bend.
A man stood in the alley. He was dressed in tattered clothes and leaned against the wall with his head kicked back. Dreary shadows strung across his face, cast by his cigar embers. A scar was thick from eye to chin. Smoke feathered from his lips.
Lucien scanned his surroundings on light feet. I slipped from sight. Voices then began to simmer, so I peeked from around the corner and watched carefully.
“Lucien—”
“Do not speak my name,” Lucien stifled a yell.
The cigar’s cherry burned bright, and the smoke mingled with the man’s laughter.
“Sands, I have never known a grown man so damn paranoid.”
“Do you have it?” Lucien asked curtly.
A blade could have carved that smile—vile and roguish.
“Do I bloody have it?” He mocked.
“Of course I have it, otherwise, you think I’d be here?” He pulled a wooden box from his pocket and tossed it between his hands. “You know what I had to do to get this?”
“I don’t want to know.”
He blew smoke in Lucien’s face.
“Nah, you couldn’t stomach it.”
Lucien batted the smoke away with hacking coughs and reached out.
“Hand it here.”
“Where’s the other one?”
Other one? I asked the dark.
“Occupied.”
“Hm. I was told you’d both be here.”
The other could be the Raven Lord, Deceit said with a piercing grin.
Lucien sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a velvet purse.
“He is occupied.”
Lust became the man’s eyes, his entire being drawn to the purse. He reached out, but as Lucien secured the pouch at his side, the man came to. He pulled out a knife and began fidgeting with the point, then spun the hilt in his hand, box in the other.
“So, what do you need narchym for, anyways?” The man asked, opening the lid and stabbing his knife into the box. He lifted his blade, and a single, blue petal was stuck to the point.
“Someone got dirt on you?”
Lucien raised his shoulders and clasped the man’s forearms.
“Do you have a death sentence, Gorge? Put that away.”
“Lucien, I have been doing this a long time. If Fate would take me for my line of work, I’d be dead already.” Gorge blew the petal off his blade, closed the box, and handed it to Lucien. Swiping the purse, he began counting coins.
Lucien looked inside the box, and his face reddened.
“This is it? This is half of what I required!”
Gorge bit his lip and shrugged.
“The supply is low in winter. This is all I have.”
“Half supply, half payment.” Lucien went after the purse, but a knife glinted—Gorge drove the sharp blade to Lucien’s neck.
The cigar swayed with his lips.
“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Lucien. We will send word when we come by more narchym. Full payment is expected at the next delivery.”
“Yes, of course,” Lucien muttered.
“Full payment.”
The blade lowered.
“And what of the brew?” Lucien asked.
“Desperate for narchym and the brew?” Gorge clicked his tongue.
“You are into something rotten, aren’t you?”
“My matters are of no concern to you. When can I expect more?”
“Patient as ever, you are.” He twirled the knife between his fingers.
“Your counterpart supplied the ingredients mere days ago. It will be some time. But, you can expect it with the next supply of narchym.” A leer etched the man’s face as he sheathed his blade and bowed in mockery.
“I have given all I can. So, good day, Sir Lucien. And may you be successful in your endeavors.”
Nothing further was spoken. Lucien whipped his plait and spun to exit the alley.
I threw myself backwards—painfully slow, given the old body I masked in—and wedged myself in an alcove between two stone pilasters. Lucien walked past, paused mid-step, and angled his chin towards me. His glare was stamped onto that ever-glaring face of his.
“You are following me,” he said, scanning every wrinkle on my skin.
I blinked manically, my pale eyes flickering in confusion.
“Are you trying to rob me?”
“What? No!” Lucien tensed, cramming the wooden box into his pocket, and stepped to me.
I clenched the tablecloth I wore and began hobbling down the street.
“Aye, mister,” I yelled, haggard and old.
“You leave me alone. I don’t want whatever you have, and I ain’t got nothing you want!”
