Chapter 24
Speckles of snow had fallen from the Everlaides overnight, glossing the lands in a marble gossamer and leaving us frigid. Dead leaves, Eadric’s fresh grave, and the laurel wood were all touched with delicate beauty beneath snowfall, but our feet ruined it with dirtied footprints.
Stockings crawled up my legs to ward off frost, though my hands were left to be bitten by the cold. The residents and staff stood in line along the stone path—an isle of bodies from estate to carriages. Gilded armor mirrored the gloomy light of dawn.
Alistair, Evandor, Knox, and the matron stood beside the carriages while Briarwood trailed behind royal soldiers at the estate’s exit. I heard his goodbyes, and I was glad for them. Though each goodbye was not a promise of light, it was the promise of less darkness. Briarwood was embarking for other lands, leaving the Raven Estate and, most importantly, leaving Vera and me.
I stood beside Vera, our arms nestled together, attempting to share what warmth we could. In the gilded armor, I counted myself seven times as soldiers passed, each reflection disfigured in a different way. Briarwood was the fan of the tail, the final man, others bowing to him. I curtsied at his side—not for him, but for the gods and the role I played. By the time my head lifted, he stood with his body angled towards me. He twisted through my cloak, took my hand, and wrung out my fingers.
Vera muttered a curse at my side but did not break conduct.
I did not fear this man. Not as I stood with the Raven Estate, because I knew—
Alistair’s eyes were on us.
“It has truly been a pleasure, Miss Fallen. I am certain our paths will cross again.” Briarwood’s lips met my hand, colder than the snows, and set his touch at the curve of my waist, leaning near to whisper.
“The king’s guillotine will be awaiting your arrival.”
Only, Briarwood did not know—if the guillotine was ever to await Rhoswen Fallen, I would merely become another.
Standing on the points of my toes, I spilled my breath on his neck.
“And the sands of Oldurem will be awaiting you.”
His fingers dug into my skin, breath hot on my face.
“You will know my strength before the end, Fallen. You will beg me for mercy. And I will cherish each cry that comes from your damned lips.” His hand glided along the small of my back—I held myself tall—and he continued towards the carriages.
I prayed with all I was that this would be the last moment that sick man ever touched me.
Joining Evandor, Knox, and Alistair beside the readied carriage, Briarwood clasped hands with the men and all traded words of good fortune. There was a struggle on Briarwood’s face as he addressed Alistair—fighting the underlying glare ready to devour his rehearsed, vile grin.
The carriage door shut, Briarwood a silhouette in the window, and the coachman commenced the steeds’ trot with a whisk of the reins.
Lord Briarwood left the estate.
Relief washed over me, the cold air unable to overcome the warmth I felt.
Edith’s feet stamped over Briarwood’s footprints with a grin held up by rosy cheeks. She extended her arms, and I welcomed her. We shared a quick embrace.
“I am sorry we haven’t had time together before our departure, Rhoswen.” Beads of frost kissed her lashes. She took Vera’s hand, keeping one of mine, and spoke to us in her songbird tune.
“I do hope you both enjoy the duration of your time at the estate.”
“Your nephew is very generous, allowing my stay.” Vera spoke through a fake grin.
Edith’s nose scrunched.
“Rhoswen, if it does not disrupt your duties, I was hoping you and I might share a ride before my family takes their leave.”
There was a glimmer in me, looking at the knolls, a valley of rolling white. I smelled the crisp of morning, the air nabbing burdens and casting them away on my exhale.
“I would love to join,” I said.
Joy clasped Edith’s palms together.
At Edith’s back, others began funneling into the estate, the snow crunching beneath boots. Knox and the matron walked together. The eerie grace of her was emphasized by Knox’s bully demeanor, massive shoulders smiting air with each step. Evandor marched behind, head tall, mouth a blur as he spoke. The young prince was beside Alistair, though I believe Evandor’s words were spoken without heed, the lord’s interest exchanged.
Between strands of hair, hands clasped at his back, Alistair slipped a glance at me—a glance making me feel far too seen in ways I should not be seen by him. I was a god server, and Alistair was a dark lord, but… Alistair’s lips tugged at one corner, his black eyes holding their depth. I cannot say the realm slowed for a spell, but, as blood pooled in my cheeks, the moment felt lasting.
Alistair’s dimple cast a shadow, and something—something I was beginning to understand—was an ache in my heart.
The god twisted within.
