Chapter 58
Rhoswen Fallen
The string of light guided me back to myself. My own consciousness filled my mind where the god rested, but I did not feel the god—not as I attempted to draw together all the pieces of Alistair that he revealed. All the secrets, all the words left unspoken, finally began to gleam beneath truthful light.
I opened my eyes.
Alistair knelt upon the ground before me, and I saw him—past the title of lord and the black seas of his eyes, I saw him. Who he truly was. Not who he was called to be.
Alistair kept his face lowered, as though looking at me might unmake him.
I reached for his chin, rough with stubble, and raised his face. There was light in his eyes—beautiful, silver light. A mysterious light that was perhaps no longer mysterious.
In a realm where I had learned to dwell in the shadows, sworn to Deception’s name, I had forgotten what it meant to know someone. The richness of being seen by someone. Vulnerable and daunting as it was, nothing could amount to more than being received. And as Alistair and I sat before each other—our secrets coiling in torture beneath the downpour of truth—I yearned to be seen and to see.
Like times before, I reached for his hair. To tuck those unruly strands behind his ears—ears he’d left hidden. Alistair’s chest rose in a quick breath, and he grabbed my hands. It must have been instinct after all these years, not to let anyone near. Because if he had, he would have been marked a threat.
In the eyes of the king, Alistair was a distortion of creation.
But I did not inherit my father’s eyes.
“Let me know you,” I hushed.
Alistair surrendered to his defenses, becoming like stone. Unreadable. Only now, I could read him. He feared that who he was, was someone unworthy.
“Please, Alistair.” I softly tugged past his hold and held his jaw. Setting my forehead upon his, I hushed once more.
“Let me know you.”
Without a word, Alistair lowered his hands.
He did not look at me as my fingertips traced his sharp jaw. I fought the hairs hardened by dry blood, then touched the edge of his ear. I found it—the truth. At the top of his ears, I searched for the points, but they were gone. There was only hard skin—scars.
Alistair remained still. Waiting. Perhaps waiting for me to throw up my hands and leave him without a second look.
I tucked the hair behind his ears. Wiping the strands from his brow, I finally saw his face—hairline to chin, marred ear to marred ear, I beheld each handsome feature.
“You saved me, Alistair.”
The stone began to crack.
Lowering his head, he kissed my hand and traced the edges of my body with his fingers, drawing me closer to him. I leaned towards him—all of me. His lips parted for mine, and our kiss became a chasm with no end. No ends to his taste, no ends to his lips, no ends to him.
He was. He simply was. And that was enough.
Our lips divided, and Alistair rose and sat beside me.
I studied the hearth of soft embers, remembering the light glistening in Alistair’s vision. Strings of light, interlacing with one another and unveiling the life around him. The magic around him.
“You’re elvish.” I spoke, not of the fate Alistair was demanded to uphold, but an identity he had to bury.
His voice carried thin.
“From my mother, yes. I carry the blood of the elves.”
“And this is the light in your eyes? The magic of the elves?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
We sat in silence, unbending and binding except for our breaths that melded together in the distance between. Across the study, above the scrolls, there was a mirror—the very mirror that reflected young Davina some time ago.
“Can I show you something?” I asked.
Confusion carved a crevasse between his brows. He looked into my eyes, then studied my lips, and a grin took one edge of his mouth, forming the faint dimple—I loved the sight. I laced my fingers with his and stood.
“Come with me,” I said softly in reassurance—reassurance that I wanted him by my side.
An act of accord, Alistair rose, casting his shadow over me.
Guiding us through his study, I leaped over potion bottles’ broken glass, scraped along the table, and wove past contracts bearing Lucien’s signature. It was odd to see these scrolls and know they were now inconsequential.
“Stand here,” I said, motioning to my side and setting us before the mirror. I strained my eyes to see through the mirror’s murk, lifted my tattered sleeve, and wiped away the grime.
“What is it, Rhoswen?” Alistair faced me and lifted my chin.
I reached up again and tucked his hair behind his ears. Taking his hand in mine, I called upon the god. Deceit did not sulk and did not speak ill of the lord. Willingly, silently, Deceit offered his gifts.
“Look at the mirror,” I said.
