Chapter 35
I fumbled backwards, failing to stake distance from Alistair. He charged forward, ungodly fast, with those animalistic movements. My breath sputtered, my heart raging in my chest.
Would his blade be the final sight I see?
Or would it be my blood after he was through with me?
Clenching my hood, I hid my face and threw myself into my mind with Deceit. I thought of another—held onto another’s face with all I was.
My flesh burned. Alistair grabbed my neck, his thumb against my throat.
I breathed in to scream, but he tightened his hold and plunged me further into the dark. The door slammed behind him, his journal fell from my grip, and his sword came for me. In a final struggle, I speared my nails into his thumb and ripped at his skin, digging my hand between my neck and his chokehold.
With just enough give, I cried.
“Wait, my lord!”
Alistair wrenched back my hood like a hunter skinning the kill.
“Freya,” he hummed low with a tense jaw and stiff shoulders. Tense eyes left lines of anger so deep, I could not see the ends.
“What in the gods are you doing here?” He asked, hand firm at my neck, loose enough only for me to speak and wheeze breaths like a dog on a tight leash.
“I-I—” I didn’t have a lie.
He growled a note, and black veins crawled across his skin—veins that left him without caution and judgment. Veins that left him in rage and bloodthirst.
With trembling breaths, I tried to unlock his hand from my throat.
Alistair did not release me. His Shadow did not release me.
“Tell me,” he said, my neck in his hand, blade in the other.
“I was looking—” I wheezed.
“—for my father’s contract.”
Alistair barred his teeth. “Why?”
I rasped with a thin voice.
“He’s paranoid after you annulled our courtship.” Another gasp.
“Please,” I begged.
Time did not seem to pass for him, his demeanor chiseling the statue. But each second, my breath was fading, his study was darkening. The moon became ill-lit. The rainfall was a distant drum.
The god and I brought forth the image of another. Deceit’s magic was at the hem, awaiting my order to transform. To take on the skin of another, reveal myself as a server to the gods, break Alistair’s hold, and run into the night.
“Please,” I whispered. A final offer.
In a grunt, Alistair unlocked his hand, threw down his arms, and sheathed his blade.
Stumbling a step, nearly falling, I sucked in three gasping breaths. I tried not to fear him in this moment. I hadn’t seen this side of Alistair since the guild fell. I did not even know if this killer instinct was a side to Alistair or if it was the Shadow within.
I looked up, and means of death were still imprinted on his face.
“So, Lucien sends his daughter to do his dirty work?” He asked, staring me down from the bridge of his nose.
“Pitiful.” The dark blood pulsed on Alistair’s neck, yet something of his eyes marked contemplation—brows high, eyes winced—perhaps wondering what to do with me.
“Why do you stay in the estate, Freya? There is nothing for you here.”
I now knew—Freya wanted to leave. Lucien wouldn’t let her.
“Perhaps I have tried. Perhaps I have been denied.”
He cocked his head. “By whom?”
I feigned disappointment, head tilted towards the floorboards, with a heavy sigh.
“I see,” Alistair marked to my silence.
“And did you find the contract?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“What did you find?”
Pronouncing my oceanic, doe eyes, I asked with Freya’s tongue.
“Does it matter?”
Alistair examined his study from where he stood then stepped beside the hearth. He did not hush foreign words or perform magic to ignite the fire. Flint in both hands, he struck them together until the old logs caught sparks. The wood crackled. The air was warm. I stood as Freya at the edge of the firelight.
Black veins began to fade from his skin, and his stoic temperament returned. Unreadable. Intolerably stone. Handsome.
“Wait,” Alistair hushed with eyes narrowed on me as he beheld me in this new light.
“You…” his words puttered out, as did the ebony veins. They vanished entirely.
Again, beneath his rodded gaze, I felt too seen. My heart hitched in my throat.
His lips clapped together with brows in a scowl.
“I have found you prying before. The night the guild fell.” There was no wrath in his tone but curiosity.
My curtsy felt appropriate, be it shame or dread crossing my legs—Freya’s legs.
