Chapter 29
For the next week, when I do sleep, I’m haunted by nightmares.
Where I used to dream of corpse beasts and Dead Queens, now my fear manifests in gleaming, copper armies marching into Annwyn.
The surrounding mountains are still pounded by daily storms, but few make it past the fae barrier.
It’s a hint of the spring to come. And with the end of winter approaching, so is my father.
I kick off my heavy blankets, tired of lying in bed, wide awake. What I really need is a cup of tea.
In the dark, I throw my red cloak over my shoulders before making my way through the halls, toward the kitchens. Surely, I can manage to heat water over the embers in the hearth to make one small cup of tea. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.
The kitchen is predictably dark, so I ignite an orb of light to illuminate the space.
Pots and pans hang from hooks over long countertops, casting shadows across towers of clay bowls for mixing and jars filled with cooking oils.
It smells inviting, no doubt due to the spices that have been ground into the flagstones below my feet for centuries.
I turn my attention to the hearth and notice movement. The embers crackle as a familiar black fae creature rolls around in the soot.
Despite my gloom, I smile.
I’m not sure if it’s the same cinder fae from my room, but he’s similar with his mouse-like body, short fur, and beady black eyes.
I’m afraid I’ll scare him away if I approach, so I lean against a table and watch him.
He’s having such a joyful time, wiggling among the hot coals and rubbing soot into his fur with tiny hands.
Or, are they paws? I’m not certain about fae anatomy.
After a few minutes, he makes a bed or nest of some sort. He wiggles into it and closes his eyes to sleep.
So much for boiling water for tea.
Behind me, the kitchen door creaks. I turn, sending my light to illuminate the source. The wooden door sways slightly. Then I notice a small, pale hand holding onto the doorframe.
My heart stills. Tucked into the shadow of the corridor, another fae creature watches me. It can’t be taller than three feet, with hairless skin and a humanoid shape. Its skin is pale blue, like its been carved from ice. The dark shapes of organs are visible through its nearly translucent skin.
My heart hammers in my chest, but I’m not afraid, merely curious. “Hello?”
It blinks at me with watery eyes. Then it opens its mouth and makes a popping sound.
“Did you need something?” I whisper, reluctant to wake the tiny cinder fae in the hearth.
The creature nods, then waves its pale fingers for me to follow.
It darts back into the shadows of the corridor.
I hesitate. All my life, I’ve heard that fae can be tricksters.
While I suspect this creature is more like the cinder fae than the monster in the dungeon, I’m still not sure I should follow. I do anyway.
The short fae sticks to the shadows, skittering ahead, then pausing in dark corners.
It makes tiny popping noises with its mouth while it waits for me to catch up.
Then it turns and scoots further down the hall.
Much to my relief, it doesn’t lead me to any new dungeons or dilapidated wings.
Instead, I follow it through the main corridors until it slips out the front entrance, into the cold night.
I pull my red cloak tighter around my shoulders and follow.
It leads me passed the stables and up to one of the battlement wall’s side doors. With great effort it pushes the heavy door, then wiggles through a crack. When I get there, I push the door open further and step outside.
Beyond the wall, the night is silent. The blue fae has disappeared, but my heart skips in my chest when I realize who it led me to.
A familiar wraith hovers above the blanket of snow.
Her back is turned to me, so all I see is her waving dark hair and her long, white gown as it drifts in the still air.
Deep down, I know she senses I’m here, but she doesn’t turn to look at me.
She just hovers, as quiet as the night. I look back toward the castle once more, then step out into the snow.
It’s as if we’re connected now, chained together on this terrifying ride of discovery.
Given that she’s nearly led me to my death twice now, I probably shouldn’t follow her blindly anymore, but I do.
Because each time she brought me into danger, there was a reason.
She’s trying to tell me something important. I just need to figure out what it is.
When I approach, she simply drifts further out into the night. I carve a path through the snow. Already my boots are wet and my feet are cold, but I won’t turn back now.
I catch up with her along the edge of the wide field.
The forest beyond is dappled with moonlight, but something feels off.
It’s too quiet. Normally, I’d expect to hear the sounds of night animals—the hoot of an owl, the scurry of a squirrel, the scream of a hare as a fox catches it in its jaws.
But there’s nothing, not even the rustle of wind.
It’s as if the forest is afraid of the wraith.
“Where are we—”
She takes off down a snowy path, further into the trees.
By the time I reach her again, I’m sweating and panting. There’s a small game trail that leads off the main path. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if my guide hadn’t so pointedly brought me here.
I stop. It’s one thing to follow a ghost woman into the forest at night. It’s quite another to follow her off the beaten path, into the trees. Especially since she’s been known to lead me into danger before.
“I don’t think I will, thank you very much.”
The wraith turns to me for the first time.
Her eyes grow dark, and her mouth spreads unnaturally wide to reveal a mouth full of sharp teeth.
She looks like she did the first time I saw her.
Back when I first arrived in Gwyllion with Tristan, corpse wolves hot on our trail, and the first winter storm chasing us.
Only this time, I’m not afraid of her. Her scare tactics have grown old, and I am so, so tired.
“Fine.” I say, stomping down the game trail. “But whatever you want me to see better be close by.”
Her normal features return, and she floats ahead. Within minutes, we come to a clearing. Mounds of snow cover the ground, and the moonlight reflects so brightly, I have to shield my eyes until they adjust.
The wraith waits several yards ahead, expectantly.
I look around, but I don’t see anything of note. Just a small clearing in an otherwise ordinary forest. Well, ordinary for Annwyn, anyway. The trees bend and sway around me in a gentle breeze. Not a single creature makes a sound.
“I don’t understand,” I call out to the wraith. She remains still, frozen in the center of the clearing with an expectant look on her face.
I spin in place, searching for anything out of the ordinary. This wraith has led me to forbidden rooms, dungeons guarded by human-eating fae, and crumbling cliffs. This is just an ordinary glade, in an ordinary forest.
“I can’t do this anymore!” I yell at the wraith. Irritation burns inside me, making me forget the cold. I trudge further into the clearing, waving my hands around as I spin in circles. “There’s nothing here!” I stomp toward her, as if I could catch her by the shoulders and shake her.
“There’s nothing—” I tumble into the snow, face first. My toe throbs in my frozen boot.
After I wipe the melting snow from my face, I look for what I tripped over.
The tip of a stone sticks out of the snow near my feet.
But something about it looks odd. It’s smooth and has a right angle, as if it was carved.
I look up toward the wraith, but she’s disappeared. With shaking hands, I reach out to brush the remaining snow off the mound.
It’s a tombstone.
Frantically, I clear the rest of the snow away. With trembling hands, I ignite an orb of light to read the words etched there.
Isadora
2118 – 2138
Beloved daughter of Corrin and Ilsa
Devoted sister to Tristan
May the Moon Goddess forever keep you at peace.
I stare at the gravestone for a long while. All this time, I thought I was following the ghost of some vengeful, Llwyn-hating villager. Or maybe some castle dweller from centuries past. But it turns out I had no idea who I was dealing with.
I’ve been following Tristan’s dead sister.