Alistair hesitated for a moment, his eyes tight, but he did as requested. He looked at me first, not his own reflection, though I looked at the scars at the edges of his ears.
Deceit let his magic sink into my mind and carry through my blood. But it did not end with my blood. This spell, Deceit’s enchantment, drifted past my palms and into Alistair’s. At the transition, Alistair tensed, his hand firm around mine. His eyes followed the string of magic from my mind, down my arm, and then carried to him.
“The God of Deception came to me when I was young,” I said.
“When the Goddess of Light had fallen and my mother passed beyond the veil.” I imagined the elves I had seen in my past, and their ears with sharp ends.
“I call him Deceit. He is with me more than he is not. In his sway, I can persuade, manipulate memories, and mold my appearance. I can also alter the appearance of those I touch, but only at my touch.”
Alistair began to change, slightly but significantly. Scars became soft, and skin mended what was once broken. Alistair’s ears became a webbing that continued to thicken. Together, Deceit and I fashioned Alistair the physical token of elves, molding the ends of his ears into points.
Alistair’s breath stopped as he beheld what he should have been—what fate had been stripped from him beneath my father’s reign. Glancing at his side, he turned to me with a softness in his gaze.
“Do you fear what I am?”
“Fear you?” I left one hand bound to Alistair, Deceit’s magic channeling through us. My other hand fell into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands.
“Alistair, I do not fear you. I have lived in the dark, avoiding death since I can remember. Shadows, gods, man, all threatening my life. But with you, Alistair—” My eyes traded between his.
“With you, I finally know I am safe.”
The faintest smile swept across his lips. He leaned towards me, swallowing me in his shadow. Perhaps it was our connection drawn by magic, but I could feel his hastened heartbeat as my own.
“And what of me?” My whisper grazed the closing distance.
“What of my deception? You do not fear it?”
Arm circling around the small of my back, he tightened and pressed me against him.
“I will stand beside you, Rhoswen. Whatever face you take, whatever words you speak, I stand beside you.” He leaned down, and my lips were taken by his.
“I thought I had lost you, Rhoswen.”
“I would not be breathing if it weren’t for you.”
Tsk, tsk, tsk. Deceit brooded in the dark, and I had almost forgotten he was there. Almost. And the god in your mind, my dear.
Deceit—
Do not fret, child. His spine stretched, the knots sharp against my skull. I will away, though do not forget that I was your pardon from death.
I offered my sincerity, I would swear my name to you, if I hadn’t already.
There is still one name you might give, Davina.
My claws scratched through the dark to tear apart my birthname, but I struck nothing. The god left in a flourish.
The god left me in the arms of Alistair Raven.
And here, there was only him.
“Do you know what will become of your work with the Chosen?” He asked.
I fought the urge to shield myself, to deny I ever served the gods. But, this is where we now stood—in the beautiful discomfort of honesty.
Alistair continued.
“The Bloodletter is still out there, and I do not take him as one who forgets.”
“I suppose I am not sure.” I sucked on my lips, my teeth biting into them. Taison was a reincarnation of Carnage himself, and I did not know if Wisdom would ever find him—his skin too thick in rage.
“You’re right. Taison would not forget. though…” My words trailed off.
“You cannot consider going back to them.”
“What life I live is bound to more than what threatens me. Even if Taison is out there, I have made an oath. I will need to find the others and join them.”
“And when Carnage comes for you?”
“Do you already forget, my lord?” The bud of my nose grazed his. I said with a grin.
“I am a product of Deception, himself. I have seen men surrender to the art of my persuasion, and I do not believe any god server could be an exception. Taison will not lay a hand on me.”
Alistair held onto his guard, gravity dragging down the corners of his mouth.
“One cannot deceive death.”
My grin stayed. Hairs were already a mess upon Alistair’s brow. I wiped away each one and laced my fingers behind his neck.
“I believe the god did deceive death, Alistair. Only last night.”
“Rhoswen, I know well the death of this realm, and even gods are tethered to odds. What happened last night—” His shoulders widened in a hastened breath.
Before I could console his afflictions, before words could spill from me, Alistair tightened his arm around me—my entire balance obedient to his strength.