“As I have said, my father has been paranoid. It will not happen again.”
Alistair’s voice rose.
“I do not believe you. Though, since you and I have met, you have given me no reasons to believe you.”
I was being dissected.
“How so, my lord?” I asked, giving the most innocent song I could possibly sing.
A devious smirk claimed his lips. He set his hand at his jaw, fingers grazing the sharp cut of it.
“I have caught you eavesdropping multiple times. You also have searched through my belongings, all while claiming to be loyal to my house. Some days, I believe I may be closer to understanding you.” His shoulders broadened above me, his stance widened. Chest rumbled in low-spoken words.
“Only for you to change.”
“Change?” I squeaked.
Alistair leaned forward and whispered in my ear.
“More than most.”
“I do not understand.”
He spoke with sureness. “You do.”
Leave, now. Deceit anchored himself in me, the weight of him rippling down my spine.
I obeyed.
“My lord, I should take my leave.”
I took a bold step, but Alistair lifted his arm with a palm pressed against the stone wall, creating a barrier between me and my escape. My blue eyes bulged. I looked past the taut of his forearm and towards the door, far out of reach.
Alistair stood as a guard at a prison with a dark flavor on his breath.
“And why would I let you leave?” He asked.
I crafted a smile over my anxiety, Freya’s lips pulling at the corners.
“Lord Alistair, I am sorry for all of this. Consider it over. I will not be entertaining my father’s obsession with the contract any longer.”
He tucked his chin with menace in his eyes.
“I do not believe you.”
“Truly, you have my word.”
“But you were not after your father’s contract, were you, Freya Brine?”
The way he said her name. It was as though he knew it did not belong to me.
In a breath, Alistair curled towards me, cupped my face—palm to chin, fingers hard at my cheeks—parting my lips, like he wouldn’t allow my secrets to be barred behind a closed mouth. He showed me the darkness in his eyes. All light was swallowed in those dark waters. My attention was swallowed.
There it was again—that insufferable, plaguing ache that lived deep in my stomach. The tension that roamed throughout my veins, making my blood burn hot and my heart pound fiercely.
As he stood so near, I tapped into Deceit’s sway, my breath turning sour.
“You are confused, my lord. All I have spoken is true.”
“Do not…” Once more, his words fell dry. Formless on his tongue. Alistair leaned nearer, his tightened stare cringing as he studied my eyes. His voice was a deep whisper.
“Do not tell me lies.”
His eyes chased my lips, tracing each curve as though to unveil my mask. A hint of tension sketched a subtle crevasse upon his brow as his own lips parted, drawing thin as heated breath fell to my skin. Alistair did not need to draw me closer, did not need to pull me nearer where he held my face—I would have come regardless, enticed by that ache I knew only he kindled.
There was a chasm lessening between us.
It was another breath—another swift second. Alistair bound me against the wall, the cold stones at my back, his heat on me, his arm around my waist.
I suffered the ache. It consumed me.
Then, something changed in Alistair. Against the firelight, anger had melted away and left something gentle. Grave, but gentle. It was how his eyes looked at mine and how the clench of his jaw was undone. Alistair loosened his touch on my cheeks, his thumb gliding along my lip and falling to the ribbon of my neck—no, Freya’s neck, but it was my heart that throbbed in my chest. He lowered his hand, patiently, and I was savoring each second. His calloused palm rested just above my breasts. My heart was near bursting.
He stilled, hand firm, as though counting each beat he summoned.
“I do not trust you wholly,” he whispered.
“But I want to. I want to trust you.”
Alistair continued to search me from eyes to lips. A conflict seemed to crack the black diamond of his gaze—suddenly, they appeared as delicate as a rose.
“Alistair”, I said so quietly, I thought he might not have heard it, but his name on my lips—no, dammit, Freya’s lips—dragged his hand into my hair, and he pulled me closer, dissolving the distance.
Curves to muscles, bends to straights, our bodies pressed into the other’s. My legs tensed between his, his ribs expanded against my breasts, breaths flushed together. My body, my soul, gave in to his touch. Willingly, I let myself fall into the warmth of his stature, into his shadow, with an ache that devoured my fears.
