Chapter 56
“I will keep her alive.”
It was a distant voice—a pendulum suspended somewhere between life and death. A listless pendulum that misplaced time and sense. A fauna lost to endless shores or petals floating in a stagnant breeze. It was the salt of the forgotten realms, graves of the living.
I lived here for some time.
Time.
Time did not find me. Not here, wherever here was, or if here was even a place at all.
There was neither darkness nor light, only the absence of creation.
I could not claim serenity. Confusion did not exist. Only being. I was simply being, like a hollowed shell, a vessel, awaiting purpose. Awaiting wine or soil to fill to the brim and grant a vocation to cling to.
“She cannot go back,” the voice hissed.
Something cold and leathery wrapped around me, granting me an anchor I could not see.
I was being called, not from unconsciousness, but something much further. Deeper than the voice could reach, a tether seized my soul. It dragged me, pined for me, drifting me towards either the sands of Oldurem or the Everlaides, I did not know.
All I knew was I was drifting.
But this voice, the one speaking of me, held me at bay from the eternal afterlife. I held onto the sensation—the frigid touch around me. As the tether yanked, as my soul was contested, I held onto the voice of Deceit with all I was. I waited for my god to deliver me from death. I waited for the God of Deception to deceive death itself.
All fell away.
…
Hooves struck the ground, and I centered myself upon the rhythm as though it was essence of life. A warmth dwelled at my back, secure and as hot as the blood that pooled at my neck.
“Stay with me, Rhoswen.”
I strived to uphold these rumbling words behind me, but I was tangled in the tether. Only one breath filled me before life slipped from me. The tether had reeled me into surrender, severing me from breath and bones.
…
“Quickly!” He said, the god of my demise and salvation.
“The veil shuts, she treads languished, near vanquished as the hourglass bleeds her time.”
A grunt. Shattered glass. Heavy hands.
I was undone, like a quilt that had been battered and torn, unspooled from use—one that could not be repaired, the thread far too frail, but discarded and left to decompose with the passing of time.
But someone was attempting to sew me back together.
Where my blood was hot, blistering frost scraped my skin and saturated the wound. Air was burning my throat. I may have grimaced, I might have cried, but I did not know. I thought I felt my lips move, that I had spoken, but I no longer heard any voice.
All fell away.
…
A thin breath drew down my throat. Air scratch in my windpipe, raise my chest, and stretch my ribs. But I did not take relief. Not yet.
Had I been left to die? Was my thread too frail to be sewn back together? Had the tether dragged me past the point of return?
My fingertips twitched at my sides, and there were no grains of Oldurem, but rather smooth velvet. In another breath, my hand chased the air, and I cradled my neck. It ached, as though new skin covered an old wound.
Something took my grip, warm to the touch. My hand was moved away from my neck and set on a tepid foundation. Calloused fingers intertwine with mine. Their heartbeat pounded against my hands, fast yet soft, and a tender tightness locked our hands together, as though they were begging me to stay. To not fall away again.
My eyelids slit open, blinding light goring my vision. I winced and attempted to see past the blurs. Perhaps to see the High Gods welcome me to the Everlaides. But there were no gods. A candle was set upon the windowsill. Curtains drawn back, faint light fought through the murky glass. Vials were scattered over a table, and a hearth roared behind it.
In the far corner, there was a stack of parchment and scrolls.
I lay in Lord Alistair’s study, but I had no recollection of coming to this place. Though I did know my soul had sunken back into my bones, the tether broken. My breaths were steady beneath my skin. A throbbing ache pulsed along my neck, tensing my hands, but it was a pain I was glad for. It meant I was here.
I was alive.
My hands tensed, and so did the others. A thumb grazed the back of my hand, and warm breath glided over my skin.
I rested for a moment, but, in an instant, relief crumbled.
I remembered everything.
My eyes shot open. I tore back my hand and split myself from the couch.
“Rhoswen, be still,” Alistair demanded.
Looking into the eyes of a killer, I trembled to my feet. My body suffered blood loss—gods, the room was spinning. I collapsed to the floor. Everything was sore. My neck burned in remembrance of the blade—the blade this lord sent across my neck. I tried to stand. The room kept whirling around me. I did not lift an inch.
“Rhoswen—”
The Dark Lord neared. I scraped my heels along the floor, pressing myself backwards. I breathed in to curdle the air, but, dammit, a spell of deception never worked on this man. This monster.
Help me, I cried to the god. Do something!
Child—
The Raven lowered himself.
“Stay away from me,” I yelled.
“Do not touch me!”
Digging into memories, I thought of others, though my skin did not burn.
The god held my thoughts, keeping his magic with him. Child, be calm.
W-what are you doing? Change me, Deceit, like in the castle. Rhoswen and Deception. Stand with me.
Rhoswen, the god hushed, holding my fright, stroking the anxieties.
Alistair said my name so softly, but I would not be mistaken again. Not by him. Killer of the Chosen, lord of the western lands, upholding the decrees of the king.
