Chapter 27
Opening my eyes to low, warm light and a room stifled with magical energy in a low, unsettling vibration, I looked down at my body. I was still in my t-shirt and jeans, the duster placed at the end of the bed.
“You’re awake.” With an icy expression, the woman who had spelled me looked down as I lay on the cloudlike bed. The only comfort in a bedroom with décor that should have been cozy and inviting but felt cold and inhospitable. Perhaps it was the company.
“Sayier, give her space. It can’t be comforting to awake with you standing over her like that.”
Her companion was an albino woman about the same height.
Her pale blue eyes offered a kindness absent in Sayier.
The angular lines of her face formed a diamond.
Full, wide lips spread in a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes and seemed to provide a consolatory offering to contrast Sayier’s.
It exposed a solitary dimple that was a little too low.
Shoulder-length thick coiled hair was pulled back with something that sparkled along the edges.
It drew my focus. The corners of her top lip lifted, and she pulled her hair back enough for me to see a string of glittering turquoise stones that I suspected were real.
“Nahela,” Sayier called to her companion, whose eyes rolled away from her.
Withdrawn cautiousness was the only response I could offer to her act of kindness.
I hated being pulled into cynicism, but if they were using a good cop/bad cop tactic, I wouldn’t fall for it.
I wouldn’t trust her any more than Sayier, who’d spelled me and locked me in what I believed was a beautifully decorated prison.
Sayier moved from the bed, and I slowly eased off it.
Taking in the room, my eyes landed on a large window.
Seeing my interest but reluctance to move toward it, Nahela turned with a flick of her wrist. The lights dimmed and the midnight-blue curtain pulled back, revealing a wall of glass.
Warm, buttery sunlight spilled in with a breathtaking view.
The room was eerily silent; even the light sounds of my steps were swallowed into the quiet.
My fingers touched the cool pane, expecting to feel some sort of magical barrier, but there was only glass.
Perfectly ordinary glass. Too ordinary. Mountains rose in layers.
The sun cast a bright white light over the snow-dusted peaks.
Richly verdant pines crowded the slopes, lined in a way that felt intentional rather than naturally wild.
So dense it would make navigation through them nearly impossible.
Mist clung to the valleys in slow, deliberate drifts.
Too precise. Looking for pathways down the mountainside, I spotted a few, narrow and winding, but they appeared to vanish behind ridges at the site of dense trees.
There weren’t any signs of roads, villages, smoke from hearths, or any signs of movement or life.
Beautifully isolated. Caged.
Turning back to Sayier and Nahela, I said, “It’s beautiful.”
Their placid smiles tightened. Nahela inched closer, taking in the view, her features softening as if she was trying to look at it through my eyes. Her expression was unreadable.
“It’s peaceful,” she said.
“And confining,” I added.
“In what way?” Sayier asked, her voice too even for it to be sincere.
Meeting her stare, I said, “There don’t seem to be any easy exits.” My gaze bounced between the women who blocked my way to the door on the other side of the room. And even if I managed to get past them, it was unlikely I could easily return home.
Silence stretched. The heavy tension was like fingers closing around a throat. And the ominous coiling magic added to my unease. It wasn’t intentional, but it paralleled Cirrian’s magic. Ever-present with an underlying darkness.
Nahela glanced at Sayier, then back to me. “This isn’t a prison,” she said gently.
I looked once more at the mountains. At the endless trees. At the absence of choice carved into the landscape.
“Then,” I said, “you should tell it to stop feeling like one.” My smile was just as insincere and forced as theirs.
“It’s a sanctuary,” Sayier provided.
So we’re past the niceties and straight to the lying part.
Taking a breezy look around the room, I noted the massive bed covered with white satin sheets and a fluffy duvet that looked like piled clouds, disturbed from when I got up.
The piles of fabric and rumpled sheets indicated a restless sleep.
A water pitcher and glass were on the bedside table.
The fluffy robe on the velvet-covered bench at the end of the bed was presumably to add to the illusion of a sanctuary. A place of refuge and reprieve.
Midnight-blue wallpaper had hints of iron gray and deep green, creating a subtle topography of peaks and valleys that shifted depending on where you stood. I assumed the ajar door led to a bathroom.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“A little over a day. The same amount of time my brother has been locked in his prison,” Sayier’s tight voice provided. She’d abandoned all efforts at pleasantries.
Casually walking around the room, I took in the space that I suspected would be my own prison until I found a way to escape.
Sayier’s eyes followed me relentlessly, her head tilted, looking for something she apparently couldn’t find.
“Cirrian was scheduled to address the Bavelon today,” she said.
“His request for the stay was granted. It is doubtful he can present anything that will shield him from punishment.” Sorrow and helplessness momentarily replaced her anger before she blinked it away.
Her eyes fell on my binding mark that was flashing like a beacon.
Even when I crossed my arms to conceal it, Sayier couldn’t seem to pull her eyes from it.
After a long silence, she lifted them to meet mine. “No amount of stays will prevent the inevitable. His death. And when he dies, I will make sure you do as well,” she pushed out through clenched teeth.
“You can’t be killed,” I blurted, my voice too tremulous to show confidence. I tried to make sense of her words. I assumed the Bavelon were people who held the shadow gods accountable to the rules, rules that Cirrian broke like they were optional.
“You can’t kill us. We can die, and since you foolishly bound yourself to him, so will you.
And if by chance he is kind enough to unbind you before his death, know that I will carry out that sentence.
” She devoured the space between us; the few inches of height she had on me wouldn’t have been intimidating if not for the reddish tint rage had placed on her face.
Her fury stifled the room, and I watched her struggle to rein in the emotion.
Shuffling back, she took several breaths, looking to Nahela as if she needed her calm to anchor her. Then she looked back at me.