“Old woman, wait!” Lucien balled his fist, stalking my shadow.
Sands.
I took the arm of a passerby. He was young and burly and carrying a large box filled with mead bottles.
“That man is following me,” I said with sour breath, throwing my arm backwards and pointing at Lucien.
The man took a step back.
“I don’t care, old hag.”
Bidding him closer with a yank on his arm, bottles clanked, and I blew magic air.
“Please, help an old woman. Protect me. You want to protect me.”
His brows knit.
“Aye, I-I do,” he affirmed and tilted his chin towards Lucien.
“That man?” He asked. I nodded, and he placed himself between Lucien and me, glassy-eyed and obedient. “Aye, leave the old woman alone.”
I pivoted deeper into the crowds.
“This does not involve you,” Lucien spat, fear stapled to his eyes.
The box of mead hit the ground, glass shattering behind me.
I’d covered ground, becoming nothing but a barterer pressing through the market. I pulled the flower stem from behind my ear and flourished the tablecloth from my back. Behind the curtain, my skin snapped, the wrinkles smoothed. Wispy hairs disintegrated, and my brown hairs pierced through my scalp. Before the flower hit the stone, I let go of the tablecloth, and I was Rhoswen Fallen once more.
“Get off of me!” Lucien shouted.
I snuck a glance behind. The brawny man held Lucien by the collar, standing nearly a foot above him. I cleared another step into the crowds, and Lucien fell against my back.
Feigning a gasp, I turned towards him.
“Sir Lucien, are you all right?”
“Miss Fallen!” He startled.
“You keep to yourself,” the man threatened, knuckles white.
“Yes.” Lucien shook out a breath.
“I will keep to myself.”
With a good and a grunt, the man left, glass crunching beneath his feet.
Lucien’s eyes skipped and sprang over the faces of people, but the woman he sought did not exist. Not anymore.
“Sir Lucien, what was that man speaking of?” I was not given many opportunities to express my genuine concern to Lucien. It still was not genuine, but I do not believe he could discern the difference.
He had ice in his tone.
“It does not matter.”
“Is there anything I might assist with?”
Lucien measured me from head to toes, his eyes too close to the flower and tapestry at my feet. He spoke tersely.
“Keep your nose out of matters that do not involve you.” And he fell into the bodies of people.
I followed some paces behind towards the meadery. The door swung open, others leaving, and Vera’s shrill laughter stabbed my ears. In the meadery, I found Vera at the end of her laugh, holding a mug of mead and thrashing it against Catriona’s with a wild smile. Stealing Vera, Catriona whimpered, and I guided her to a clearing at the end of the bar.
“How was it?” Vera asked, her eyes turned to bulbs.
A thud echoed behind me. I turned to see Catriona slumped in the chair beside Neil, her head resting upon the table. Her father shook his head while Maisie hushed to him.
“Is she drunk again?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Tell me, how was the meeting?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“Guildmembers are surviving throughout the realm,” I hushed.
“Bloodletters are hiding in Sariem’s mountains. The Goddess of Wind is protecting them.”
Her lips slacked.
“Taison,” she breathed.
“I’m not sure. I’ll tell you about the meeting back at the estate.”
Vera laid down the thoughts that left a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and she swung her arm over my shoulder with a grin.
“Yes, later. For now, let us drink.”
“Not today, Vera.” My lips would not draw a false smile. Not with her.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” She searched my gaze.
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I will tell you when—” I cut myself short.
It came like a swift battle hymn, a dark and sticky song that clung inside my mind. Deceit tensed, nails turned to animal teeth, biting into me.
She nears, his voice whetted my fears.
The Matron of Shadows.
The hinges rasped, and a figure of dark charm filled the hollow, framed by the entrance. Light died in her presence, and all became a wash of grey. The meadery fell cold. Though, as all others did not pay mind, I believed it was only me.
“What is it?” Vera asked.
