19. NEVESHIR #2
Up ahead, a flash of pale blue light near the tree roots caught my eye. It moved cautiously, slinking through the ferns and falling in step alongside us. Silas didn’t seem concerned about whatever sort of creature it was, but the moment it emerged from the shadows, I stopped.
It appeared to be a common house cat, but its body was transparent. Only pale blue wisps of light made up the outline of its form. It moved silently, like its tiny paws never even touched the ground. Like it weighed nothing at all.
It peered up at me with lucid, blue eyes.
As it drew closer, I instinctively reached for my weapon—the dagger this time—and the creature’s paw halted mid-step. It let out a very real hiss and scampered off into the trees, leaving a line of shimmering dust drifting through the air in its wake.
“Do not draw your weapons,” Silas said calmly. “The wights are benevolent. They won’t hurt you.”
I slid the dagger back into place at my waist while scanning the undergrowth for the creature, hoping to see it again. I felt it watching me from the thicket, and only when I started walking did it emerge to move with me, though this time, it kept to the shadows.
It was just as curious as I was.
With my focus on the wight, I didn’t even notice the structure we were approaching. It wasn’t until the spirit took off through the trees ahead that I looked out across the space we had entered.
A rather large cottage made of weathered wood stood at the top of a jagged stairway, wreathed in the confines of the twisted trees.
Its eaves and roof were dripping with thick, heavy moss.
An arched wooden door was slightly ajar, leaking buttery light across a wooden porch.
The small, circular window above it flickered with candles that lined the sill.
It would have been inviting, if I hadn’t felt a sudden pang of warning in my gut.
There were wards here—I could feel them as we neared.
And the being that waited beyond that door, she felt . . . powerful.
A twig snapped under my foot, and half a dozen spooked wights darted out from the shadows in all directions, leaving blue streams of mystical dust trailing behind them.
I stepped around the males and stalked forward quietly, following the spirits toward the cottage, but their blue light disappeared as they found dark corners to hide in.
Someone gently cleared their throat behind me.
I turned and found Niall looking amused, brow raised as he slid his hands into his pockets. Silas tossed me a grin, then his eyes focused on what lay between us . . .
Wards. The ever-so-slight shimmer fell like a curtain, winding off through the trees.
I had broken and crossed the barrier without a thought.
As if on cue, the light from the cottage dimmed to nearly nothing. The space around us fell into a thick gloom, and a hush swept through the atmosphere.
Still grinning, Silas shook his head and placed a hand against the wards. They recognized him and parted, and the three males entered together. “A word of advice,” he said as he walked up to me, “Nivelle doesn’t take kindly to those that are more powerful than her.”
A pulse of energy radiated from inside the cottage, as if the wardeness heard the Dionach’s words, and loathed them.
I lowered my voice to a near whisper and said, “Then why didn’t you tell me where the wards were?”
His grin broadened into a mischievous smirk. “Because I wanted to make sure my sister knew who she was dealing with.”
I blinked, realizing what he had just said . . .
“She’s your sister?” I couldn’t have heard that right.
Behind him, Niall and Roirdan exchanged a look.
“You heard correctly.” He stepped past me, but I yanked him back by the arm.
“Wait, wait, wait. You can’t just throw that out there right before we walk in,” I hissed. “How is she . . . your sister? I thought a witch had to give birth to the Dionach to be their wardeness?”
“They do. But Nivelle is a one-in-a-million twist of fate. We’re twins, you see. We were born together, and because of Nivelle’s power, she was able to relay my summons to me after our mother died.”
I stared at him, piecing everything together.
“I’ll explain everything later. Come on.” He turned and took the lead up the stairs.
“Hope she’s better looking than you,” Roirdan murmured to Silas as we approached the door.
A few of the wights slipped inside when the door creaked open. Their incorporeal forms illuminated the gloomy space as they took up corners and perches throughout the cottage.
The fireplace was full of flickering cinders, and the once-brightly-lit candles that decorated the room now guttered with faint, orange flames, as if they were seething with contempt. It was as if the atmosphere itself was protesting our arrival.
Once we were inside, the door slammed shut behind us, and a quiet but commanding female voice spilled out from the darkness.
“Breaking a witch’s wards is considered a grave disrespect.”
I stiffened. She was speaking to me. Calling me out for what I’d unknowingly done.
I squinted through the dimness but couldn’t see where the voice had come from.
“My apologies,” I said.
No response.
“Nivelle,” Silas drawled, “these are guests, not enemies.”
I glanced over at him, quickly realizing that out of the two, Silas was definitely the one to reason with.
Across the room, a figure slowly emerged from the dark.
Her glowing eyes were what I noticed first.
As she stepped forward, the candlelight flared, illuminating her fair skin and pale blonde hair—the top half of which was pulled back. The rest hung over her chest, well past her waist.
There were gray markings on her face—three small dots down the center of her forehead, followed by a short vertical line between her brows. Another inked line traced the center of her bottom lip, rounding down her chin. The markings, like her eyes, pulsed with blue light as she approached.
She was hauntingly beautiful. And strikingly different from Silas. I knew twins didn’t always have to look alike. But their appearances were starkly different. One must have taken after their mother, and the other after whoever sired them.
A simple black shirt and form-fitting pants hugged her delicate curves, and a strapless black leather corset lined with gray fur encased her thin waist.
My senses warred with each other upon assessment. Nivelle’s small frame appeared lithe and petite, like mine, but the power that rolled off of her told me she was not to be underestimated. Her mere presence had me itching to take a step back.
As if he could sense my mind churning, Niall’s voice murmured into my head, If you could sense yourself like others do, you’d be astonished to find that you are far more intimidating than this witch.
My eyes widened at his words. Is this what my power feels like to someone else?
Your power is growing day by day. A few weeks ago? No. But now? Yes. Embers of gold sparked in his eyes.
The witch stepped quietly, as if she were as weightless as the wights that had now formed a line and were trailing behind her.
She halted a few feet away, and the faint blue light of her markings faded.
Her eyes shifted to what I assumed were their normal color—a stunning gray-blue hue—remaining fixated on the three of us strangers, even as Silas moved toward her.
“Nivelle, this is my Dionam, Auren, and her mate, Niall, the High Lord of Calledan. And this”—he gestured to the commander behind us—“is Roirdan, commander of Niall’s armies.”
The witch regarded us all for another long moment, lingering on Roirdan’s hulking frame like she was sizing him up for a challenge. He crossed his arms, weathering her stare.
Finally, she lifted her chin and said to the lot of us, “You should not have come.”