Checking my surroundings—heart pounding fiercely, vision blurring in a spiral—I found the hearth at my back. I stole a fire rod and wielded it as a sword, striking the lord. Iron to ribs, a breath was knocked from Alistair, and then h-h-he—
He lifted his hands, arms from his chest, as though welcoming another blow.
Help me get out of here, I uttered to the god, not taking my eyes off this killer.
Hush, darling, the god spoke. Do not fret, for your death is not near.
Slowly, Alistair lifted his hand to me—I tightened my grip on the rod.
“I will not hurt you, Rhoswen.” His voice was enveloped in a gentleness I did not know if I could trust.
“I promised to you, and my promise remains. I will never hurt you.”
Child, it is his hands that carried you from the blood.
His hands nearly killed me.
No. Deceit’s tail curled around my spine with nails followed the map of my mind. Ancient breath traced my veins, calming me. He said again, His hands carried you from the blood.
Alistair’s arms remained at his sides, empty palms shone to me. He lowered to his knees and bowed his spine until we were at eye level. Rod in my hand, I nearly struck him again—ready to run—but something made me stay.
You are safe, the god whispered.
My drumming heart pounded in my ears, breaths were short and withered. The blur in my vision began to subside, making this lord—kneeling on the ground, stripped of title—all the more clear.
The god and I slowed my heart, eased my breath, and quieted my fright.
Alistair appeared as a statue once more, locked in patient stillness.
“Rhoswen,” he hushed.
“I would never hurt you.” He opened his arms further, tucking his jaw with raised brows. “Please.”
Every movement of mine was cautious. Using the rod as a cane, I climbed the shaft and stood upright, my blood swishing in my skull. Alistair remained on the ground, and I dared to detach my eyes from his and look towards the door. An escape.
Before a step was had, Deceit crawled into my thoughts and resurfaced memories.
I was forced to remember the man I’d come to know in recent days. The man who sentenced Hendry Baird to death, protecting him from my father’s hand. The man who stood between Lord Briarwood and me when the Shadow overcame me. The man who held me in his arms as he sentenced away Shadow’s torment with godly jewels in his eyes.
Deceit even drew out memories in the castle behind a closed door.
And now, Alistair was before me once again. Rumored to be dead at a Bloodletter’s hand, here he was, kneeling before me.
I hadn’t decided if it was my hand or iron that would find him, but…
He saved you, the god whispered.
I reached out to him and stroked away the strands always covering his brow. And I-I knelt beside him and studied his face, his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Alistair waited in stillness, never taking his eyes off mine, letting me search.
There were no signs of danger.
“Alistair,” my voice cracked, warmth trailing my cheeks.
“That was not you by the wood.”
“No,” he hushed with a tear of his own.
This lord—this man—knelt upon the hard floor, defenseless with open arms. His shirt was covered in tears, and blood crusted his hands. Exhaustion was written in the heavy bags beneath his eyes. He sat like a warrior at the other side of the battle. Arms lay down. Vulnerable.
I let the rod hit the ground and set my hand upon his chest, only to feel his heart thrum—that precious, beating thing.
He was alive.
Alistair’s lungs expanded in a swift breath. I fell into him the same moment his arms circled me. I surrounded myself with him. He held me so gently. Tenderly.
“The Bloodletter said you died,” I cried.
“I’m here.” His fingers followed the line of my back, soothing me in soft strokes.
“I’m here.”
“What happened?” I looked into his eyes.
“You came to me, and—” I couldn’t say what I’d seen.
“Rhoswen,” Alistair breathed. Thoughts chase thoughts behind his eyes.
“You and I have lived in the dark that we created for ourselves, but I do not wish to live there any longer.” He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed.
“I want to show you everything. I want you to understand who I am.”
I rested against him, our minds bound together as we breathed the same air.
Deceit spoke in the silence, Allow the lord to reveal his secrets, Rhoswen. The fables fall as truth is revealed. See through his eyes and understand. His horns rested on my mind. The gods were wrong to condemn him.
A craving bloomed, sweet and aching, laced with the promise of knowing.
“Show me,” I said, any reluctance snuffed out.
Alistair held me tighter and rose us to our feet. Keeping me close, he set me upon the couch and knelt at my feet.
He lifted his hands to my temples, then paused.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
Certain of what exactly, I did not know. But I was certain that I needed to know.
I held him in my gaze.
“I want to know you, Alistair.”
A nigh grin drew his dimple. Within his eyes, there was a quiet flicker, raw and unguarded—nearly startled, perhaps somewhat fearful. The look of someone who had spent too long in the shadows, finally ready to walk into the light. To be uncovered and seen.
Alistair’s thumbs pressed against my temples, and he spoke foreign words. His eyes illuminated. I tasted the magic. Warm simmered at my temples and sank deeper into my mind. A light ignited the dark place where Deceit crept, and it called for me. Alistair called for me. I held onto the light and followed it willingly.
It was a rare brilliance, unshielded—a magical string of silver light that sent me past Alistair’s touch, into his red veins, and to his mind. There, within the bends of magic, I saw him.
His mind opened like a door, and I slipped inside.
I saw the realm through the eyes of Lord Alistair Raven.