I could not understand the depths of Constantine’s knowledge or her seer eyes. Though she knew more than I’d ever given. Deception. She knew of my deception, but did she know I served Deception himself?
“Drink at the bar,” I said. If the matron knew I served the gods, she did not need to know the same of Vera.
“I’ll explain later.” I did not wait for Vera’s obedience—I left her side and approached Neil and his daughters.
“Clean yourself up, Cat,” Neil spoke in the most fatherly tone I’d heard yet.
Catriona did not lift her head, drool streaming from her lips.
Neil threw up arms.
“One daughter cries of nightmares, and the other gets drunk in heartache. Gods, your mother would never allow this.”
“If mother were still with us…” Maisie never finished her thought, but the water in her eyes spoke enough.
Neil slumped his shoulders, hands on his temples. Upon making my eyes, he stood to his feet and affixed a smile.
“Rhoswen, an impressive show today. All my years as an advisor, and I’ve never had the boldness to speak to the crown in utmost certainty.” Neil sent a glare to his eldest.
“Perhaps you can teach Cat a thing or two.”
“I only hope what I offer might aid in our efforts for the crown.”
“Spoken like a true advisor,” he said, tilting his head to me.
“I knew, the moment I saw you, you had good to offer us.”
The matron’s song thrummed within me.
Deceit refused to leave—hands tight, tail tighter.
I glanced over my shoulder. Her shadow came first—the darkest and most elegant shadow cast in Andrael. Her crescent neck morphed into the effortless draping of her form. Hairs did not bend. Torches shriveled beside her.
Constantine approached, Eoin beside her.
“Sir Neil, it is a pleasure to see you.” Her voice was a lullaby deprived of love.
“Before this day, it had been many a moons.”
Neil’s stomach bumped the table as he accepted the matron’s slender hand.
“The pleasure is mine, Matron Constantine.” At the end of their exchange, he rubbed his palm on his jacket, as though to wipe away the residue of her touch.
Abruptly, Constantine’s elegance died. Chin snapping, teeth clicking, her mannerisms settled into something unnatural. Frightening. Her eyes were drawn beyond us. Shadows shifted in the whites of her gaze.
“Yes, my child,” she hushed to no one I could see.
“I feel it.” Her tongue slid over her red lips, and she closed her eyes, the ends of her lips twisting. A delight took her.
Gods, it was unsettling. My heart buckled. I nearly excused myself, but then Constantine looked at Maisie.
Her voice lowered octaves.
“Sir Neil, your daughter perceives the presence of Shadows.”
A knot took root in my stomach. I shifted my feet and separated Maisie from the matron.
Neil argued.
“My apologies, Matron, but Catriona cannot see Shadows.”
“It is not your eldest I speak of.”
Neil fell ashen. Tears came as he angled to Maisie.
“The nightmares? Oh gods, my child, you spoke truth.”
I could not see Maisie from where I stood, but what she conveyed sent a river to flow down her father’s cheeks.
“I am so sorry I did not listen,” he wept.
“Rhoswen.” The matron bade me move with a sweeping hand. Stand aside, she said.
Deceit constricted my mind, swatting at her song.
My heels lifted from the ground. But… I did not tell them to. My knees bent, and my hips hinged. The Shadow bonded to my bones, bending my will into submission. The Shadow possessed me, the matron’s child overtaking.
Deceit hissed, and the matron grinned with bloodred lips.
I was goaded to the outskirts. Maisie cradled herself in the chair, trembling.
“Hello, child.” Constantine lifted Maisie’s chin, and I yearned to reach out—to take Maisie away from the terrors of her life.
“You needn’t fear me, child.”
Neil stood pale.
Maisie was silent.
“The Shadows speak to you, do they not?” Constantine’s long nail swept a fallen strand of hair from Maisie’s face.
Maisie hesitated, then timidly nodded.
Constantine continued.
