Chapter 28
AVELINE
We’ve barely finished the first few dishes before the enchanted sanctuary of the tea house violently ruptures.
A howling wind rattles the heavy glass panes until they threaten to shatter within their lead frames.
The golden floating orbs overhead flicker and die, plunging us into an abrupt darkness.
Through the gaps in the velvet curtains, I see the sky is gone, replaced by a churning, unnatural wall of white, violet-streaked cloud that hovers over the Wild Oak Woods like an aerial predator.
"This is Unseelie wild magic," Malakai growls, rising from our table.
His velvet shadows ignite around his boots. "This winter storm is not natural. We must return to the keep before the passes freeze entirely."
“She’s trying to find all three of us,” I say, the pendant throbbing at the base of my neck. “I can feel it.”
“Come, my sunshine witch,” Malakai says. “I’ll transport us and the horse home. It will be safer to use the shadows.” His eyes are sorrowful. “I am sorry our evening is ruined.”
With that he pulls me to my feet then races to the stables behind the teahouse, determined to get home before the storm. By the time we’re in the threshold of the inner courtyard, the snow is already blinding. Unnatural drifts pile against the stone walls.
The moment my feet are on solid ground, the world seems to turn.
The memory of his hands beneath my cloak, my dress… the press of his mouth against mine in the woods, against my breasts. It’s too much, it’s too fast.
It’s only been a few days. What was I thinking?
He takes a step toward me, his dark eyes dilated with that same predatory yearning, his hand reaching out to trace my jaw.
Fear slams my walls back into place.
"No," I say, stepping back until my back hits the cold stone of the entryway pillar. My breath hitches, my hands flying up to press against his massive chest, halting him in place. "I can’t... I’m not ready to do this yet, Malakai.
Everything is moving too fast. The magic, the Unseelie, this.
" I gesture wildly at the air between us. "I need space. To think. Alone."
“You require space in your own castle, Aveline? You occupy an entire wing." Malakai tilts his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw as his shadows swirl restlessly around his wrists.
"I can’t," I murmur, crossing my arms to hide the way my fingers are shaking. "I need to think. I need time."
"I understand time. I understand eternity, Aveline." He says my name in a velvety rasp that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "Time is something we are running out of. My soul recognizes yours."
"Well, this specific version of my soul requires a door with a functioning lock and about twelve hours of absolute silence," I manage, lifting my chin to glare at him.
A flash of amusement breaks through the pressure of his gaze. He lets out a long sigh, his broad shoulders sagging. "Your tongue has grown sharper in this lifetime, Aveline."
"Consider it an adaptive defense mechanism for dealing with overbearing Elder Gods," I say, taking advantage of his momentary retreat to sweep past him toward the stairs. "Goodnight, Malakai."
"The castle will ensure your privacy tonight," he murmurs, his voice tight with overly polite restraint.
We sleep in separate wings of the fortress, separated by half an acre of dark, silent stone.
And yet I spend the whole night burning with the memory of the pleasure he brought to me in the woods.
The next morning, I awaken to a strange subterranean glow filtering through my windows. I throw the heavy furs aside and rush to the glass, my breath fogging the pane.
We are completely snowed in.
Massive drifts of dense, heavy powder block the lower doors and windows, sealing Shadow Keep from the rest of the world.
But this isn't normal snow. The drifts hum with a faint, sickly purple light, the same color of the magic Vesperia used on me, now keeping us prisoners within our own walls.
Worse than the weather, however, is the behavior of the keep itself.
The sentient house, apparently, has decided my boundary-setting last night was an error.
As I make my way downstairs, the stone corridors actively conspire against me.
A heavy oak door swings shut unbidden, blocking my path to the library.
A grand tapestry slides across a hallway, forcing me to redirect my steps until, through sheer exhaustion, I find myself funneled directly into the massive, vaulted castle kitchen.
"Fine," I tell the empty air, glaring at a copper pot that swings from a ceiling hook. "If you refuse to let me read, I will just as easily be useful."
Denied my preferred method of passing time, I am determined to do something practical. I manage to find the bone-colored parchment Lila slipped into my cloak before we left the tea house—the recipe for her spicy venison pie—with only having to have a few one-sided arguments with the house.
But there I stand, recipe in hand, ingredients gathered, and completely overwhelmed.
I have never held a kitchen knife in my life. But as I look at the raw flour, the heavy iron pans, and the cold cuts of meat the castle has suspiciously laid out on the central wooden island, my purely stubborn pride takes over.
I roll up my sleeves, tie my hair back in a severe knot, and lift a dangerously sharp, surprisingly heavy chopping blade.
"How difficult can it be?" I mutter to Ter, who is watching me from the top of a spice rack with immense, silent skepticism. I’m not sure when the raven decided to join me today, but he’s been uncharacteristically quiet.
I don’t think it’s a good sign.
Still, I’m doing my level best to ignore him.
The house immediately begins its mischief.
The moment I attempt to lift a sack of flour, the wooden stool beneath my feet slides three inches to the left, trying to unbalance me.
When I reach for a wooden spoon, the drawer sticks, refusing to budge until a shadow flickers near the threshold—a clear sign that the keep is trying to force me to call for its master.
"I am not calling him," I snap at a row of copper ladles, slamming my palm against the stubborn drawer. "I will chop these carrots myself, one way or another."
“Why can’t you be like this about magic?” Ter finally mutters.
I glare at him, and resume my negotiations with the sentient house.
And my poor attempts at carrot cutting.