Chapter 45
It was as though snakes twisted in my gut, nausea nearly filling my mouth.
My father arose from his throne, studying Briarwood just as all others were. Evandor pressed his spine against the arch of his throne with nails scratching at the arms of it. Once more, the young prince threw his eyes to Alistair. Alistair stood rigid—hands clasped behind his back, feet in line with his shoulders, jaw clenching. He had chiseled himself into a stoic temperament. Entirely impassive.
Evandor seemed to critique himself and followed Alistair’s temper.
The king let out a low, roaring note.
“I heard rumors you had died, Briarwood. No one has seen you for weeks, and you left my summons unanswered.”
“Apologies, Your Highness.” Briarwood’s haunting voice stirred old memories and fears in me. He hung himself in another bow.
“Death indeed came for me, though it has come for me on several accounts. Death seemed to forget my face, though I do not forget him—I saw him coming.”
“Oh?” The king asked in interest.
“And what face does death wear, Briarwood?”
A muscle twitch in Alistair’s jaw.
Briarwood paced his breath, as though tying a cord of suspense around Alistair, ready to string him up and let him bleed out before gods and crown.
Perhaps the fall of your lord is not in your hands, darling. Deceit stabbed me with his grin.
Briarwood sucked his teeth. I was paralyzed by the anticipation of his exhale.
“Though I know death, my king,” he began before an excruciatingly long pause.
“The face he wore remained veiled. But, I will find him.”
A shade of color came back to Evandor in accord with Alistair’s jaw loosening. Alistair must not have been breathing, because his chest rose in slow, lifegiving relief.
“Do you believe further treachery, Briarwood? You stand in the blood of a lord who’d forgotten his way. Shall another lost soul find the same fate?”
“Yes, my king. I believe so.”
A vulgar noise escaped the king’s mouth. He measured the lords before him, counting souls, tallying potential traitors. And, when his eyes neared the Raven, the king seemed to skip past him—no inclination of disloyalty rousing. It gave me comfort, though comfort could only extend so far with Briarwood walking, breathing, living.
“You have remained in hiding,” the king remarked.
“Yes, your Majesty. Lucien had given me shelter as the waters settled.” Briarwood motioned to his side, paying recognition to Lucien.
I brought forth a memory for Deceit to snatch—in Tharen Crest, the seller of poisonous petals had mentioned Lucien was working with another.
Deceit, do you think—?
The second man, the god said, twisting the memory between his fingers.
Gears in my mind were spinning. Lucien has access to poison.
And pray tell, to what does Briarwood gift to Lucien in return?
The seller in Tharen Crest mentioned the other man supplied ingredients for ‘the brew’.
“Lucien Brine,” my father noted the man of mercenaries and poison who was locked in another bow.
“It seems your aid has protected one of my greatest men.”
“Your Majesty, it is my honor to stand beside those who stand beside you.”
Was Briarwood a part of Eadric’s death?
Betrayal knows no bounds, my dear. Not in this age.
“And you stand here now, amongst crown and lords,” the king said.
“What is it you seek?”
“My king, I merely stand here in honor to serve. To show you my hands are loyal to the crown. So long as I breathe, I breathe to serve you.”
“It is seen, Lucien.” The king tilted his jaw.
I looked at Alistair again, his crinkled shirt and messy hair, considering the mysterious light glistening in his eyes. He was not like these men—not in appearance or heart.
What atonement he strives for grants no sanctification, Rhoswen, the god uttered to my thoughts. We cannot change the end. And the end will come.
My chest became empty as the deity prophesied. This night, I wished that Alistair’s door had never opened. That Evandor had never interrupted, the king never summoned his men, and that Alistair and I rested in a sliver of solace upon his bed. Just for this night. That our bodies wrapped in the others. To set my head upon his chest and listen to the pacing of his heartbeat.
Even if just for this night.
Rhoswen. Deceit’s tone softened. The end will come.
I swallowed a tear.
The king dismissed Briarwood and Lucien, and the two men stood beside the others. Further men continued to come forth. Some avoided the spilled blood while others stood in the red waters. A muddle of footprints surrounded the pool.
“To what honor have you brought your king?” My father asked time and again.
I kept glancing at Briarwood, waiting for his lips to slacken and eyes to roll back. For blood to seep from his neck. For weeks of decay to overtake the health shone upon his skin. He was dead. I was relieved by his death. And yet…
The grand hall’s music puttered out many moments ago. Knox’s sour glare remained intact through each grizzly yawn, and Evandor watched all with forest eyes and listened with keen ears.
The king questioned many about the Amulet of Light, but the same consensus scattered through all’s sentiments—not one knew where it was. Evandor spoke of his search in the east and the rumors he pursued, which offered no enlightenment and only further confusion. With deep sighs, he let all know his beliefs that others were spreading tall tales to throw the crown off course.
“If I chase one more fucking rumor and return empty-handed—” And the young prince’s words trailed off, leaving the threat to be concocted by the lords’ imaginations.
