Chapter 34 The West Wing
The West Wing
Caramyn
Caramyn crept to the door. The castle would be sleeping now, she hoped. Putting her ear to the door, she listened for a sound, sure there would be guards on the other side.
To her dismay, the creaking of the floor and a muffled man’s cough in the distance warned her there was someone out there.
But then silence. She waited, but no more sounds ever came.
She crouched down to check the space between the door and the floorboards, finding no sign of shadows or boots.
Did she dare risk it? Surely the prince wouldn’t have ordered them to kill her if she tried to leave.
He wouldn’t. She repeated it in her head more than once, trying to convince herself.
She tiptoed back for her dagger she’d been keeping under her pillow. Gripping it in one hand and the key in the other, she unlocked the door to open it just an inch. She looked through the small gap, holding her breath. And to her surprise there was not a soul to be found.
So what—or who—had she heard? It hardly made sense, but she refused to stuff herself back in that room and waste her last chance to find out who Asterious truly was.
She sent the raven ahead to scope out the rest of the tower.
He returned with an encouraging coo, reassuring her she was truly alone.
The bird perched on her arm as she made her way down the steps in silence.
The sound of his wings wasn’t worth risking.
She tucked the key away safely into her corset, and gripped the dagger, ready to strike should the need arise.
But it wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t be caught in another devastating situation unarmed like she’d been at the edge of the Woods or the Western Sea cliffs.
Taking a torch from the wall, she carried it to light her way to the first destination.
Using the secret passageway from before, she made her way to stables.
The bow and quiver of arrows still rested against the wall where Terrin had placed them the night he saved her.
It was exactly what she had come searching for.
Caramyn took the weapon and slung the quiver over her shoulder. The familiar feel of the leather strap across her body and the weight of arrows on her back was like a hug from an old friend. Satisfied, she crept back up the passageway to search the rest of the castle.
It was an unsettling trek. As she wandered the cold stone halls, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that someone was following her.
Nocthar would circle every now and then, checking the surroundings, but he could find no indication that her feelings were true.
She shook it off. She was simply being paranoid.
Caramyn remained on guard as she crept through the shadows.
Sneaking around was her specialty. With a bow, the cover of darkness, and a clear view of her surroundings, she was more than capable.
It was exactly in these conditions that she thrived—when she was outside among the living, breathing forests she knew.
But here, within unfamiliar stone hallways, her confidence waned.
Finally, after passing through the hall of armor she’d visited before, she approached the forbidden wing of the castle.
Just like last time, as she stood peering down the corridor, something called to her, holding her spellbound despite her unease.
She felt it in the way the air shifted, and in the groans the walls sang out as the night wind battered them.
Something was different on this side of the castle.
It wasn’t just the crumbling walls or the cracked, ivy and moss-covered floor. It was something otherworldly.
She decided to nock an arrow, just in case, and kept it ready.
She had lived years carrying the weight of the Shadows, yet she had never felt more pelted by darkness than she did stepping foot into the hall.
There was some strange magic here. Something sinister.
Something Asterious didn’t want her to see.
For a moment, she thought she heard the heavy rattle of chains in the distance, and a small gasp took her breath. As she settled her pounding heart with an exhale, the sound subsided.
Something within her pushed her to keep going. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was the desperate hope of uncovering whatever Asterious wanted hidden, to prove she wasn’t the only one guilty. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Whatever it was that spurred her on, she listened.
Each silent footstep brought her closer to the dark red door at the end of a corridor.
The same one from before, but now that she was alone and could examine it better, she noticed how the door might’ve once been bright and rosy, but now it was the deep color of blood.
As she neared, she could just make out some intricate carvings that were slowly succumbing to their age as the wood chipped away.
Thorny vines that had long ago burst through from the floor encompassed the threshold in a protective manner, some with small rose blooms that were beginning to wilt.
With eyes wide and hands trembling, she crept towards the beautifully grim door. She stretched out a hand to turn the tarnished door handle, but before she could touch it, Nocthar swept across her line of sight and let out a dire screech in urgent warning.
But it was too late a warning.
“Scheming whore!” A voice from behind struck her like lightning.
She whipped around, an arrow ready to fire, but before she could release the twine between her fingers, something hard and unforgiving met the back of her head.
Her arrow fired into nothingness, and everything blurred. Her vision was fading, and she was stumbling. Down. Down.
Collapsing.
“He warned you not to come here.” The gruff voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite identify it as she perceived it through distorted, far away senses.
She touched the back of her head and felt warm, wet hair that stained her fingers scarlet with her blood. She could hear Nocthar making a fuss at the attacker, but there was little he could do.
“Who are you? What...what did you do?” The weak words spilled out of her mouth as the world around her faded away, dull spots like ink blots overtaking her vision.
“I just stopped you from ruining everything.” The voice was marred by her disorientation.
She fought to stand, but the ground slipped out from under her as her senses faded. She felt the hands of her attacker and used her bow to fend him off with what little strength she had left. She struck him with the end of the bow, but he pulled it from her weakening grip and tossed it aside.
Then a sharp prick in her neck. A final sting to accelerate her descent into darkness by what could’ve only been a poisoned dart.
“That should keep you quiet for now.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him…I wouldn’t kill him.
..” She managed to breathe out the words as everything faded once and for all.
By the flickering of the fallen torch, there was just enough light to make out the face above her with the last bit of consciousness she had left. She recognized him now. It was Wryan.