The estate’s entrance stole Alistair, and he fell from view.
“Rhoswen?”
I came to, my attention finding its way back to Edith.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, feeling Vera’s eyes bore into me.
“You and I will prepare to ride just before noon,” Edith said.
“I need to wrangle the children and ensure we are packed.”
“Yes, noon it is.”
“Perfect. I will meet you at the stables.”
As Edith left, Vera took her place.
“You and I need to talk. Now.”
…
“Bloody magic?” Vera asked, aghast, in the library.
“What lord confesses magic?”
I sat beside the fire as she paced back and forth. We’d originally made for my quarters, but servants were performing their routine ritual of sweeping, dusting, and changing out the bedding. I knew we had some moments of privacy here—the tenants remained in the dining hall, sipping tea and wolfing warm breads.
“I have never known a lord who wields it.” I massaged my temples, hoping I might groom out the confusion and reveal a fleck of clarity.
“Do the others know?”
“I haven’t asked, but I don’t believe so.”
Junipers were ripe in her eyes.
“What did he tell you about his spells?”
“He—”
“It doesn’t even matter.” Vera spiraled a finger through her coiled hair. Her mauve gown whisked as she spun on her feet, never breaking the cadence of her pace.
“It must be dark magic.”
“How could dark magic cast away a Shadow?” I asked, knowing evil incantations were not what Alistair conjured.
“Wouldn’t the Shadow be stronger with it?”
“Gods, Rhoswen,” Vera sighed, drawn out, and she slumped into the chair beside me. "I don’t know, but I do know that you’ve really made a mess for yourself here. A servant to the gods marked by Shadows. I don’t think this has ever happened before. And Briarwood knows?”
I set my finger on my lips with a shh.
“Yes,” I hushed and did a quick scan of the library, making sure none were near. There was nothing but books and a silver tree.
“He is quite certain. And, well… I may have shown him.”
“Showed him?”
My words came timidly.
“My magic.”
Vera’s right eye scrunched with knitted brows, and her lip jerked up.
“Uhm, you showed him your magic?” I nodded shamefully, and confusion deepened on her face.
“Huh, that isn’t like you.”
“I altered his mind immediately after, so nothing I did should have validated his beliefs.”
“You are the mask, the deceiver, the unseen. Don’t let this place change you.”
Listen to your friend, the god uttered, teeth grazing together.
I spoke to Deceit and Vera in unison, “I won’t.”
That has yet to be seen.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Briarwood is gone. But know, if I ever see him again—” A fire alit in her eyes. She showed her teeth.
“I will torture him with nightmares that’ll make him squirm like a maggot. Then, I’ll cut his damn throat.”
I set my hand upon hers, warm from the fire in her blood.
“Does the God of Deception know what has happened?” She asked.
“Has he called out to you?”
Deceit gave a laugh.
Shut it, I bit at the dark then whispered.
“I have told the god what has happened, but I haven’t felt him in recent days. I’m sure they are rather occupied with everything that’s happened.”
Vera said plainly.
“What kind of help could the God of Deception give anyway? You cannot deceive the cursed smoke.”
I winced as Deceit cut against my spine. Her faith is lacking.
Then tell me, what can you do about this? I challenged.
Deceit only hissed.
“What will you do now, sister? You say survivors have been found throughout Andrael. We should join them.”
I shook my head.
“I cannot leave.”
A scowl marked her fine brows.
“Cannot or will not?”
“Vera—”
Her hand sliced the air.
“I am neither daft nor blind. You looked ridiculous, staring at the lord earlier.”
“I—” I couldn’t lie. Of all those in the realm, she read me best.
“You remember what I told you about Percy?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Not this again.”
“If Percy was helping the elves—”
“Which he wasn’t.”
“But if he was, Vera. If the gods were wrong about him, and if Alistair is using something that is not dark magic to cast away the Shadows.” I paused to collect my thoughts, which was difficult with Vera’s juniper eyes darkening at my every word.
“If the gods are wrong again—”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” she threatened.
“Don’t you go talking about rights and wrongs when you’re tasked with tearing down an estate poisoned by Shadows.”
“I am poisoned now, Vera, and I don’t know anything about the Shadow. Lord Alistair knows how to get rid of them. What if I could learn from him? I could get rid of it for good.”
“If Taison was here, we’d—” Vera choked on her words. Reddened eyes spoke to her worry, hardening the scowl upon her brow.
“If Taison were here, he’d put an end to all of this.”
