Chapter 35
Zadriel
Zadriel watched the tree line, savoring the sweet scent of damp soil and decay enveloped in pine, searching for hints of her. All he found was a delicate touch of embers flirting with the breeze, echoes of his sins wafting toward him from the shadows. Though, somehow, he found he liked it.
“Are you coming tonight, Little Witch?” he whispered to the trees, wondering if she’d find her way to him. Praying she wouldn’t be followed by glints of azure.
Curse the Mother, he was a bastard, but, night after night he found shreds of peace with her in his arms. Was it wrong of him to pretend?
A single gilded daisy swayed among new strands of green grass poking up through the decay, featherlight petals tickling his boot when he walked closer to the edge of the clearing.
If only it were real.
“The Forest fades, an endless pool of black, and you are elsewhere. On your knees.”
Zadriel spun toward an unearthly, melodic sound, scanning the darkness but finding nothing. “Show yourself.”
A bough creaked high above, leaves rustling in a beckoning call.
When he looked up, he was met with large black pupils floating in a bright, yellow stare.
“I see lifeblood dripping through clenched fingers. With his you are damned, with yours you are free. She is cunning, but you would rather save your Heart.”
A Galadriah? Zadriel hadn’t seen them since he was a child. Why had he conjured one in his dreams?
“I was always fond of your riddles.”
“So unlike her. A lie woven into truth, yet, still, you fell into fate’s hands.” Her gaze grew distant, light flaring in the depths of her irises, so bright Zadriel’s own eyes watered. “We tried to warn her.”
“Tried to warn who?” he asked, lifting his arm to shield himself, though only just. His focus remained on her curious, human-like face.
It was strange a creature could be this beautiful and haunting all at once, their angelic features so at odds with the curved tips of their talons and the sharp teeth hiding behind their lips.
“She listened too well.” The Galadriah tipped her head to the side, midnight blue hair slipping over her shoulder and tickling her golden skin. “A blade sinks into flesh, azure burning from above. He watches. It’s all he has. All either of them have.”
Azure? Did she mean Cillian, or... Brennan?
“I’ve forgotten how odd it is to speak with you.”
She shrugged, the motion coaxing moonlight to glitter along the silver and blue feathers gracing her wings.
“You will forget more in the centuries to come,” she said, her words caressing his skin as if each one could reach out and touch him, “until a manor falls to an apple tree and your heart sings again.”
“Are you real? Do you walk in dreams?”
Melodic laughter curled around Arcadia, slipping over every leaf, every mushroom, every delicate wildflower. If there were dryads near, Zadriel knew they listened. “That isn’t the right question.”
He moved closer. “Then tell me what to ask.”
“Only you can decide that.” Long tail feathers dragged over the thick cracks in the bough’s rough bark when she moved along its surface, sharp talons digging into the wood.
“I will see you again, after the vial breaks.” She stretched her wings, ready to leap from her perch and disappear into the night.
“Wait!” Zadriel pushed through bramble faster than it could move to clear a path, thorns tearing at his tunic and scraping his arms. The sting was nothing—he’d grown used to worse. How he intended to catch a Galadriah, however, he had no idea—she’d be gone by the time he climbed up her tree.
“I am not the one you should be chasing,” she called before jumping, arms spread wide to welcome the winds. “Know what you Keep.”
The echo of her melodious voice stayed with him long after she disappeared into Arcadia’s endless maze of swaying branches, her final words clawing at an old ache.
“I Keep nothing,” he whispered, looking down just in time for Mora to slam into his chest.