“I will not let you fall, Rhoswen.” His voice rumbled from his chest and to my heart.
“Not to the hands of man, not to the hands of gods, and I will be damned if you fall to Shadow.”
“We are all destined to die, Alistair. Nothing can change this.” I nearly recoiled at myself, echoing Deceit’s incessant reminder.
“And until last night, I have survived alone.”
“You do not understand, Rhoswen,” he growled with black flames burning in his eyes. His fingers clenched my skin. I might have stumbled back had he not caged me in his arms.
“I will walk willingly into the depths with you. Let the dark waters swallow me whole, so I might find you. You do not walk alone any longer, Rhoswen Fallen. I am with you.”
I could never expect these words, so raw.
Years ago, I had given my life to a god, swearing myself to solitude. And in solitude, I had remained, dwelling within the shadows I swore to destroy. Now, being seen by these eyes, being wrapped in these arms, I was no longer alone.
In Alistair’s strength, I felt my own.
“You are not alone, Rhoswen,” he said again, and I was becoming unraveled.
Whatever roots of Deception that remained then cracked and crumbled. The casing around my heart, the protections, were gone. I was no servant to the God of Deception, and I was no victim to the Shadows.
He set his forehead upon mine, closed his eyes, and affirmed.
“I am with you.”
Alistair leaned back and pressed his lips between mine.
His taste, his scent, the firmness of his arms around me—
I unraveled. Unraveled into myself—wholly, vulnerably, entirely.
He lifted me from the ground, our lips never severing. Everything was startlingly awake. Alistair walked us through his study, the cool breeze whirling beneath my hovering feet. His forearm flexed hard against my skin, his pumping blood in a hurried, rhythmic cadence.
Before I could pry myself from the enchantment of his words, he laid me upon his bed. In one sweeping movement, I was on my back. Alistair followed closely, bending perfectly against me—every arch and every gap was filled with him. I savored the weight of him upon me. His lips fell into the crevasse between my neck and shoulder with a tongue following my skin, wet with desire.
The ache came alive.
My hands were possessed to know him—every crease crafted from every hard muscle. My fingers slipped through his shirt, the fabric torn apart. His chest flexed, and atop his muscles, there were lines. Risen etches. Wounds.
I traced them with two fingers.
“Alistair—”
He sucked the air from my mouth, never taking his lips off mine.
“Every mark was worth it.” He grabbed my waist, my hips, my thighs—my breath fluttered as he edged nearer to the place where desperate aches burned within.
I bit his bottom lip, yanking it with me as I drew back. My teeth grazed over his skin, chasing his neck down to his collar. Lowering myself beneath him, I lifted his shirt and traded each cut with a kiss. His chest and abs were hard against my lips. I licked his skin to taste him, to know him, and my fingers dug into his back, memorizing the paths of muscle.
He groaned, and each taut muscle flexed in his motion—in his crave.
His chest throbbed with the pounding of his heart, and he growled my name. The sound of it set me on fire. I twisted underneath him and hooked his leg, urging his knee between my legs.
Alistair sucked a breath and pulled me up by the waist.
I came willingly.
A quiet smile drew across his face, outlining something that lingered between his lips. He ran his knee up my inner thigh and pressed between my legs. My soft breath became a lasting gasp in my throat, and I was suddenly able to name that something behind his smile.
Desire, untamed and outmatched.
His knee aroused me to the point that I was unable to hold still. I was overtaken in the most raw, coveted way. My fingers trailed the hard lines of his stomach. The lower my hands fell, the hotter his skin was. I slipped my fingers beneath his pants.
“Fuck,” he grunted, tight from his throat.
Before I found his hardness, Alistair grabbed my wrist with one hand and set his fingers beneath my chin with the other. He lifted my gaze. The only tell of time was the ragged breaths we exchanged. We stayed here for a moment, entirely promised to each other’s eyes.
I could never find depth’s ends in those black waters that rapt me.
Alistair took a deep breath, sinking closer to me. There was a tenderness about him. Severe, but tender. His hair covered his brow, and my heart fluttered before I acted—taken by the thought of seeing him. I raised my hands, stroked the sharp cut of his chin, followed the dip of his cheeks, and tucked his hair behind his ears. My smile was drawn by him—by his eyes, his stubble, the severity, and his parted lips.
