Chapter 29
Deceit? I called to him before my eyes opened.
There was no tapping nails or coiled tail within me. No leathery skin or scratching horns. I still searched for him where he usually lay, curled up in the dark. No one was there, and I did not hear a word. His abandonment was unusual, though I couldn’t entirely call it abandonment.
I told him to leave. Him and all his talk of fate and faith.
But still, with this odd void in my head, it met me with the same hollowness as abandonment.
My eyes fanned open to withstand the underwhelming greys and browns around me, vague and dreary. The days were becoming darker. I could no longer distinguish early dawn from midday.
I turned to my side, and every ounce of blood coursed through my body, hot. Aching. My side, my ankle, my head, my heart. And everything was heavy.
Vera wasn’t here, but she’d left a crutch propped at the side of my bed—a single wooden rod with an arched slat at the top. Food was upon the table, but I didn’t have an appetite. I was too busy digesting all the things that evolved in my head—many thoughts started, buzzing erratically, but none actually finished. In my godless mind, there was no one there to pat down those gut-wrenching strings leading to nowhere.
Not keen to keep this solidarity, I pressed myself up and waddled about my quarters. Before I took the crutch, I exchanged gowns—the current one bearing memories of corpses and blood. It was like ripping off a second skin, all the dried blood and sweat peeling off with the gown. Wrangling myself into a black gown, I left the ribbons undone. The dress draped over me like a shroud cloth for the dead, ill fit to my form. It was cozy.
Taking the crutch, I headed for the door, pride and grace far from my feet.
The hallway revealed itself, and my attention was pulled downward.
A small table had been set beside the door, with a silver servant tray atop it. There was a vial—a potion—but my eyes were held captive by another item, far more magical. A white rose.
Perhaps seeing a white rose should have been eerie, the petals haunting my memories, but it wasn’t so. Those manic thoughts hushed, my heavy heart bloomed, and I reached for it. Thorns intact, it was beautiful and dangerous. The petals were soft along my nose, and the aroma was subtle and sweet.
Roses did not grow here. Not in winter. More magic perhaps, though no magic I knew. A note was tied to the rose bearing messy penmanship. To lessen the pain. No name was signed, though I had recognized this penmanship from his journal.
With a pop of the cork, I set the vial to my lips and kicked back my head. Scentless, tasteless, the magic slipped into my blood. Everything tingling for a moment, then the pain melted away entirely. My sigh was relief, and a smile drew my lips.
Crutch in hand, I managed to dodder through the halls and down the stairs. There was a notable quiet about the place—I heard no voices, saw no faces. The hearth roared in the front room, and I stole a cloak from beside the door and walked outside.
Passing by graves, bidding good morning to the statues, the crisp air kept biting at my skin, and the uneven ground was entirely cumbersome. Holding the white rose, I tapped the thorns to prick my skin over and again. With each step, the air was becoming colder.
Hobbling over the final, ankle-high gate of roots, I stood before Amelia.
I did not bid her good morning. Rather, I studied her hewed arms, relaxed beside the bend of her waist, palms lifted upward. Her draping sleeves touched the grass beside her bare feet. Deceit had claimed she was a soul unwilfully tethered to this place, but she did not look it. Amelia was calm, but I’d come to know that—just as myself—she wore a mask.
“Amelia.” I read her plaque, trying to squint past the scratches covering her surname, but I couldn’t draw out a single letter.
A sudden burst of wind smacked against me. She was listening.
Looking into stone eyes, I reminded her.
“If you speak, I will listen.”
Her low cradlesong did not come to me this day. Amelia stood in still silence, looking down at me as I gazed up at her.
“You do not belong in my mind, Amelia,” I hushed.
“Speak to me here. Speak to me now. I only wish to know why you have come to me. Why you have watched me.”
Nothing.
The silence was earsplitting, and no riddles or mysteries met me here. I was simply a woman standing before a statue in the cold of winter, holding a white rose. But I knew this era well. Nothing of these days were simple.
Lifting the rose, I smelled the sweetness. The velvet was soft on my lips. I knelt down, clumsy and struggling for balance, and set the rose at Amelia’s feet.
“Whatever your reasons are for visiting me, I hope you share them in the coming days.” I hiked up my crutch and stood.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
Not a blink, no flex of the lips, but I expected nothing from her.
I angled towards the estate, and a scattering sounded behind. I looked at Amelia’s feet, and the rose… it was dying. As though time quickened, the petals wilted and darkened. Within the span of a breath, the rose turned to ash and drifted away.
Nothing of these days were simple.
“Rhoswen, are you all right?”
