18. Ashes and the Rabbit Holes #2
“Message for Elder Rowan,” he announced, scanning the room without interest. His gaze swept past Arley and Maddox as though they were shadows.
Rowan frowned and wiped his hands on his apron, before taking the message. “From the council?”
“Yes, sir,” the messenger replied, lowering his voice. “Urgent.”
Maddox tensed, instincts sharp leaning forward in his chair. Arley stilled beside him, eyes narrowing as Rowan broke the seal.
The old man’s expression darkened as he read. “They’ve confirmed it,” he murmured. “The Spades have invoked the old rites. The Binding Ceremony begins at dusk.”
Arley’s head lifted slightly. “The Binding Ceremony?”
The messenger nodded. “By decree of King Cyrus Spade. He means to merge his bloodline with the Heartland's Heir himself. The courts are gathering as we speak.”
Arley’s hand clenched on the table edge, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.
“He’s really lost his mind, gone completely mad.
Bet he’s seething that Ace couldn’t keep his precious bride in line—Scarlett turned his whole damn ceremony into a blood-soaked disaster and crowned herself in the Crimson Deep instead.
Not exactly the obedient little Spade Queen he ordered.
Nothing like turning conquest into ceremony. ”
Maddox’s eyes flicked toward the dying firelight, his jaw tight. “Then we don’t have until dawn, and she doesn’t even know we’re alive. Cyrus… he’ll break her if he can. That bastard!”
Rowan looked between them, worry knitting deep lines into his brow. “You two are going after her.” It wasn’t a question.
Maddox met his gaze, voice low and steady. “We never stopped.”
Rowan exhaled and poured another round of the herbal brew, pushing it toward them. “Then, drink up boys. You’ll need every drop of the Wilds’ strength before you step back into that darkness.”
As he spoke, Arley’s gaze snagged on something dark moving across Maddox’s arm. Faint, inky lines shimmered beneath his skin—like liquid shadow, twisting and curling as if alive.
“Maddox,” Arley said slowly, leaning closer. “Your skin… It’s changing.”
Maddox blinked at him, confusion sharp in his expression. “Shadow markings? That’s impossible. I’m from the Gilded Spires, Arley. We don’t—”
“Exactly,” Arley interrupted, voice tightening. “You shouldn’t have them. Only Spade bloodlines earn those marks—usually from battles fought in the Warden's Reach. They’re… scars of devotion, living sigils that answer to the shadows themselves.”
Maddox glanced down. Black ink had surfaced under the skin of his forearms, thin lines coiling up toward his collarbone like smoke trapped beneath glass. They pulsed faintly, responding to the low thrum of his power.
“Maybe,” Arley said, watching him with a wary curiosity. “But the Spires’ shadows don’t brand their wielders like this. People from your court can bend shade and absence—but this?” He gestured to the crawling marks. “This is a Spade bloodline trait. The shadow itself claims you as its own.”
Maddox’s jaw tightened, the marks pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. “You’re saying I’m one of them?”
“I’m saying,” Arley murmured, “no one outside the Spade lines manifests living ink. The shadows in Warden's Reach leave a mark when a wielder survives something meant to kill them. It’s a covenant—blood recognizing blood.”
The words settled heavily between them. Maddox flexed his fingers, watching the inky threads twist across his knuckles, shifting with every pulse of anger. “It doesn’t matter what it means,” he said finally. “I’ve wielded shadow my whole damn life, and it’s never ruled me. It won’t start now.”
Arley’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone stayed sharp. “It’s not about the rule, Maddox. It’s about recognition. The shadow’s choosing to remember you now—and it doesn’t forget its own.”
Maddox grunted; the ink flickered faintly through the fabric. “Let it remember whatever it wants. All I care about is getting her out before that wedding.”
Arley smirked faintly. “Of course. You’d ignore a living curse if it got in the way of saving her.”
Rowan approached laying old maps and scrolls of Underland on the table in front of them.
“Damn right,” Maddox said, sitting up strighter. Arley leaned toward the map laid out across the Old wooden table. “Then, use them wisely. They’ll cloak you better than any ward I can conjure—but don’t let them decide who you are.”
Maddox shot him a look, the faint ink along his throat glimmering like embers in the half-light. “No one decides that but me.”
Arley’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We have to move fast. Spade territory… The Null Veil isn’t just an obstacle—it’s actively sapping her strength. Every moment she spends under their control, she weakens. Every tick of the clock, she becomes less herself, and that… that makes her vulnerable.”