He lowered his face, his nose grazing mine.
A soft exhale drifted from me, and I tensed my hands, following the line of his spine, down his back.
He growled my name into my neck with hot breath and searching hands.
“I have wanted this. I have wanted you. More now than ever.”
Every fiber of my being either strengthened or shattered, I couldn’t tell. I was startlingly awake, alive, and trembling in the exhilaration inflicted by his words and touch. By him.
Alistair slid his hands along my sides, slow and reverent, and grabbed my hips.
His eyes did not leave mine, and gods his rough touch scratched my inner thigh.
“You have me completely,” I hitched. I didn’t mean to hitch, only the roughness of his hand—I could barely breathe. There was not enough air in this entire realm.
He stopped, and it was infuriating.
“Is this too much?”
“No,” I breathed. It was all I could manage to say.
He stayed so near, studying my face.
“Tell me, and we will stop.”
“No,” I said again. My voice was thin air.
“That is not what I want.”
His dimple showed, something of cockiness playing with his smile.
“Well, Miss Fallen,” he began, only stopping to suck my neck.
“What do you want?”
Alistair set his knee between my legs, forcing them apart.
His eyes darkened.
“Tell me what you need.” He pressed his knee between my legs, watching me come undone.
My neck tensed in a breath. He bit his lips as he watched mine open, struggling for air. His teeth scraped along my jawline, and he bit the lobe of my ear.
I could barely gather my words.
Each utterance came out shaken in longing while his lips trailed my collarbone.
“I want you, Alistair Raven.” His muscles hardened at the sound of his name.
“I want you. All of you.” I twisted my fingers through his hair, drawing his eyes back to me. “You say you walk with me, and I mean this—I walk with you.”
A softness settled—the same softness I had seen before in his castle chambers. Words he needed to hear, perhaps words he did not know what to do with, that erased the years of burden from him and left behind the man he was.
Alistair pressed his lips against my own, falling deeper as we shared the air.
His fingers tipped towards the tie of my bodice. I wanted him to rip it off, to break each thread in his merciless hands, but he didn’t. He was patient and kind, savoring each second.
But, when my fingers twisted around his belt, when I begged.
“Take me, Alistair,” in an airy breath—patience be damned. The final lacings were torn off in a strong pull, his leg tensing between mine, and my chest throbbed in the ache.
My gown was torn in two, and his eyes followed my curves, exposed to torchlight.
“You are so beautiful,” he hushed, hands gracing my skin with soft strokes. His fingers tangled in my hair, and he brushed away every strand that fell over my body, revealing me to him entirely. He said with the tenderest breath.
“My white rose.”
I had never been seen entirely before. Not like this. No man I laid with knew of my devotion to the gods—the deformities of my skin, of my voice, and the manipulation of my words. And no living soul knew there was a god in my mind. No one, except Alistair. This man of ebony eyes, stroking me softly and hailing me beautiful, saw me as the white rose aglow in the shadows—no stains, no darkness.
He placed his palm upon my breast. The warmth was intoxicating. His other hand trailed down my stomach, fingers nearing the height of my ache. My hips arched to his touch, unable to wait any longer for him to search me. All of me. I was savoring each second and yet—they were excruciating.
His lips found mine, then fell down my neck and replaced his hand at my breast.
All my desires flourished.
He knew what he was doing to me. Each of my sharp breaths were gifted a new kiss, a new bite, a new touch. We were the same breaths, the same bodies, the same desires.
Alistair followed his fingers, mapping my breast with his lips, and ran his tongue down the center of my stomach. On his knees, he grabbed my waist, his warm breath gliding over my skin, and pulled me to him. Our eyes met.
This moment bore remembrance of our night in the castle. That beautiful night of dance and confessions, men twisting their bodies in tune with the lutes while women were drunk in rapture. Gold, burgundy, wealth, and pale moonlight.
Alistair and I had held onto our secrets like precious jewels, and those days to come had left them shattered crystal upon the ground. This night, we did not don lavish silk nor dance to ethereal strings. Naked beneath faint flamelight, covered in dried blood, Alistair charted my skin like I was something precious. Something that deserved each moment, every single second, of tenderness.