The question came to me without a startle, her voice like a birdsong of virtue drawing out the dying good in Andrael. Maisie stood upon the laid path, her pale skin and ivory gown a stark contrast to the ancient trees around us, the mist, and dark skies, but her black hair fit the aesthetic well. So did the bags under her eyes.
“It is good to see you, Maisie,” I said with all sincerity.
Maisie looked me up and down, knitting her brows. She joined me, roots brandishing her gown, and helped me navigate my way out.
“I’m glad to see you awake,” she said with labored breaths, fighting to keep me balanced.
“I saw Lord Alistair carry you away yesterday. You were bleeding. I… I was worried.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. You have enough on your mind as it is.”
Maisie set me upright on the path and tucked her short, black hair behind her ears. Light pulled out the sandy tint in her irises.
“Well, your company makes my burdens far easier to carry.” Her smile did not touch her eyes. She looked over her shoulder, and the edges of her mouth plunged down.
“You see the Shadow.” I didn’t ask. There was no point. I was marked.
“It seems to follow you more closely in recent days,” she said, lips quivering.
“It’s all right, Maisie,” I lied with a grin.
“I do not fear the Shadows.”
“Then you are braver than I.”
“One day, the Shadows will be a forgotten tale in books of old. The day will come. I’m sure of it.”
Maisie’s attention drifted to her side. She looked high above, shivered, and rolled her shoulders.
“Not soon enough,” she hushed, wiping something unseeable from her arm.
Before I considered asking what she saw, Maisie led us down the path to a wooden bench beside the estate’s entrance. Taking my seat, I played with the vines peppering the wood. Maisie sat beside me with distant eyes.
“How are you, Maisie? We have not spoken since… well…” My words died.
“My meeting with the matron?” She said factually. Composed. Like her body hadn’t gone entirely limp while seeing through a hundred eyes of dreadful entities.
Gods, I feared them.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Maisie studied the cobblestones, as if counting each one.
“Father believes me now. All I’ve been saying of nightmares, both in night and day,” she said, holding to her calm demeanor.
“He says we will leave as soon as he has a chance to speak with Lord Alistair, after the princes and matron return to Sariem.”
She let out a breath of ease. I knew a mask when I saw one.
“But how are you, Maisie?” I asked.
She chuckled, lowering her gaze, hairs hiding her face.
“Distressed,” she hushed with a fake smile that fell on her next breath.
“Ever since that day in Tharen Crest, I have been seeing things. It was as though the matron awoke this dark magic that was kept at bay. And these visions, there are not through my eyes. They are eyes far away. I hate it.” Her fists turned white. “Nothing shows with clarity, I hear voices, and the images come and go at any moment.”
I set my hand upon hers.
“The nightmares do not end,” she groaned.
“And I cannot make sense of anything. Children cry, women scream, men tremble… At me.”
“But what you see is not what you do, Maisie. These are actions of the Shadows.”
Maisie’s face wound tight, eyes darkened.
“Shadows you should fear, Rhoswen,” she snapped, but I stayed. Stayed for her. Nose scrunching in a sharp wince, Maisie looked back towards the cobblestones. Her breaths softened.
“I am sorry. I am not myself.”
“I cannot imagine what you’ve gone through.” I set my arm around her, holding her close, wishing I could take her from this place.
“Soon, you will leave all this behind, and it will be a memory.”
“What if the visions don’t stop? What if they only grow louder?”
“Find peace in new lands. This realm is one of many. You can start anew, away from all of this. Perhaps the sun still shines upon other shores.” There was a soft stirring in me—that longing to explore other lands. But the desire was dying with the sun. As I looked at the dark wood, I knew… That yearning would never be satisfied.
“Maybe Father will take us to Caelithien,” she hushed.
“And when you see the elvish realm, you will have to tell me all about it.”
Maisie was only able to give a broken smile, shaking her head subtly, as though whisking away the thoughts, denying herself hope.
“What of you?” She asked.
“Will you stay?”
I nodded with the weight of my vows.
“My place is here. Despite the unexpected I have encountered, my place remains here.”
“You are strong, Rhoswen. Stronger than I might ever be.”
“No, Maisie, that is not true.” I held her in my eyes, wiping a fallen tear.
“You are resilient and brave and good. You will find your renewed strength at the other end of your trials. I promise.”
And once more, her broken smile was all she could offer.
…
Dreary light sprinkled from the chandelier, casting sunken shadows upon the people as they spilled from the wooden banister and herded off in factions into the front room. As I sat upon the couch—ankle numb, legs tired—there were many murmurs recounting the day’s meeting. The Amulet of Light, magic of the Shadows, the God Servers, elvish slave barters… A meeting I should have attended, but Slumber had shackled me down far past daybreak. Sitting here, I merely watched and listened.