I set my hand upon hers, and she whisked me away.
“Vera, it doesn’t end with Alistair,” I said softly.
“Lucien Brine will take ownership of the estate should Alistair fall. I need to ensure that does not happen.”
Vera swallowed her worry but frustration remained.
“And how will you do that? You have claimed many times that you are not a killer. What will you do without someone to deal the final blow?” I pressed my finger against my lips, so she gave a whisper.
“Information about the lords is not enough anymore.”
“I can change.” I wasn’t convincing, wishing I had used Deceit to help wheedle out some conviction.
Vera snorted, forgetting to quiet her voice.
“So you’ll actually do it? You’ll slice a man’s throat? She who prides herself on the purity of her hands? Blood would stain you, sister. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.”
There had been blood on my hands, blood on my face. I smelt memories of the iron and felt the layer of red hard on my skin. I did not tell Vera what happened in Tharen Crest, and I wouldn’t. I considered Deceit’s knowing enough of a confession. And, simply put, I did not want to tell her. It would only validate her belief that I was unwilling to take Alistair’s life. I knew, in Vera’s eyes, killing for survival and killing for killing’s sake were one and the same. She learned that from Taison.
“I heard a servant say they poisoned Alistair’s father.”
Vera’s eyes narrowed.
“A servant?”
“If I could find the poison, I could end their reign. No blood. I need to find the contracts to ensure it ends with Lucien. Then, once I know more about the Shadow, we can end this. We begin with Lucien.”
Vera nibbled her nail as she looked at the hearth. It was odd. She was not typically at a loss for words.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“It is not a bad idea.” I grinned, and Vera met my proud gaze.
“Oh, stop, don’t let it go to your head.” Her low laugh echoed in the library. She leaned closer and whispered.
“So, you will search the contracts, gain the lord’s trust to learn more about the Shadow, we’ll take down Lucien, and the lord is next, yes?”
My heartstrings tightened.
Deceit growled and grabbed them. If you do not go through with this, Rhoswen Fallen, I will cut each one until you feel nothing. The god’s nails scraped along the cords. I will make you hollow.
How the god said this—I believed him. And it terrified me.
“Yes,” I affirmed.
“That is our plan.”
Vera nodded with a huff, walked to the bookcases, and began sifting through the shelves.
“And what of me?” She asked.
“I am here, so I may as well be of use.” She plucked a green book from the shelves, engraved with silver. History of the Elvish Nation; Volume III.
“Ah, a book of the elves. At least your lord hasn’t burned the texts as Percy’s father had.”
The pages were bent, and the cover was stained, entirely worn from overuse.
“Perhaps you can focus on Lucien,” I hushed, considering the God of Slumber’s gift.
“You could discover what he is planning.”
Vera slammed the book shut, and a devious grin widened her face.
“You just don’t want me to kiss your lord.”
Blush crawled up my cheeks. It was not instinctive for me to use Deceit’s magic with her, so she saw my guilty colors before I could mask them.
Vera grunted, glided her fingers along the tome’s spine, and set it back upon the shelf.
“Very well,” she breathed.
“My lips shall be sworn to Sir Lucien.”
“Ahem,” a shy voice joined. Freya revealed around the bookcase, her marble eyes round and lips agape. She lifted a book and kept her timid speech.
“I was only returning literature for my father.”
Deceit held my panic. I stood with a smile and nearly spoke, but Vera leaped in.
“Ah, yes, your father. What a strapping man, he is.”
I loved my sister dearly, but her teasing always struck a chord.
My brows furrowed to her, but she only looked at Lucien’s daughter with that devious, malevolent grin. I approached Freya cautiously.
“What are you planning?” Freya asked, dour-faced, holding her book close to her chest.
Vera’s smile was not one of comfort.
“I only find your father awfully appealing.”
I wanted to steal a book and thwap the back of her head.
“No, no, that is not what’s happening. You’re planning something, aren’t you?” Freya shrank back, nearer to the door. Nearer to escape.
Gods, I was sick. I knew what needed to happen, but… that magic was the most taxing. The most painful.
I feigned a chuckle.
“Freya, I am sorry you heard what my sister said, but truly, we are planning nothing.” The air in my lungs began to turn sour.
Deceit watched behind my eyes. You need to seize her, child. She needs to forget.
Freya whispered.
“I don’t believe you.”