That night in the castle, we had been divided from Andrael by a single door.
Now, in this shamble of a room with no one but us, Alistair lowered himself.
He fell into me. He devoured me.
But this time, no one knocked.
I trembled with each kiss and each lick gifted between my legs. Everything was loud. My skin was covered in chills. I grabbed Alistair’s hair, twisting the strands, letting him know how good he felt—how desperately I needed him to keep going—because I couldn’t manage a single word.
His rough fingers moved from my lower back, down, and between my legs. He put two fingers where his mouth was. The continuous motion, in and out, the circles his tongue drew, the growls in his breath—I thought I might die.
I panted. I moaned. The ache erupted.
Blood was fire in my veins. I pressed into him. Yearnings slipped from my mouth, I cried his name, and he finished me off—tongue licking, lips flexing, fingers sinking deep. Everything met me in one final caress.
My back arched, and a breath came out in a deep, loud moan. I was undone.
Alistair rose, his hands pressing the mattress at either side of my waist. His lips were wet. Firelight flickered across his skin. His muscled chest and shoulders rose in heaving breaths. I saw all of him for only a moment, and he caged me beneath him. I opened my mouth and twisted my fingers in his hair. His rough palms cupped my cheeks, his tongue filled my mouth, and our lips collided.
Alistair peeled back only enough to rip off his shirt. He clenched my wrists, putting my hands on his stomach, and trailed them down. I wedged my hand beneath his pants, and I cupped his length. My eyes widened, and something wicked played on Alistair’s face. He fought his pants and threw them off the bed.
“Tell me you want me,” he said, pressing his length against my lower stomach.
Gods, I wanted him.
He stroked his length between my legs.
“Tell me you want me,” he growled with a ragged, hot breath. He flicked his nose on mine—his dark eyes finding mine.
“I will know if you’re lying.”
I reached around him and pressed his body against me, my fingers tracing the heated muscles covering his back.
“I want you, Alistair Raven,” I said airily and hushed.
“I want you.”
Alistair closed the gap while biting my lip. He spread my legs and came to me slowly, patiently, savoring the tender place that lay between me. Everything was hard—his fingers on my waist, his lips, his legs between mine, the air we heaved, and the place where his length pressed against me, opening me. He spread my legs further apart and pressed into me.
I felt everything.
Alistair’s hungry moan filled my ear, my name a growl.
Cadence altered—nothing hurried, but passionate. Sheer passion.
My breaths were short and high, unsteady with everything he was doing to me—each way he bent my legs, each time he inched himself further in, each point of tension brought by his rough hands. Dark shadows were spilling around us, dancing on the walls, summoned by our own wake.
My lips stretched as Alistair wetted his fingers along my mouth, feeling what I tasted like, and my tongue played with his touch. His thirst covered me—the suck on my breasts, the grasp on my hips, and the hardening thrust that compelled laborious breaths from both of us.
Hips tilting in the rhythm, hand feverish, skin sweating.
Our bodies knew exactly where they belonged—an entanglement of limbs that did not know how to hold still.
Then it came. That raw, burning sensation of my body clawing me from the inside where Alistair filled me. The ache clawing for escape. It tore me, burning me deep inside and begging for release. Pain and pleasure collided. My fingers curled, my nails scratching into Alistair’s hard muscles, and everything tightened, leaving me near devastated.
Alistair groaned as he led me to the edges of myself. He clenched my waist tighter, pressing into me harder, his breath uneven and laborious. Sweat was slick on him. All of him. Rippled abs, flexed arms, strong chest—all caught faint torchlight. His eyes rolled back, and he growled my name over and again. My hips throbbed in his hold, and it rapt me in pure intoxication.
My nails dug into his back, his own name rasping from my throat.
Our shadows were on the verge of consuming the others until there was nothing left but—
Screaming desire.
My longings met pleasure, and I cried towards the Everlaides. As my cry left, sharp from my throat, Alistair did not stop. He pressed harder, pressure surmounting pressure, and he growled my name again between fighting for air. I was in his thrall, bound beneath him, willingly taken past what I knew.
And I took him.