“Then you have a beautiful gift, conversing with those beyond godly powers. The secrets of Andrael, the fate of the realm, can be seen through a thousand eyes as the Shadows move in the lands. With your vision, you are promised to comprehend more than the little life you live.”
Constantine lifted her hands, fingers sprawled out, following the path to Maisie.
I tried to step forward or stumble into Constantine, tear Maisie away from this, anything, but my bones were barred. The Shadow locked me down and made me nothing more than a spectator.
Constantine’s reach was close to Maisie’s forehead, and something began to happen. Something I could feel in the dark blood twisting around my bones. It was cold. Powerful.
The matron laid a finger upon Maisie’s forehead, and Maisie—
Her body fell limp. Any string of beige or gold in her eyes was drained by Shadows. The Shadows, they… they danced upon the whites of her eyes.
Neil lunged forward.
“What are you doing?” He reached for the matron.
Eoin pivoted to Constantine’s side, Neil never touching her.
“We do not disrupt our mother’s work,” he snarled.
“Your sights are a wonder, Maisie Vaile,” the matron purred.
“In clarity, you see the Shadows. Beyond the borders of this land, you witness the Shadows of the realm.”
Eyes rolled back, Maisie spoke in an airy whisper.
“Yes. I can see all.”
I tried to move, but all I could do was breathe.
“Unhand my daughter!” Neil shouted, breaking Eoin’s hold. He threw himself against Eoin and knelt beside Maisie.
The matron removed her hand, and rasping breaths chalked down Maisie’s throat.
“What have you done?” Neil yelled at Constantine. He took Maisie in his arms, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Constantine revealed neither remorse nor empathy.
“I have shown your daughter the wonders of the gifts she harbors, Sir Neil. It is nothing to fear.”
Neil threatened.
“You will never come near my daughter again.”
“That remains to be seen. Though, for now, I will leave you.”
Constantine stepped towards the door. As she passed me, she stroked her icy fingers beneath my jaw. There was a smell to her—something drifting between bitter and sweet like nightshade. Our eyes met, and I leaned towards her. Entranced. Possessed. Her hand fell. The Shadow fell with her, and I was released from its hold. Eoin stayed at Constantine’s back.
“Father?” Maisie trembled.
“What happened?”
“Maisie, I am so sorry.” His words were choked in tears.
“We will leave. We will leave this cursed place and never return. I promise you.”
Deceit rested as the matron’s thrum hushed. It appears the Shadows have marked more than one new soul.
I was furious. She is innocent. Her heart is pure.
No one is innocent, Rhoswen.
…
The Raven Estate was ending their time in Tharen Crest. I walked towards the carriages before others finished their drinks, hoping to take a quiet moment after all the noise both in and outside of myself. The god understood, lying in the folds of my mind with soft breaths.
I stood beside my carriage. My father’s sigil was before me, carved into the royal carriages. The tree and roots were entwined with gold, and the wood was stained burgundy. Mist drifted around the wheels, spilling from the croaking wood beyond that smelt of mildew and sage. I did not look into the dark between trees. I was afraid that, if I did, milky eyes might be levitating there. Corpses raid those sworn to the gods, Eoin had said.
I thought of it too long. Deceit clenched my thought and stuffed it into silence.
Turning towards my carriage, a figure came into view with a sudden, sweeping step.
Deceit stressed. Careful.
It was too late.
The wood became a haze—I was flung backwards by my hair. My back hit the carriage, I yelped, and Briarwood pressed his body against mine, balling my tresses into his fist. His other hand covered my mouth.
“Do not speak,” he whispered into my skin, my scalp screaming as his fingers pulled back my hair until my neck was exposed. His lips chased the path of my throat. As Briarwood lowered his hand, he tugged my bottom lip. When his mouth removed from my neck, a dagger took its place.
“What are you—?” I began and quickly stopped, Briarwood pressing the blade harder against my skin.
“Tell me who you are, Fallen,” he uttered, breath reeking of bitterness.