Waiting for all to leave, the god and I stewed in the dark. Imprisoned by the small passageway, I hunched on the stone ground with aching legs and a bent spine. The god nestled in my mind with tapping fingers and watchful eyes, embraced by the barriers of my skull.
Late into the night, the throne room was emptied of royalty and titles. Servants set iron caps atop the burning torches, snuffing the room of light.
The castle fell into silence.
Following the way I’d come, I set my hand against the stone door and stumbled into the hall.
Tender muscles released their tension as I yawned in a stretch. Once blood swam throughout my body, I began to walk through the dark hallway. Guided by the echo of candlelight, I neared the passage. Before stepping between the two empty armors, I heard voices simmer. Dark, deep whispers.
“Your treachery will be known by the crown,” one voice snapped. Briarwood.
“I assure you, you are mistaken,” the other spoke calmly. Severe and practiced.
Do nothing, Rhoswen, the god hummed. This is not your fight.
I delved into my mind and dug up faces—one neither Briarwood nor Lucien would recognize. Deceit swatted at me, clasping the thoughts before they came to fruition, but one slipped past his annoying hands. A servant at the Calhourn estate. A short gal with young skin, grey eyes, pale brown hair, and a dapple of freckles upon her cheeks. Annie.
The god gnashed his teeth. Skin burning in the dark hall, I then stepped into the light as Annie, already adorned in servant linens.
“My lord,” I called, approaching Alistair.
Three men angled at my coming, Lucien and Briarwood with glares, unbroken.
“Leave. Now.” Briarwood threatened me through a taut throat.
“Apologies, sire,” I bowed to the men.
“I do not mean to interrupt, though Lord Alistair requested I accompany him to find literature from the library. The king has tasked me to serve Lord Alistair, so long as the Raven Estate is in the castle.”
“I do not care. Leave,” Briarwood barked.
“Sire,” I said, bowing again. Stapling my feet to the ground, I look at the Raven.
“Lord Alistair, shall I take my leave, or shall I accompany you?”
Alistair held me in his gaze with no signs of confusion. His eyes traded between Briarwood and Lucien.
“Gentlemen, goodnight.”
Briarwood latched onto Alistair by the arm. Each muscle in his face scrunched in anger.
“Your prince cannot always be there to save the skin on your back, Alistair. When I have proof, I will come for you. And you will die.”
Something sinister bent Lucien’s lips.
Alistair stood above Briarwood, glaring at him from the sharp of his nose.
“If what you say of me is true, do you truly believe I will bow down to your threats?” He flexed his arm, tore it from Briarwood, and walked towards me.
“Show me the library.”
“Of course, my lord.” I marked Briarwood and Lucien before departing.
Alistair guided the way. I had a difficult time keeping up—his feet charged by swift rage. He kept grunting breaths, his brows occasionally claiming a furrow, his teeth crashing together.
“Are you all right, my lord?” I asked in Annie’s voice. It was strange for me being here—not sure what Alistair did and did not understand about my mask. If he knew it was a mask.
“He was in the laurel wood,” Alistair finally managed to utter.
“How—?” He cut himself off with a grunt. Fists turned white.
“Briarwood and Lucien.” Another nasty breath. “When did death become so uncertain? It used to be definite before Shadows ever came to Andrael.”
“My lord, are—?”
“Go to your room, Rhoswen.” He did not look at me as he spoke.
“You aren’t safe with me. Not right now.”
“Alistair—”
“I need to find Evandor,” he strained, keeping his steps rapid.
“I’ll go with you,” I said, running a couple of steps to keep up.
“You shouldn’t be alone. Not with Briarwood here.”
“I told you, I am a curse of this age. Death always finds me and those I care for.”
“Death is not so definite,” I opposed.
His eyes narrowed ahead.
“Leave me, Rhoswen.”
I reached for him, Annie holding the lord’s hand in the privacy of the castle halls. Our hands met, and his footsteps gave me mercy, coming to a halt. We stowed away between bands of moonlight, pouring through the windows, and I stepped before him.
“Alistair, I told you I would not leave you again.”
“And when your potion wears off?” He asked.
“If Briarwood sees us together, he will ensure he finishes what he started, and I—”
Alistair leaned towards me, and every piece of me wanted to release the mask I upheld—to let him see my face, let him look into my eyes.
“Briarwood would have every intent to kill you, Rhoswen.” He held my cheek, searching Annie’s grey gaze.
“I won’t let that happen. I promised you that he would never lay a hand on you again. I broke my promise when he came to you in Tharen Crest, but I will never break that promise again.”
I held his hand that held me.
“You saved me from him, Alistair. No promise has been broken.”
Alistair kissed the crown of my head and pressed me away—only to search my eyes. His fingers mindlessly stroked mine, and the way he looked at me, devoted and unyielding, I knew he was peeling back the layers of my mask. To see me. And, I believe he did, because the most careful smile blessed his lips.
Moonlight traced Alistair’s jaw, though—for perhaps the first moment of my life—I felt no comfort in the pale of the moon, no comfort in Andrael’s last giving light.
All comfort I drew was found in the dark of his eyes.
“Silver light,” he hushed.
“The magic on you looks like silver light.”