Everything tightened. We suffocated each other, arms circling around our bodies, and our moans released in rumbling, fiery harmony.
And together, at the other end of our secrets, we lay vulnerable.
We slowed, we gasped, and our bodies relaxed.
Our panting breaths hushed, and the ceiling spun above us like twisting skies and shooting stars. My head rested upon his chest, our heat melding together.
I wrapped my legs tightly around his, because I thought he might vanish. Enduring the Dark Era, I never knew this—such raw, pure passion. Though it was not only passion. It was care. It was loyalty to something not of Shadows or gods. And… I didn’t want the realm to take him from me.
He pressed his lips against my forehead, his exhale cooling my brow.
“You, Miss Fallen,” satisfaction filled his voice.
“You are a wonder. The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner.”
My nose scratched against his stubbled chin.
“Perhaps the fates are in your favor, my lord.”
A short chuckle left him.
“Gods, spare me from fates.”
“Perhaps they will.” Hope ignited.
“The-the God of Deception—” I was not sure why it was still difficult to say his name. Perhaps it was still too new to speak so freely.
“He knows that you are of elvish blood.”
“You call him Deceit?”
“Deceit, yes.”
“I never thought my fate might be in the hands of a god of such craft.”
“I never expected the same for myself either.”
A lantern flickered light against us beside the bed, resting on an old table covered in filth. I hadn’t looked at this room before and hadn’t noticed the mess. Clothes were heaped on the floor, and books and scrolls were splayed in display. It was a mess, like the hair upon his head.
We lay here for some time, relishing in the silence and counting breaths. It was as though the realm was sparing us for a moment, however thin, from the insufferable dissonance of this age.
“Alistair?” I nestle closer, climbing to his shoulder to see him clearly.
“Yes, Rhoswen?”
I followed the path of his jaw and set my fingertips upon his ears’ scars.
“Can I ask what happened? Who did this to you?”
A subtle tense, a snapping comfort, Alistair balanced this with his soft touch on my bare skin. He looked at the sky of the ceiling, his eyes trailing along the unlit chandelier decorated in abandoned cobwebs and unused candles.
“My father,” he said.
“He was ashamed of the lineage I came from, always looking at me like I was a mistake he wanted to end. So, one day, he took what he could not stand to see.”
My forehead surrendered to another kiss, Alistair seeming to hold onto what peace he could. Lifting his hand from his chest, Alistair wove his fingers with mine, absently playing with my hand.
“It was warranted.” His chest concaved.
“I did not deserve the elvish marking.”
“Nothing could justify such wrongs.”
“I—” Alistair cut himself off before he could begin. The line upon his brow deepened.
“The day my father carved my ears was a day darkened by my acts alone.” He looked at me with those hardened eyes of stone.
“I had a sister once.”
I lifted my head.
Alistair paced his words.
“She was the daughter of my father’s second wife. My mother was long gone, fallen to his hand.” His ribs stretched in a slow breath.
“When the Shadows infested our home, I had the elvish light to overcome the darkness, but my sister… she was defenseless. Someone so pure should never be exposed to such dark magic. It drove her mad, and she—” Another pause. “She begged me to take it from her. To use my magic and cast away the Shadow, forever.”
I did not speak, granting him the silence to fill.
“And I did, but…” Alistair fell from his words once more. A pulsing vein trailed his temple. His jaw tightened.
“The Shadow needed to be with her, trapped within. We were able to trap it, and I used magic to destroy the Shadow, but her soul was ripped away with it.” Alistair fell deeper into the bed.
“And I do not know where she is now. If she lingers in Andrael, walks in the sands, or is trapped in a place between.”
His tongue stilled.
In the quiet, I hushed.
“You were only a child.”
“Just as you were, Rhoswen.” His fingers grazed the scar from my father’s blade.
“No child deserves to stand against the steel of someone who is to protect.” His hand ran through his hair, upsetting the tucked strands and sending them over his ears.
“I only hope my sister’s soul is accounted for. When she passed, the days became darker. She was given a statue in the courtyard, though it became the darkest of things. The day her name was etched into the plate, she fell from my sight. The statue vanished.” Alistair held me in his gaze, his darkened eyes hinting at nothing of light.