“No more lies.”
My vision darkened as though night had befallen day. Bathed in cold, a ripple of dark magic poured into my shoulder and coursed through my veins.
The Shadow.
The Shadow was with me.
Without the matron’s song to bring us harmony, it was chaos—the Shadow rattled within my blood, against my bones, infesting my thoughts.
“Tell me who you are,” Briarwood growled past locked teeth, wrenching my hair.
“Who do you serve?” He tensed the blade at my throat.
“If you say the lord, I swear I will kill you here.”
I nearly spoke a spell of deception, but—
The Shadow ended any thought.
Black veins traced my wrists—blood was cold in my veins. The dark was overcoming me, consuming me. I did not want this, but I could not contest the power—not as this man pressed his sick body against mine.
“Is it the gods I serve, or the Shadows?” I asked, not entirely myself. The curl of my lips was not my own, and my voice had altered as though the Shadow and I spoke in tandem.
Briarwood’s death stare broke for a blink.
“That is what you will tell me.”
“But perhaps it is both.” My laugh was ominous, like the cackle of a kettle.
This isn’t me, I cried within. W-w-what is happening?
Everything was cold. Dark. Hopeless.
Briarwood’s body tensed against mine, and any taste for disgust was gone—all that remained was rage and pleasure. A dark, twisted pleasure.
His finger grinded along my mouth, dragging my lip down.
“You are consumed by lies, Rhoswen Fallen. I can smell them on your lips.”
“You’re right.” I laughed, a piece of my soul cringing.
“But I will tell you a truth, Lord Briarwood.” I paused, smiling wildly. I shouldn’t be smiling.
“You are destined to die. I can see your fate in your eyes.”
“You filthy, bitch!” Briarwood jerked back my hair.
I nearly fell to the ground, but the dark powers held me steady. Lifting my hand, curling my fingers, I reeled back my arm to strike him—to make him bleed for every one of my brothers and sisters he sentenced to death. He’d pay. If not by the gods’ hands, he’d pay by the hands of Shadows. He’d pay by my hands.
Briarwood’s eyes widened while mine hardened with malicious intent.
I thought of my god’s nails, the points near spearing past my skin, and—
“Briarwood!” Another voice roared.
“Unhand her at once.”
I let go of Deceit’s magic.
Tossing me around, Briarwood held me from behind, dagger at my neck.
Alistair stood before me.
“You have a rat in your company, Alistair.”
“Release her.” Alistair clasped his fingers at the hilt of his blade.
Briarwood grabbed my neck and pushed me to the dirt. Palms first, rocks punctured my skin. I struggled on the ground, trying to rise. Before I could, Briarwood’s boot hit my spine and stayed, digging into my back—skin stretching, spine aching.
“She will fucking die at the king’s guillotine. She is a servant to the gods.”
Alistair uttered slowly.
“Remove yourself.”
Briarwood did not. A blade rung a tune of death—Alistair’s steel grinding from his sheath.
Briarwood scoffed.
“You would dare attack me? I am not an enemy you’d wish for, Alistair. Lay down your arms, or you will be marked a traitor.”
“If you’d dare defy the Raven House, I will ensure the crown marks you as a traitor, Briarwood. Do not forget, you are not the only one with allies.”
“The young prince cannot always defend you.”
“Remove yourself,” Alistair bit again.
A delay, and Briarwood severed from me.
As soon as his foothold left, I stirred the rocks beneath my hands and feet, making my way to Alistair. He side-stepped, guiding me to his back, and took a brazen stride forward. He divided me from Briarwood.
“And when the king discovers you are protecting a server to the gods?” Briarwood challenged.
“Who will protect you then? Prince Evandor’s influence has ends, Alistair.”
“What makes you so sure she serves the gods?”
I should have feared Briarwood, knowing what he knew, but I was too fearful of the Shadow to spare any fear elsewhere.