“You can see the magic?” I breathed.
“It is pure upon your skin,” he said quietly. Patiently.
“Even in the darkness of this era, you illuminate, Rhoswen. You are the whitest of roses. A divine beauty in a cursed realm.” Alistair chased my breath and wiped fallen hair behind my ear.
“I see you clearly.” He took my hand and set it before my eyes.
I studied my own skin, and I knew Alistair spoke the truth—he could see me clearly.
My mask had fallen, but I don’t recall releasing it.
Alistair hurried a kiss, but the hurried nature did not diminish its passion. Devoutness.
He pulled back and straightened himself, scanning the corridors.
“You know the dark well, Rhoswen. Stay there. Keep to the shadows where Briarwood cannot see you. And if he finds you, I will do all I can to be there.”
I said nothing, only wanting to join him wherever he’d go.
“Your room is around the corner. Freya and Catriona should be back by now.”
“I want to help you,” I spoke timidly as Deceit twisted raging circles in my mind.
Alistair’s gaze ran over my mouth with care in his eyes. He held me in his arms for the span of a breath, too quick, too fleeting.
“No, Rhoswen,” he said into my hair.
“I need you to be safe.”
And the Raven flew away without a final glance.
After watching Alistair bleed into the night, I turned the corner and found myself before my chamber door. None stood near, and everything was quiet apart from the knocking of branches on windows. Over my shoulder, I glanced at Alistair’s door, and private thoughts of this night resurfaced. Though I should know better than to consider any thoughts private.
Deceit breathed a long breath.
This night was not for Alistair and me. Not in this place, not with the god in my mind, and perhaps it was never to be.
Never. Sureness grated within Deceit’s breath.
Do you know how Alistair can see your magic? The god merely gave another breath, fingers flicking, and I ask, You know something, don’t you?
Witnessing magic in silver light is not of mankind.
What is it?
If he knew, he did not say.
“Ah-hem,” A throat scratched, pulling my attention to the hall’s end.
A figure stood at the corner, concealed beneath a cloak. Cautiously, they looked to their sides and stepped towards me with brash steps.
“I heard you were here,” the feminine voice said.
The voice was familiar, I knew it well, but I had been deceived this night by someone wearing the face that belonged to her voice.
“What do you want?” I walked towards the cloaked figure.
“Have you come back to deceive me again?”
“What are you talking about?” They asked.
“Listen, about earlier…” They reached out to take my hand, though I pulled back.
“Do not touch me,” I hissed.
“Rhoswen, I’m… I’m sorry.”
They stood before me, appearing like Vera, but I could not trust their face.
I gnashed.
“Why have you come to me again? What is it you want?”
They widened their juniper eyes and leaned against the wall.
“What I want, love? I-I suppose I should ask for your forgiveness for what happened at the lord’s estate, but you should ask for mine too. How we left things, gods, it haunts me, but I could not stay there. Not with everything between you and him.”
I prodded.
“Then tell me, how did we leave things?”
Their features skewed with tight lips and raised brows.
“What are you going on about, love?”
“Tell me,” I spat.
Her voice lessened.
“Well, we fought because you keep falling for these damn lords. It’s sick,” she muttered under her breath.
“But still, you are my sister. I do not care what has happened in the past, the gods have given us each other. And I hate how I left.”
My heart knocked against my chest.
“Vera? Is it truly you?”
She held my question with budding eyes.
“Sands, Rhoswen, what the fuck are you going on about? Of course it’s me.”
I leaped to her, taking her in my arms. She held me in return.
“You’re not upset?” Vera asked.
A giggling note held my voice.
“I’m bloody furious, Vera, but I am far more glad to see you.”
“What were you talking about, wondering if it was me?”
I clasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes.
“Someone wore your face tonight.”
“They wore my face?” Her freckles danced with a scrunching nose.
“I do not know if I should be honored or offended.” She chewed her lip.
“Has Deception finally taken on more servants?”
“No,” I said.
“It was a potion taker.”
Her mouth gaped.
“Gods, how much trouble are you in? Shadows, lords, gods, and now face-changers?”
I grumbled.
“Please don’t remind me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be hidden in the dark? Masked behind faces?” Her hands lowered and rose through the air, measuring me.
“You are literally chosen by a God of Deception, and now someone is trying to deceive you.”
The god’s laughter was odious within me.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I admitted, the truth tasting bitter.
Vera smiled wildly.
“Then I have come at a perfect time.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are many of us, Rhoswen. I—” She paused and looked around at all corners.
I leaned nearer as she hushed.
“I should not speak of it here. Come with me.”
My brows knit. “Where?”
“To meet the others.” A merriment met her. A hope.
“By the grace of the gods, we are going to save our brothers and sisters.”
My heart fluttered in the very hope that captured Vera’s smile.
The god’s tail rushed to my heart and coiled around it. So soon you forget, child. Hope does not breathe when the end of all is near.
Vera took my hand in hers.
Divided in desires, I glanced over my shoulder one last time to see Alistair’s door before it fell from my sight, and, with determined steps, Vera guided me into the night without an end.