A brushfire burned in the library—Vera’s curls swishing past. She stormed to Freya with determination in her steps that resembled Taison charging in for the kill. The carpet strained beneath the twist of my heels, and I ran to the other end of the bookcase.
Freya made for the door, but I came around the shelving and grabbed her arms.
Freya’s neck stretched as she drew in a scream. Before it could break out, Vera’s hand clamped over her mouth. Tears speared through Freya’s blue eyes, and she lifted her arms, flaying. Her elbow struck my temple once. Dammit. Twice.
I was losing my grip.
“Sands, Vera, kiss her!” I cried.
Vera twisted from Freya’s back, smeared away wild curls, and pressed her lips against Freya’s. Eyes wide, cry at the tip of her tongue, Slumber stole Freya’s vigilance and settled her temper. Her lips hung open, her ocean eyes rolled back, and every line knitting her scowl dissipated. Freya fell asleep.
We laid her down, hidden between two bookcases.
“Gods, that was thrilling.” Vera hopped where she stood, clapping her hands together.
Each clap forged my ire.
“That was not thrilling, Vera. We could have been compromised.”
She twirled, her mauve skirt skimming over Feya’s face.
“Sister, this is what I have missed! Our adventures were once so rousing.”
“There is an unconscious woman on the floor in the library. I told you to speak quietly.”
“All will be well.” Vera waved her hand with a shrug.
“Alter her memories. Perhaps she drank too much and passed out in the library. Ooh, or maybe she got drunk and kissed Earnest.” She giggled.
“Oh, Catriona would get so upset, and Earnest would deny it. Can you imagine the drama? Gods, the drama! I would be entertained for weeks.”
My voice strained through clenched teeth.
“Vera, the more significant a moment is, the more challenging it is to create new memories. You said you would kiss her father and called him a strapping man. We then charged after her, and you kissed her.” I grunted and lifted curled fingers.
“Those paths are most likely stone in her mind.”
I knelt and set Freya’s head upon my lap.
Vera practically sang.
“I know you are capable of anything, dearest Rhoswen.”
I ignored her.
Tapping into Deceit’s roots, I called for his powers to deepen—to twist around memories, suffocate them, and bring new ones. The god sank into my mind, and I set my hands at Freya’s temples.
Then, Deceit sank into Freya’s mind.
Closing my eyes, the god’s magic threading from my fingers to Freya, I delved into her and began searching. Scouring her mind for Vera and me. Deceit’s roots cracked and burrowed.
There. There I found her memories in the front of her mind.
The curiosity, the anxiety, the fear as we charge. Each second fortified a webbing of strings laid by mortar and brick. My heart wrenched. I could sense it as she slept—Freya believed we were a threat. She was running for her life… from me.
Deceit’s powers expanded beyond my mind. His influence beat within my veins, wrapping around my bones, and dislodging into Freya’s temples. The cost of his magic sent a riven in my mind—that yawning, scythe ache.
Vera sounded far away.
“These lords will fall, and the gods will reward—”
“Vera, be quiet,” I muttered, blood pooling into my skull, my mind throbbing.
My vision flashed into Freya’s eyes—"I was only returning literature for my father,” Freya had said, seeing Vera and me and knowing she wasn’t safe.
Vera’s smile was twisted.
“Ah, yes, your father. What a strapping man, he is.”
Freya’s disgust was bitter in my stomach. Deceit’s roots deepened. I plucked the memory. A drop of blood fell from my nose.
Vera set her hand upon my back.
“Do you remember when Percy’s mother died? Gods, we drank all night in celebration.”
“Vera.” I paced my words.
“Stop. Talking.”
The god’s talons clawed deeper in search. Together, Deceit and I lifted a stone. Beneath the stone, the memory, Vera charged towards her with deadly intent written on her mien.
Another tear fell. Another drop of blood leaked from my nose.
Everything I was, all the powers of the god I held, grasped around the memory, and I pried it from Freya’s mind. My spine jolted forward, my shoulders rounding as a moan carried up my throat.
Deceit, I can’t—
You can. Finish your work.
The memory broke, and all between faded into nothing. We pressed on.
“Are you all right, sister?” Vera was a distant voice.
I trembled.
“I need to focus, Vera.”
“Dammit, Vera, kiss her!” It was a flourishing echo. The final web. The final path of this shamble of memories. If I were to end here, Freya’s mind would be fractured—an empty void followed by my cries for a kiss.