“Fallen has been lying to us since the beginning,” Briarwood spat.
The shadows lit in my eyes, and the lights diminished. The cold in my veins turned numb.
“The very Shadow that lived in my father now tethers to Rhoswen. The matron declared such herself,” Alistair said with certainty.
“Constantine’s children have eyes. If Rhoswen were a threat, we would know. Unless you doubt the wisdom of the matron. Or do you doubt the power of the dark itself?”
“You skew evidence to save her.” Briarwood glowered, dagger imprisoned in his white knuckles, his upper lip twitching.
“Evidence is that the matron has seen a Shadow mark her.”
“And when you die by her hand?”
Alistair laughed a menacing laugh.
“She is no killer, Briarwood. Surely, even your foolish mind can discern that.”
Briarwood’s breath was empty. “Foolish?”
“Any wisdom you might have is clouded by violence.”
I could not expect Briarwood to crack more than he already had, but Alistair provoked.
“You are an embarrassment to your father’s name.” Briarwood’s hatred mingled with saliva, spraying out of his thin mouth.
“Eadric would hate what you’ve become.”
“His hatred knew me before his death ever came,” Alistair said impassively. He lifted his arms.
“Shall we end this here, Lord Briarwood?”
Briarwood stretched out his arm, dagger in hand, taking position. He measured Alistair’s blade, then his dagger, so small. Trivial. And defeat—hostile, angry defeat—became pulsing veins on Briarwood’s face. His muscles hardened, causing his spine to hunch like a beast.
Briarwood marked me.
“You will fall to the crown, Fallen. Be it today or in the coming days, the gods will fall.”
I hissed through my teeth, and Briarwood left with curses on his tongue.
Alistair’s blade rang as it was sheathed and turned towards me, but I could not break my eyes from the dirt where Briarwood once stood. I was afraid to look anywhere else—to see anything. Corpses, man, Shadows. The entirety of this realm was plagued. Deceit was not here to hold my thoughts. My mind spun, the Shadow stirred, and the dark crawled through me.
Alistair stepped into my eyeline, severing my view from the ground.
He reached for me, slowly, and I did not construct distance, rather smelt the sage of him, trying to ground myself. His palm met my cheek, and a deep warmth sank into my skin. Gods, I was cold. He bowed his spine, rose my face, and wiped away stray hairs.
“Are you hurt?” The way he asked—it met me like a shred of light in this dark place.
I lifted my palms, and we watched the black blood pool in the creases. Alistair cradled my hands in his, stroking away the jagged stones.
“Briarwood will pay for what he’s done,” Alistair promised, guiding my hands to his chest, holding tightly as the blood leached into his shirt.
I looked at Alistair—his chest, his eyes, and messy hair—and I was afraid. Afraid of this Shadow once sworn to Eadric. And, I could not place why, but I was looking to him for reassurance.
The matron had declared, Alistair himself declared, I was marked.
A tear fell down my cheek. My heart shriveled.
“What is happening to me?” I looked at Alistair’s eyes, darker than anything I’d ever seen.
Then, the entire land fell dark.
But this darkness—it was not bathed in cruelty that left me cold. It was warm and smelled of sage. Alistair’s arms were armor around me, shielding me from the horrors of Andrael. I rested my head upon his chest and left my hands there, hearing his heartbeat. Feeling his heartbeat.
Alistair spoke foreign words, my hair stirring beneath his breath.
In his spell, there was ease. No fears, no hesitations. It was as though someone had taken my breath, and Alistair set it back in my lungs. Once he fell silent, he lifted my chin with two fingers and studied my eyes. He held my hand and examined my wrist, freed from dark magic. The Shadow vanished.
I did not look away from him—from his eyes and their endless depth. A trace of brilliant silver laced the blacks like starlight.
There was that… something between us. That something that I’ve tried to bury and deny. It happened when his hand flitted against mine outside the estate, the way his eyes—laden by burdens—consumed light, and how his hair fell over his brow and his lips tugged at the ends.