Maddox’s fists clenched. “Then we go tonight. We can’t risk waiting. She’s not safe, not another second.”
Arley nodded grimly, shifting his weight. “I’ve been studying rabbit holes for a long time. We can use them to move unseen, to cross the boundaries of their dominion without detection. But it’s dangerous.” He let the threat hang unspoken, but deadly clear.
Maddox’s gaze hardened. “Better danger than watching her be stripped of herself.”
“Rabbit holes are narrow, unstable in some places,” Arley continued, voice low. “We have to move in tandem. One misstep, one misjudged displacement… it could scatter us—or worse, alert them.”
Rowan’s gaze went to the fire, his expression softening. “The rabbit holes shift under the Spade’s shadow, but I know where the old routes open. You’ll need to travel through the thickets near the Warden’s Reach—dangerous, but it’ll bring you close to the palace walls unseen.”
Arley traced the faint green etchings with one gloved finger. “Here,” he murmured. “If we enter through this passage and follow the ley fractures, we can breach the outer wards before dawn.”
Maddox’s hand brushed the edge of the map, the shadow ink on his skin pulsing faintly as if responding to the carved lines. “We get in, we find her, and we get out. Fast.”
Rowan looked between them, eyes heavy with something like pride—and worry. “You’re both mad.”
“Probably,” Arley said with a thin smile. “But she’s worth it.”
The elder pushed the map toward them and stood. “Then take what strength the Wilds will give. The magic will hold your bodies together, but your bones will ache for days. Don’t push them too far.”
Maddox rose, rolling his sore shoulders, the faint glimmer of shadow still alive beneath his skin. “Pain’s a good reminder that I’m not dead yet.”
Maddox ran a hand over his face, frustrated and exhausted. “I don’t care about the risk. Scarlett comes first. Every second we waste, Cyrus is twisting her, bending her to his will.”
Arley’s red eyes softened slightly as he looked at him. “And that is why we do this smartly. Not fast. We get her out of Spade territory first. Once she’s back in Crimson Deep—or anywhere we can truly defend her—we have a better chance to deal with Cyrus.”
Rowan’s gaze darkened, fingers brushing absently over the carved table.
“The Crimson Deep is… unlike anything else. Strength beyond imagining, but in the wrong hands… it will consume everything it touches. Not just the wielder, but anyone foolish enough to stand in its way. Keep her safe—keep her close—and pray the Spades ruin it first.”
Maddox’s gaze burned with determination despite the exhaustion. “Then tonight, we move. No hesitation. No missteps. We get her before the Spade court even knows she’s missing by morning light—before Cyrus thinks he’s in control.”
They gathered themselves to leave, murmuring thanks to Rowan for his aid. The elder’s eyes lingered on them, stormy and wary. “May the Wilds protect you,” he said, voice low. “And may the Deep not demand a price before you return.”
The forest seemed to blur around them as Arley led the way, the soft shimmer of the rabbit holes opening like mirrors in the air.
Shadows bent and twisted, the edges of reality warping with the subtle pulse of magic.
Maddox followed, each step careful, muscles straining against the lingering pain of his injuries.
The air hummed with verdant energy, but there was another force pressing down—a shadow he could feel tugging at his chest, cold and constricting.
“She’s weak,” Arley muttered, voice tight as he scanned the shimmering corridor.
Maddox’s jaw clenched. “Then we cannot waste a single second longer. Where does this path lead?”
Arley’s fingers traced the faint glimmer of the rabbit hole’s edges.
“Into the heart of Spade Dominion, undetected—but the closer we get, the more I can feel her. It’s like a thread being tugged, fragile and fraying.
We cannot let her sense us… not yet. Not until we are close enough to reach her physically. You’ll have to shadow us from her.”
The walls of the rabbit holes warped around them as they stepped through, the world tearing and folding, leaving them suspended in a distorted, liminal space where time seemed to stretch and contract.
Maddox gritted his teeth, gripping his sword hilt tighter, feeling the strain of movement as though the very air were thick with resistance.
Another step, another twist in the corridor, and Maddox stumbled slightly, the strain of his injuries making each motion a gamble. Arley caught him, steadying him with a hand on his chest. “Quiet,” he hissed.
The rabbit holes shifted beneath their feet, bending space and time, as Arley guided them deeper. Maddox felt the pull tighten, a cold pressure in his chest that almost stole his breath. Scarlett’s presence was faint, like a candle flickering in a hurricane.
The rabbit hole shivered, the green shimmer stretching as they stepped forward together. The next quadrant would be Spade territory.