I saw Vera through Freya’s eyes, chasing. Then, I felt Vera’s lips—the God of Slumber surmounting strength—and Deceit tore away her kiss.
My mind swelled in pain. Faintness swept over me. I-I was starting to fade.
Like a stake in the dirt, I stabbed new memories in her mind—Freya had never seen Vera or me. After a frigid morning, she sought comfort in the library. The fire, to warm her skin, and the wine, to melt her bones. Laying mortar of my own, cramming stone into her memories, they did not fit as seamlessly as reality. It was sloppy, but it was the most I could give. With all the strength I owned, I hurled the fabricated memory into place.
My heart tensed, my mind screamed. My powers were exhausted.
It happened in an instant—my fingers melded into Freya’s temples, and I fell into her mind. I could no longer discern where I ended and Freya began. I became lost. Intertwined. Surrounded by memories that were not mine.
“Vera?” I called in the chasm.
“Deceit?” No one answered.
A place was constructed around me—a hallway in the estate. Alistair stood before me, and my back was against the wall. He spilled words of annulled courtship, nearly cleaving out my heart. But still, something of me yearned for this moment. To relive it, so I could feel his touch again. A touch that was now a distant memory. Even as he towered over me, speaking of broken contracts, I wanted him.
I… I could not let him go.
My voice echoed in the chasm.
“I was promised a husband.”
I reached out, and he bit the air.
“A husband you fear?” He then said my name, and I heard the disdain in it.
“You know my makings, you know the shadows of this estate. You do not wish for this life, for there is nothing here but darkness and death.” He was carving into my heart, and still—I wanted this.
I did not allow him to see my pain.
“I have desired you, my lord. If our courtship is to be annulled, you may still have me.” This was my final act to revive a dead contract—I pulled Alistair to me, to my lips, though he severed us.
“Desperation does not look good on you, Freya.”
I felt the tears of memory in this moment. The pain was still raw.
Wait… This… this was not me. These were not my words, not my hands, not my lips.
Deceit? I begged.
“Dammit, child! What is wrong with you?” Father lifted his hand to me.
I stood in Father’s quarters and cowered beneath his rage. He was once so kind, so gentle, but the years had soured his heart.
I cried as his fist hung above me.
“I have done all I can, Father! Lord Alistair does not want me. He has never wanted me.” The truth opened the wound that failed to scar. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Father lessened his rage, smearing away my yellow hair, but I felt no solace in his presence. His whisper was haunting.
“Alistair would be yours if—”
I wheezed through tears.
“Father, do not! You are blinded by your ambitions. Lord Alistair does not want me.”
“Child, if you cannot ensure my rule in this land, what purpose do you serve?”
He was right. If I could not guard his reign in the age of man, if the Brine name were to fall nameless, what was my purpose? But I feared I was unable to sway the lord’s eyes towards me. The other woman in the estate had claimed his gaze, and I could not compete.
“Come to me, child.” Father wrapped me in his arms, his jacket drenched in my tears.
“Do not fear. We will tear down anyone who comes in our way. Together.”
His promise—I’d heard promises like this before. Promises to kill.
“Rhoswen!” The voice bounded before fading.
That name. I knew that name, but I did not know why it was called.
“Freya, come! Hurry!”
My name met me in a dire note, and yet, I was delighted. In the rainfall of this night, through the mud of the stables, I charged towards the carriage—the carriage that’d take me away from this damned estate.
“Hurry, Freya. If your father sees—”
“I know, I know.” I lifted my palm to Tyre, giggling, my cheeks aching from a smile.
I had known Tyre since I was a child. He and Father worked closely through the years—another man swayed by coin. Coin that I stole from my father and sent to Tyre with pleas to take me away from this cursed estate.
I fell into the dark of the carriage, throwing my bag beside me. My breaths skipped, my heart pounding. I sat in euphoria. I would venture to Sariem, start anew in the City of the King, and live apart from my father. Apart from Lord Alistair.
“What is this?” I knew that voice. I dreaded that voice.
The carriage door swung open in a violent fit. Father’s face furrowed with an anger I had never witnessed before.
Tyre leaped from the coachman’s seat, standing before Lucien.
“Sir Lucien, I—”
“Hold your tongue, you fucking traitor! You were going to take away my daughter.”
“I thought you knew she called for me,” Tyre lied, and I could cast no blame. My father was a man to fear.
“Freya. Get out of the carriage. Now.”
“No, Father, I will not!” I cried, my voice tight in my throat. I couldn’t go back.