Our lips drew nearer, falling into the shadow of the others. I did not appear myself, and yet I had no desire to tear away. Our breath intermingled, his lips grazed mine.
“You do not want this,” he hushed between us.
“I do,” I breathed without Freya’s voice.
I wanted to be breathless. To plunge into the dark waters and never breathe again.
Alistair’s muscles tensed against me. Yearning.
Leave me breathless.
But his hands—they left. Alistair broke from me and receded to the hearth. The absence of him was hollow and cold. I trembled where I stood, the shadow of his touch remaining upon my skin… Freya’s skin.
Get out, now! Deceit wailed in my mind.
Flames and shadows collided along Alistair’s outline, skewing his silhouette. His chest and shoulders rose with heavy breaths, and something caused his fists to clench.
I took a step back, nearer to the door.
Alistair found me over his shoulder, showing me the cut of his jaw. His voice was a growl.
“Advisors, above all others, should not be pillaging their lord’s belongings.”
“I will be sure to tell my father.”
“I am not referring to Lucien.”
Air escaped me, leaving me cold and pale. I did not stay a moment longer, cutting past the table of scrolls and slamming the door at my back. Every few steps, I whisked around, thinking I’d find him, unsure if black veins would possess him and send him charging with steel in hand. Thunder cracked above, icy rains scraped my skin.
My skin snapped by the field of statues. Amelia sang her song as her stone creaked, but I did not look.
Does he know, Deceit? I threw my desperation at the god. Does Alistair know what I am?
Your mask was fortified in flesh and bones. He could not have known, the god assured, but still—
I was not convinced.
Luggage was being loaded into the royal carriages, and laughter bellowed from the estate, but it met me with bitterness. Everything felt bitter, tasted bitter. This estate and all the rot it festered into this realm, curdling my soul, decaying my vows, and leaving me to perish somewhere between desire and faith.
Face towards the ground, I swung open the front door, nudged past whoever stood in my path, and made a desperate march to Vera. To be beside her. To reap a shard of safety in this place. I threw open my door, and I knew—safety was an illusion.
Vera’s bag was in her hand.
A tear managed to escape my swollen eyes.
“Vera, what are you doing?”
As I removed my cloak, she tied hers and wove her fingers into my riding gloves.
“I told you, Rhoswen, I cannot stay.” While I stood wet, teary-eyed, and feeling sick, I thought she might ask what was wrong, but she seemed to stuff down every intention of it and asked instead.
“Where’s the journal?”
“I couldn’t find it,” I lied, and she knew.
Her temper straddled care and anger.
“What happened?”
“The lord came to his study before I could leave.”
“And?” Care lessened. Anger grew.
“And what?”
“Rhoswen, what happened? You look as though you died and were reawakened.”
What will the god server say? Deceit griped and scraped. That she fell into the arms of a man with a heart of decay, or lie so her dearest might not away?
“I had found the journal, but Alistair came to his study. I managed to leave before he saw me.”
Vera tossed the travel bag over her shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.”
She took my wetted cloak from the bed and pressed it against my stomach. I did not take it, and her scowl deepened. Her beauty—the soft, fair skin and curves of her face—strained beneath anger.
The soggy cloak fell from her grasp and was a heap on the ground. Vera whisked her red curls and side-stepped past me for the door. Desperation sent my hand to her shoulder, and she pried off each of my fingers.
“When I find Taison,” she said.
“When I find others willing to fight against the dark of Andrael, I will be back, I will bring Taison, we will end this house, and you will come with us. Do you understand?”
“Please.” I wanted to be a barrier as Alistair was to me earlier—to prop up my arm and never let her leave.
“Don’t go to Taison. That man is a monster.”
Vera kicked back her jaw with an uncanny laugh.
“Oh, no, darling. Alistair Raven is a monster. Can you see that, can’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Your lies do not work on me.” Her brows were a tight wire, framed by fire curls. Lengthening her spine, I stood beneath her.