Alistair stroked the tears from my cheeks—the motion so tender and patient.
He hushed.
“If this magic were mine to give, I promise, I would teach you without question.”
“Will you tell me, then?” My brows lifted, and my eyes traded between his, chasing the light in his gaze.
“Alistair, what magic is this?” Hairs cloaking his brow, I reached to him without thought and swiped away the fallen strands. My fingertips stroked his forehead, hard from the remains of furrowed tension. But here… there was no such thing. Only a fierce softness.
Alistair did not answer, though his mouth did not seal. His lips were loose as his hand charted my jawline, tucking tresses behind my ear.
Deceit crawled back to me—his godly weight came with. He sat upon the heart of my mind, letting his seething rage swell within. Each of his words seeped into the depths of my being. You are a server to the gods. The lord is destined to die.
“Alistair,” I hushed.
“Yes, Rhoswen?” My name—it had never sounded as poetic as it did now.
“I…” My voice fell.
This was dangerous, I knew it was. To stand before a man destined for the gods’ wrath. Deceit had reminded me time and again—the fate of the lords was written upon the tomes in the Everlaides. And here I was, a server to the gods with my truth splaying at the tip of my tongue. I longed to impart honesty—to let him know what I’ve kept, so that he might share his secrets with me. We were two souls imprisoned by the untold truths we held.
There was a distance between Alistair and me that he began to lessen. I rose to my toes and closer to his parted lips with a heart stirred by his eyes, his touch, his smell.
Our breath became the same air.
His arms hardened around me with a hand gently pressing me closer, drawing me in, killing the chasm between us. All around me, I felt him.
But everywhere within me… I felt the god.
A neigh sounded from behind the carriage, the realm awakening around me, and I became painfully aware of everything wrong with this.
I jolted, but Alistair held me tight, his hard muscles flexing against me. My heart nearly broke through my sternum, and a wave of unrest swam through my burning blood. Blush crawled to my cheeks, and Alistair watched as I used the god’s magic to drown the colors from my face.
“Come on, lads!” Knox called from the other side of the carriages.
“Rhoswen.” He needn’t say anything further. Alistair’s stone veneer had cracked and crumbled, leaving behind a man who yearned for truth. He’d said it many times, but never like this—without words and with flesh.
“We should join the others,” I shook out a whisper.
Deceit yanked my spine, stumbling me backwards, and Alistair removed his arms that I wished to stay. His warmth escaped me, and the absence left behind something hollow.
Deceit hissed with nails carving lines across my mind.
“Of course.” Alistair nodded and tugged at the hem of his jacket, straightened his spine, and looked towards the carriages.
We walked around the corner, and I immediately saw Briarwood beside Evandor, Briarwood’s stare slicing me in two.
“Come, Alistair,” Evandor beckoned, his attention trading between the two of us.
Alistair left my side without a final glance. The spine of his jacket fell into the shadows of the royal carriage, and Alistair took his place beside my half-brother and the man determined to take my life.
A breeze skimmed my gown, drifting around me, and swaddled the thoughts Deceit kept trying to break. Thoughts of Lord Alistair. He was a lord more mysterious than the haunting lands of his lineage—the wood of chasing corpses, a field of awoken statues, and an abode that swarmed with both the dark and men who kept their own volitions.
Alistair was both of stone and man. Unreadable yet burdened.
I’ll never forget the blade that sentenced Hendry Baird to death. Only now, as I have fallen prey to the enigmas of this Dark Era, do I wonder where the line fades between the actions of man and the biddings of Shadows—Shadows the lord had delivered me from twice. And still—
The fate of Lord Alistair Raven had been professed.
The God of Deception echoed the judgment. Feathers of black doth fall from the sky, Princess. His days are numbered. The lords of this age will fall.
I fell into the carriage, and our company ventured back to the Raven Estate.