Father reached into the carriage and grabbed me by the hair. My scalp throbbed as he yanked me from the seat. I fell to the ground, mud filling my mouth.
“Lucien!” Tyre took Father’s arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting my daughter in her place!” Father unsheathed his blade.
“And as for you…” His words trailed off, but I knew where his acts were leading.
“As I said, Sir Lucien, I thought you knew Freya called for me.”
“Lies.”
“Father, stop!” I fought to stand, the mud slipping beneath me.
I saw it on Tyre’s face. The fear. The same fear I’d known for the same man.
Tyre unsheathed his own blade, the steel ringing against the downpour of rain. But the ringing—it ceased. The lands fell silent. Tyre fell beside me.
I cried. I screamed.
“Silence yourself, you damn child! If you ever attempt to leave me again, you will share the same fate.” Father yanked me from the ground, blade in hand.
“Look at him,” Father grumbled, but I did not move—I would not be able to stomach the sight. He grabbed my face and wrenched me into submission.
“Look at what you’ve done. What your careless acts have caused. Despicable.”
Tyre was on the ground. Dead. A flash of lightning burned the image of his body in my mind. Blood drained from his chest.
Father sheathed his sword, grabbed me by the forearm, and we walked to the estate together. Always together. Through the storm, the house’s banner flicked in the breeze. The wings of the raven cast an indefinite shadow upon me—a shadow that never offered reprieve. Forever, I was to be imprisoned in Lord Alistair’s estate.
My father was the warden.
“Rhoswen!” I heard the name again echoing from the sky, only… There was no sky.
“Rhoswen,” another voice hushed, clear as glass. A hand broke past the nothingness, black and leathery, with jagged nails.
“Come, child.”
“Deceit?” It all came to me in a lap of recollection.
“Oh gods, Deceit!” I cried, taking his hand. My voice echoed in an endless tune as the god guarded me through memories I did not know. Memories that were never intended for me.
Roots were decaying in my stomach, laying waste to my heart—the magic was deteriorating. My soul ached. Flashes of imagery and voices pelted against me. I closed my eyes, trusting the god to deliver me.
When the endless voices hushed, I could feel the tenderness of my fingertips. They disjoined from Freya’s temples. Magic slipped back into my blood and my blood alone. I tasted my sour breath. The scythe was cutting into my mind—my mind, and no one else’s.
“Rhoswen, wake up!”
I began to lift my dangling head, my mind covered in a thousand bruises, deep and pulsing. Cracking my eyes, the light of the fire was like a brilliant sun. Blood stained my clothes, dripping from my nose.
“Vera?” I lifted my eyes.
She held me.
“I am so sorry. I did not know what her memories would do to you. Gods, I am careless in a hundred ways, but you are the one person I need to be careful of.”
“It’s all right. I’m okay,” I hushed, my fingers weaving into Vera’s curls. I held her as tightly as she held me.
Thank you, Deceit.
He curled himself into a dark corner with slow breaths.
A snore upset the library.
I looked down at Freya, thinking of the memories I’d seen, the heartache she endured.
“We should set her upon the chair,” I said.
“Do you mind moving her?” I lifted my hands up.
“I’d prefer not to touch her mind again.”
“Yes, of course,” Vera said, quick to rise and take Freya off my lap. I positioned myself to stand. Vera set Freya down and held me at my side.
“Take it slow, love,” she hushed.
The room spun in circles, and my head fell upon her shoulder.
“You’re all right?”
I nodded, slowly setting myself upright and giving a moment to let the blood rush lessen.
“Come, let’s move Freya.”
With huffs and groans, we set Freya in the chair beside the fire.
Vera held my arm.
“What happened when you fell unconscious?”
“I saw Freya’s memories. Memories I had not searched for.”
“I did not know you could fall into memories.”
“Neither did I.”
Deceit spoke, burrowed in the dark corner. How my powers prey on mortals is… unpredictable.
“What did you see?” Vera asked with her large, juniper eyes.
Freya snored again, sleeping helplessly as a babe. Every soul bears struggles, I know, but I had never thought her father was so corrupt. Her memories were now stamped on mine, forging Lucien’s fist, his blade, and his wrath. It was a dangerous trio I had known well.
“What is it, Rhoswen?” Vera asked, wiping the sweat from my face.
“Lucien… He…” I hesitated, because these were not words I’d often profess.
“Lucien Brine needs to die.”