“Throughout your time with the guild, you have been the one who collects information, hiding behind your masks and in the shadows. But contracts are not enough. This realm is no longer designed to accommodate you. We need killers, Rhoswen. Those who are actually willing to put some blood on their hands for the survival of Andrael.”
“There are other ways.”
Vera’s eyes turned red.
“Tell that to the guildmembers who fell at the king’s hand. To Hendry Baird. To the others without a home and those locked in the prisons.” There was a pause—silence, unbearable.
“Tell me you do not care for the lord. Tell me honestly.”
I did not speak.
She turned away from me, as though she could no longer stand the sight of me.
A defeated sigh left her lips.
“Goodbye, Rhoswen.”
She made for the door.
“Vera, wait, I—”
I reached for her shoulder, pulling her back, and every curl sprang in the air. She twisted her spine to show me the wrath in her brow, the betrayal in her eyes. Every feature was locked tight.
She did not stifle her resentment as she said.
“Gods protect you, sister.”
Her feet took her beyond the threshold, away from me, and I froze. Both body and time had nestled into stillness as the only person I trusted in this realm left. Tears loomed at the edges of my eyes and fell. Everything warped beneath the waters, behind the tightness of my eyes.
I told you, child, Deceit uttered. She would not stay.
One last time, I told myself. One last time, I would beg for Vera to stay.
Like lifting my foot from wet sand, I peeled my sole from the floor. Then again and again until I was in full sprint. The night drenched me in downpour, and stones splashed a chaotic song that melded with the sound of my footfall. Crying Vera’s name towards the laurel wood, I mistook my own voice for thunder.
The path beneath me was slippery like oil. I nearly fell into the mud and roots.
Through the alley of laurels, past the carriages of my brothers and father, I ran to the stables. Skye neighed.
“Vera!” I yelled again, my voice distorting in the storm.
“Vera!” I did not see her.
I twisted my spine towards the path of the wood, and I caught a final glimpse, heard the final knock, of hooves bashing the ground. A sliver of scarlet hairs shown even through a moonless night. Vera turned the corner. She fell from my sight.
I lost her.
Deceit, tell Slumber to look after her. Keep her safe.
The god’s voice was as slick as the stones at my feet. Do you truly believe you are in a place to be making demands? Regardless, I think it is your own life you should be concerned with.
I peered down the path to the estate where lantern flames were being tortured by the rains, fidgeting near death. The pale stones melted into the backdrop of grey skies, the climbing moss looking like floating wisps. As I made my way back to the estate, the laurel branches reached out to me like hands to never let me go. Never surrender me.
I recalled the heaviness of the dark magic upon my first arrival, but I no longer felt it, no longer smelt the rusty tang. Amelia twitched in dead daylight, and I’d come to expect this. I remember being fascinated and overwhelmed by the mysteries of the Raven Estate and laurel wood. I remember my fears when first witnessing the ebony veins trace Alistair’s skin. Only for me to be marked by Shadow.
Amidst all I have encountered in this estate, I still felt my time here was not done. There was more to learn, more to know. How was Lucien to achieve his intentions, and where did his ambitions end? What magic, beyond Shadows, did Lord Alistair wield? Could he help me with my own Shadow? What were he and Evandor planning?
Upon arriving at the estate, I did not yet know which questions to ask.
Now, I did not know how to answer my questions.
A draught of frigid winds caressed my skin, sending shivers down my spine. Palms to arms, I rubbed manically to gather warmth while balancing on slick stones. The iron knob knew my hand, the handle twisted with my wrist. Hinges grinded as they always did, and I stepped from the storm and into the waning warmth of the estate. Puddles immediately pooled at my feet. Droplets slapped the ground from both tears and rain.
The hearth roared in the night, though the front room was abandoned.
Or, so I thought.
From the chair, a figure arose. Warping flames distorted the masculine silhouette. His head bent left then right, his spine cracking in a stretch. He reached up. Ran his hand over his brows, threw his hair.
Upon the table was an auburn journal. I nearly ran.
Alistair turned to me.
“Miss Fallen.” He tucked his chin.
“It is time you and I are honest with each other.”