Lucien’s shoulders were stapled with arrogance. His chest was puffed up with a voice so daring as he addressed Prince Knox about his mercenaries’ success in capturing elves.
Maisie fled to Neil’s side, hiding herself from the matron. Evandor joined, and Maisie’s unease dissipated as Evandor became a wall from Constantine. The prince said something that made Maisie laugh. I wished I’d been relieved seeing her smile with such heart, but it was a smile conjured by the crown.
Of all I saw, of all the words traded, I wished to know the conversation between Alistair and Constantine. Alistair—a dark lord using incantations to silence her children. Did Constantine know? Could she sense his magic?
Lilian approached in her servant linens, sturdy finger wrapped around a mug handle. Her hands shook, the mug and saucer clanking against each other.
“Good afternoon, Miss Rhoswen.” She gave me a weary smile.
“Is it past midday?” I looked out the window and failed to make sense of time.
The chattering tea pulled me back to her.
“Aye. Dinner will be served shortly.”
I glanced at the tea, steaming along the rim, and my bones nearly locked. Blue petals. I couldn’t be sure of it, but I had my speculations.
Poison.
“Had someone requested tea on my behalf?” I asked.
“My lady, word has spread that you were feeling unwell. I was requested to bring you tea.” Lilian pressed it closer to me, closer to my hands, which I kept neatly stacked upon my lap.
“Who requested I be served?”
Anxieties crescendoed—the tea rattling, her cheeks flushing, pupils expanding.
“My lady, forgive me, I cannot remember. All the guests we have, I cannot seem to keep my wits straight.”
“Well, if you should remember, please tell me. I would like to thank them for their generous thoughts.” I set my hands beneath the saucer, and Lilian relinquished her hold with a shaken breath.
“Of course, ma’am. If you won’t be needing anything else.”
I nodded to her dismissal, and Lilian juddered a curtsy before scampering off.
Tea in hand, I glanced at the edge of my sight—and so did Lucien. His blue eyes darkened a shade.
I wished Deceit were here, only if to remind me I was not alone.
The man is fated to die, he’d say.
I began to stand and faked a stumble, letting the saucer and mug fall to the tiles and shatter into a thousand shards. Lucien’s plait did not startle, and his sunken cheeks did not flex. He was motionless, glare unbroken. All the men remained still, formidable, unperturbed by a little broken glass, except Neil—he gasped.
“Rhoswen, do you need aid?” The question hung high above me.
“No, my Prince, thank you,” I uttered as I climbed the crutch.
Evandor clasped my ribs regardless and set me upright, making me feel far too small.
“Though you are surrounded by men of pride, do not believe you need to be like them,” he said with his knowing eyes.
“Those who accept aid are often blessed twice fold then those who do not.”
Evandor held me until I could hold my own. I found my balance after a few seconds, and he removed his hands, stood straight, and tucked his caramel hair behind his ears.
“Prince Evandor, nothing of my being here incites pride.” I gave a modest snicker.
“My pride has been with me since I realized I am smarter than everyone else.”
A reedy giggle slipped from his lips.
“Gods, I choke on your vanity, Rhoswen.”
We laughed for a moment, the prince and I. I did not quite know how genuine my laughter was. He was a sinful man, but his smile was childlike, youth budding in the corners of his eyes. Nothing of sly grins or skeptical winces.
Evandor was three years younger than I, only one year older than Maisie, and yet he held such great influence in the land. But in this moment, he was simply the little brother I had adored in childhood before his innocence was shed beneath the crown’s shadow.
It was my years in the castle, when Evandor broke away from books and scrolls, that we gave in to folly throughout our father’s house—days before Evandor’s grin had matured into something cunning. Young Evandor would leap upon my back, latch his little legs around my waist, and we’d chase the dazzling sunlight streaming through the castle windows. Our laughter would echo off the emptied armors while ancestors’ portraits rolled their eyes at us.
As the years passed, his laughter had twisted. He laid down his youthful smile, and the fox grin emerged. Each time his green eyes found me, they were deprived of love and joy. They became scrutinizing. Dissecting. But here, in the Raven Estate twelve years later, as I wore a different face and name—
I found a glimpse of that child again.
Davina stirred somewhere in my gut, so I hardened the prison walls around her.
Be careful, Rhoswen, Deceit would say, to which I would remind him, I’m always careful. Though that inner retort died as the Lord of Ravens approached—my heart growing wings and fluttering like a damn hummingbird.
“My lord,” I managed to say in a slick tone.
I tried to curtsy—failed to curtsy—and Alistair’s lips played with a smile. Then, he became steady and stoic. Unreadable with hands in fists behind his rigid spine.
“You appear to be on the mend.” He looked down at me from the bridge of his nose.