“Kara, help me save my brother’s life.”
Her desperation fueled mine. I didn’t want Cirrian to die.
“Who are you?” she added. It felt more like an accusation than a question.
I rattled off my credentials, being far more forthcoming than I wanted. It was a purge as I attempted to make sense of things. “Takara Bennett. I worked as a liaison for the Houses of Hollows and Night until my services were discontinued.”
“You were fired.”
I nodded, earning me a look of scorn.
“Why?”
“They discovered I was hiding my ability to perform da vitam,” I admitted.
“You’re an ashinwa?”
“Yeah. Cirrian discovered it. And prior to you hosting me as your…guest.” I was being far more diplomatic than the situation deserved.
“He’s just informed me that neither one of my parents was ashinwa.
” Parents. I thought it would ring hollow, but it didn’t.
I couldn’t refer to them as anything else.
They’d raised me, loved me, and despite the dishonesty, they were my parents.
“In fact, they were barely witches, with magic so inconsequential I have no idea how the protective spell I had on me prevented a draveth’s attack a few years ago. ”
“How did it protect you?” Nahela asked.
“It killed him.”
Sayier’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a look with Nahela that I couldn’t make out.
“Then what happened?” Nahela rushed out.
I hesitated.
“Your life is on the line,” Sayier reminded me. “It will be in your best interest to not withhold any information.”
“Stop threatening her,” Nahela snapped. “You want her trust? Then give her a reason to do so.”
Frustrated hands washed over Sayier’s face.
“No one benefits from you withholding information. The most minor detail could mean a lot. My brother is being close-lipped as well. As if he doesn’t value his life.
Or perhaps he believes keeping your secrets are more important than preserving his life.
If nothing else, help me to help him. His tenacity and his dedication are his strengths and weaknesses.
Whatever reason he has to be so dogmatically protective of you, he is putting his life in jeopardy to do so. Please, help me save him.”
Despite my dangerous situation, I was more concerned about Cirrian’s life. I debated what to tell them. Disclosing too much felt like a betrayal, but withholding could make me responsible for his death. Our lives were entwined in more ways than one.
“May I see him?” I asked.
Her mouth pulled into a severe line, setting up for denial when Nahela stepped forward.
“I believe that is a good idea. Take a shower and get dressed and I’ll take you to him.
” She offered a gentle smile. “I’ll bring you some toiletries.
” Her eyes dragged over me, my boots at the end of the bed, and my duster.
It didn’t bode well that my bag with my weapons was missing. “Something to your liking.”
I stayed planted in position until they closed the doors behind them, fully aware that they weren’t too far away.
Minutes ticked by before I considered moving from the spot, trying to make sense of the situation when someone gently knocked on the door.
Without an invitation, Nahela stepped in with a basket that she handed to me. “I hope some of it is of use.”
The basket contained various combs, brushes, decorative pins, hair ties, and jars and glass bottles with creams, one of which had the distinct smell of honey, another with a buttery nut scent.
The items were appreciated, but the basket seemed like more than a hospitality but rather an offering. An apology? For what? An anticipatory request for forgiveness for what I was about to be put through—or what they intended to do?
My heart pounded in my chest and thoughts raced through my head so fast it was hard to catalogue them into what was pressing, impossible, and a figment of fear and overactive imagination.
The slow breaths I took did nothing to ease my discomfort, nor did the forced smile Nahela gave me before she left in haste.
I pushed the door to the bathroom open. Sconces filled the room with warm, low light.
After several moments searching for the wall outlet, I found it nestled in a corner.
Touching it, I quickly turned it off again when I was assaulted by a bright beam of overhead light from small twinkle-like fixtures that didn’t seem like they could emit such a bold white light.
It was a staunch reminder that this definitely wasn’t a sanctuary.
I was being contained until Cirrian’s fate was decided.
The walls were creamy beige, and an aged brass clawfoot tub sat in the middle of the room. The cozy luxury attempt was in direct contrast to the dark comfort of the bedroom. Merging vintage and modern, marble floors and countertops complemented the cabinets and brass hardware.
To the right, the shower was tucked beneath a shallow arch, smaller but no less deliberate.
Exposed brass pipes ran along the wall. The option of a wall-mounted and rainfall head didn’t fool me once into believing this was a luxury stay.
The recessed shelves held dark glass bottles; I grabbed the one I believed was soap.
The potent verbena scent was a good distraction as its light mineral scent filled the room, coinciding with the floor warming.
Showered, I styled my hair into front flat twists and put the back in an updo.
Hints of citrus from a container of cream on the shelf wafted off my skin.
Although more relaxed than I was before the shower, my uneasiness persisted.
I wrapped the only towel in the bathroom around me and exited.
Goosebumps rose on my exposed skin as I entered the bedroom.
Laid across the bed was a deep forest-green velvet dress that smelled faintly of lavender and mint.
Slipping it on, I viewed my reflection in the mirror and decided it had been provided with purpose.
The bodice was cut close and precise, shaped to my body, the V complimentary without looking provocative.
Fine floral embroidery climbed across the chest and shoulders in muted shades of moss, gold, and shadowed ivory.
I was surprised how comforting the dense stitching felt beneath my fingers.
An understated row of buttons ran down the front.
Scalloped lace trim framed the neckline and cuffs.
The skirt fell away in long, fluid panels of darker green fabric, softer and lighter than the velvet of the bodice.
The easy flow of the fabric wouldn’t be restrictive in the event I needed to run.
The dress, like the room, had an old-world feel with a modern influence.
I didn’t mind that I wasn’t provided with shoes; my boots with the dress grounded me to my home. And hope that when I wore them and my own clothes again, this would be nothing but a memory.