“The Shadow blinded you?”
“As punishment. It is why the moon cannot reflect in my eyes. Damn, Shadow,” he muttered under his breath.
“Ever since that day, everything appears darker. And my sister’s statue—I cannot see it. Only the nameplate. If the Shadow blinds me from anything else, I wouldn’t know.”
“One day, it will not only be the moon that reflects in your eyes, but the sun itself.”
“Perhaps, Miss Fallen.” His sigh was burdened.
“I was desperate to see her as a child, and so I carved out the Raven name on the plate, somehow thinking that might release the Shadow’s hold on my eyes. But, ever since her funeral, everything has been dark.”
My thoughts began to needle at clarity, knowing well a defaced nameplate in the field of statues. I asked.
“May I ask your sister’s name?”
“Amelia,” he breathed.
And the needle shattered the obscure.
“I know her, Alistair.” I sat up. His brows rose.
“I have seen her. Her statue.”
“Glad to know it’s still there.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, she is still here. Amelia is. Her statue moves in the wake of day. And she—”
Alistair propped himself upon his elbows and looked at me with widened eyes.
“What is it?”
“Her soul is here, Alistair. I did not know why she had come to me before, but I think I understand now.” I bit my tongue, my mind reeling.
“If Amelia knew I served the gods, then she would know I was sent here to… Well…”
End the Raven name.
“It’s all right, Rhoswen.” He held my hand.
“Tell me what you saw.”
I sucked the air and spoke slowly to not stumble on my thoughts.
“Amelia’s statue has moved, and I’ve had a nightmare of her… choking me.”
“And this wasn’t only a dream?”
I shook my head.
“Deceit knows she is here as well, and I believe she was trying to protect you. When I first arrived at the estate, her statue twitched. She grabbed my dress during your father’s funeral. I have felt her soul.” I articulated.
“She is here.”
Alistair’s lips slacked as he looked past anything in the room. Slow breaths made for a quiet moment, though I could see his eyes tracing thoughts. He looked at me with severity settled upon his face.
“How is she?”
“She is troubled. I have only seen her in distress.”
Alistair’s hands covered his face, but the furrow of his brow showed between his fingers.
“Alistair.” I reached for his hand.
“What happened is not your fault. What you did was to protect her. She is not condemned to Oldurem, so there is still hope she might be saved.”
“Rhoswen, I ripped her soul from her body.”
“Her soul remains in Andrael. When the Shadows fall, when the light breaks beyond the dark, her soul will be accounted for.”
His grin was false, unadorned by his dimple.
“For one who has lived in the shadows all her life, you speak much of the light.”
A hushed smile snuck into the corners of my lips.
“I was not always in the shadows. I fondly remember the light.”
“The light of the eastern shores?”
No. The light upon the castle walls.
“Yes,” I lied.
“It was exquisite.” Guilt festered.
All truths are revealed in time. But not this one. Not yet.
Alistair leaned forward, bringing himself to me, and rested his head upon my forehead. His hand wrapped around the nape of my neck, and our eyes closed in quiet cadence. Stillness.
“You are right to have hope, Rhoswen. The end of Shadows will come. It must.”
The end of Shadows, if such a reality could unfold.
Knock, knock, knock, the door drummed.
I shook. My hair whisked in the air as I turned to the door.
“Alistair, who is here?”
Whoever it was, Alistair did not appear glad to have them as visitors. A loud sigh expressed his dissatisfaction.
Knock, knock, knock.
Alistair rose from the bed and lifted his pants. Fastening his belt, he looked at the confusion on my face. His shoulders broadened in one last, slow breath.
“I know I promised you I would not open the door, but—”
“Alistair, who is it?”
“Please.” He stepped near, tucked my hair, and cradled my cheek.
“Get dressed. It is best you join me.”
I took back my gown. It carelessly clothed me—covered in holes and blood—and I found Alistair staring at me with a smirk upon his face. That roguish smirk that left my thoughts snagging, but it fled with the decompression of his lungs. He set one of his wool cloaks upon my shoulders, warm, smelling of sage, and draping far past my feet.
“There is much we still need to discuss,” he said.
Then, Alistair opened the door.