“Thanks to you, Lord Alistair.”
“Yes, Alistair had mentioned you and his aunt had been attacked in the wood,” Evandor said, green eyes aglow.
“Yes, sire.”
Alistair’s eyes drifted beyond his surroundings, unfocused and afar.
“And what is it that had attacked two harmless women in the hours of the day?” The prince asked.
“Surely the elves have not begun violence so near these walls.”
“Not to my knowledge, my prince.” I fabricated a quick lie, which was not ideal, given that the prince was a scholar, skeptical by nature.
“They wore hoods. I could not make their faces. It all happened so fast.”
A line carved between his brows.
“It is cowards who hide beneath masks. Did they take anything from you?”
“They had searched us, though I brought nothing of value with me.”
“Well,” Evandor held my shoulder, head angled down with a subtle grin.
“I am gladdened to see you are well.”
I believed him.
“Thank you, Prince Evandor.”
“Should you need anything, come to me. Though you and I have only just met, I believe there is something we might gain from one another. Let us remain in contact.” The sly grin covered his face, and his hand tightened at my shoulder.
“The wise need to remain close in times such as these.”
I tilted my head.
“Of course, my Prince.”
With a nod, royal garbs drifted away like a river of red wine, and Evandor joined his brother and Lucien.
“Rhoswen.” Alistair’s hands unclenched.
“Enough time has passed, I can mend your ankle.”
“Please. This brace is awfully cumbersome.” My curling lips were not reciprocated.
With eyes shrouded by something unspoken, his shoulders dragged him down. There was not much I could read of this man, but I recognized burdens when he held them.
“Alistair, are you all right?” I asked, reaching for his hand. I did not mean to, only he was so close.
Eyes pulled down, he looked at where our fingers touched. My heart was in my throat, and my cheeks flushed red. This wasn’t fitting—I was no longer near death, no longer in Alistair’s study, depending on him for life, but I was surrounded by the entire estate.
I withdrew my reach.
Alistair chased it.
He entwined his fingers between mine and held my hand, sending a current of something unexplainable coursing throughout my being. It felt like leaping off the highest tower of my father’s house to plunge into the seas. His calluses bled warmth. Everything was warm. His lips parted, and he sucked in a long breath that rose his chest.
“Has the potion helped to ease the pain?” He asked.
There was something deeper than gratitude in me. It was a budding desire that flourished in my chest.
“Yes,” I said after a delay.
“And the…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Everything I could think of sounded stupid—The rose was well received, I love a good flower, it smelled pretty.
A cord tugged on his lips as though he saw my thoughts etched onto my red face.
“Come,” he said.
“I have everything waiting in the library.”
Letting go of my hand, he set his palm on my ribs.
It took everything I had not to let my lungs heave wasting breaths—to let him know what this did to me. What he was doing to me. Drawing me in, he shared my weight, and we stepped in unison.
“I can walk by myself.” I cast my gaze high, finding him behind his hair. I took a step and subtly shrugged him off.
Alistair held me tighter.
“I know you can.” He smiled.
“But you don’t need to.”
My heart hitched.
Before we turned the corner, I caught sight of Lucien with a face hot with anger from his balding crown to the tip of his chin. We looked at each other, and his eyes narrowed. Freya stood in the corner, dour and grave as ever. She seemed to cradle herself as she tore her stare from me, only to notice the empty shelf beside her.
Be wary, child, Deceit would say. Many eyes are watching.
This day, I did not need the god’s warnings to know something was awry.
Down the dark halls leading to the library, I was unable to waddle—Alistair held me too close, too firm, for me to waddle. Whenever my ankle tried to stumble me, Alistair would set both hands upon my waist, lift me from the ground, and set me down kindly. Gently. So gently, I had forgotten he was a curse of this age.
“I did say I can walk,” I said, amused, standing before the library door.
I couldn’t help the wasting breaths or the blood pounding in my ears.
I successfully shoved him off, took the final step, and opened the door… Tried. I tried to open the door, my ankle bending awkwardly, my balance lost. I fumbled back, and landed against Alistair’s chest, his low laugh vibrating against me. Scents of sage filled the air, and the reserves I built for him in the wine cellar continued to untangle.
Reaching around me, Alistair turned the latch and opened the door.
“Of course you can, Miss Fallen,” he hushed, extending his arm around me.
I set myself upright before he could do it for me, and he resumed his place at my side as we walked towards the tomes.
Meager light spilled in from the dome window, sprinkling the silver tree and catching specks of dust. The potions were set at the table beside the hearth, alit and alive. He held me close for the final stretch, arm hard around my waist. No one was in the library, the bookcases standing alone.
But then, a dark lord and a god’s maiden entered, and the door latched at our backs.