A BLESSING AND A CURSE
It had been a week since we brought Nivelle back with us to Calledan.
She had been given her own personal chambers in the guest wing of The Keep, alongside Silas, but despite her proximity, we hadn’t had a single conversation since the boat ride.
It was impossible to have any conversation with her when she refused to leave her chambers.
Silas relayed our missives to her, and her replies were usually snipped, leaving no room for further conversation.
Not only that, but Silas was the only one she would see.
She had yet to even meet the rest of the Trium, or Maeson, or Morah—though the thought of her personality and Morah’s in the same room sent my teeth on edge.
Niall and I spent time training by day, and reading Evander’s journal by night. Last night, we’d come across an entry that was particularly bothersome.
Evander had woken from his sleep when he thought he’d heard a voice. He wrote of how his head had throbbed so violently afterward that Verdi had to sedate him.
Niall didn’t know what to make of this, and neither did I.
Today, I found myself curled up in the same chair in the main area of The Keep, face-deep in Evander’s journal once again.
Niall was busy tending to his courtly duties, while Roirdan and Remic had ventured deeper into the mountains to Calledan’s army camps. And with Maeson helping Morah with Fallon, and Nivelle refusing to leave her chambers again this morning, that left Silas and Aremis with me.
Aremis had gladly joined me, eager to help solve the riddle of the dream connection, the black clawed hands, the ink, all of it.
Silas was being what Aremis called a “typical Dionach,” wanting to be in close proximity to me at all times.
He sat in a chair near the window, staring off toward the mountains, giving Niall’s second-in-command and I our space, without being too far away.
I flipped a page and shook my head. “The next few entries all talk about Evander’s lack of appetite and continuous headaches. Apparently, the remedy that Verdi made to help with the pain only worked to a certain extent. It sounds like his body became immune to it, or found ways to work around it.”
Aremis’s brows furrowed as he considered what that meant. “That would mean his body was getting stronger, not weaker with age.”
“That’s impossible . . . right?”
“I do not know. But if it tells us anything, it’s that we can assume Niall is going to start showing signs of increased strength as well.”
I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. “But even if that were to happen, wouldn’t he be at an advantage? He’s done so well at controlling his power.”
“When I met Niall, his power was unmatched. Over the years, there have been instances where he’s used it at a mere fraction of what he’s capable of.
And even then, it always seemed like he was itching to release more than that.
I like to think he has a firm grip of control on it, but I cannot be certain when it comes to changes like this. ” He gestured to the journal.
Amarna’s words rang in my mind. For power like his, and like yours, will always tend to be unpredictable.
“Aremis, when Amarna gave me this journal, she said it might offer some insight into my power, as well as Niall’s.”
Aremis shifted in his chair and tucked his hair behind his ear as he contemplated. “Amarna doesn’t do anything without reason. She’s beyond wise for her age. If there’s something she wants you to learn from it, I would trust that it’s important.”
Important. But for whom?
If she knew something, why wouldn’t she have just told me outright?
Niall had always said that I steadied him, that I brought him peace—calmed him.
I voiced my next question out loud. “What if the insight I’m supposed to gain isn’t just about how to use my power? What if . . . it’s how to use it to help him?”
Aremis met my eyes. He knew what I meant. If Niall’s power somehow got out of control, if what happened to Evander would one day happen to him, and I had to be the one to pull him back from that edge—
Across the room, a door opened and closed as several house-fae went about their business, disappearing down another hallway.
The tension from my implication evaporated, and Aremis blew out a long breath. “That is a conversation for another time. What does the next entry say?”
I flipped another page, only to find a very rough sketch of a cave mouth scribbled in with swirls of black ink. “There’s a drawing of a cave,” I said, turning the journal around to show him.
He squinted at the rendering, just as confused by it as I was.
We both read the passage that followed.
It has been three days, and I cannot seem to settle my mind.
Court has been difficult to hold as of late, due to my lack of ability to concentrate when my power feels like it wants to rage forth from my body.
So today, Verdi and I traveled to a place deep in the mountains that has long been forgotten to the commoners.
Only ancient lore has whispered of the place we dared step foot in, but it was a necessary risk—one that I hope to not have to take again.
What I learned gave me clarity, yet opened up many more questions. Though the information was vital, it is best not spoken of, and I dare not write it here. Thus, it is one more thing I must keep to myself. For I fear that if it ever fell upon the wrong eyes or ears, my court would be ripped apart.
My court would be ripped apart.
Chills raked down my spine.
I looked over at Aremis. “What do you think he meant?”
“Nothing good.” His expression deepened as he glanced at the sketch of the cave again.
“As for the other thing he mentioned . . . There are many forgotten places throughout the realm. And I think I may know of the one he visited.” Judging by the tone of his voice, it didn’t seem like a place he’d recommend going to.
He frowned as he added, “Ancient legend tells of a cave hidden deep in the eastern mountains, near Vahrenhall’s border.
They also warn of the evil that lurks within.
Those who entered long ago never came out. ”
I stared at the cave on the page. “That’s quite the ominous legend.”
Aremis laughed softly. “Most of them are. They’re retold around campfires on the eve of war for that very reason. They offer a bit of grit to give you something else to think about. You’d be surprised what soldiers spend their time doing the night before battle.”
“Oh.”
“If Evander said it was a risk he hoped not to take again, I’d wager that means some of the legend might very well be true.”
I traced my finger over the deep grooves of the blackened cave mouth that Evander’s pen had gouged into the paper. “And what, exactly, does legend say lies within that cave?”
Aremis lifted his eyes to meet mine. “A wraith.”
Hours went by, and Aremis shared what he knew of the legends surrounding the wraith.
She was said to be an ancient creature who never ventured out of the cave she’d claimed as her own.
Some accounts of the legend said she was cursed to live there in solitude after crossing a goddess and offending her.
Other accounts alleged that she simply chose to remain hidden away because of her nature.
Both versions had one thing in common: the wraith had an insatiable hunger for living flesh.
I replayed the legend over in my head while making my way up to the second floor’s guest corridor. When I knocked on the door to one of the chambers, Maeson was immediately there to greet me with her beaming smile—a bright light that cut through my gloomy thoughts.
“Auren!” She gave me a quick hug and pulled me inside. “You’re just in time!”
Across the room, in a simply made bed, Fallon sat upright, talking with his sister.
He was smiling—the first time I’d seen any emotion on his face.
The coloring on his cheeks had somewhat returned, painting him a muted shade of tan.
It was an improvement from the deathly pale tone he’d donned a week ago.
His dark beard had also been trimmed neatly around his cheeks and mouth, and his hair had been washed and cut, and now hung in loose waves just past his collarbone.
He was a fierce-looking fae—handsome, even.
He kept his eyes lowered, but he laughed quietly at something Morah said.
As I approached, Morah turned. “I was just about to ask Sorscha to summon you,” she said to me before leaning into her brother. “Fallon, you have a visitor.”
He straightened his shoulders and attempted to sit up further, but kept his eyes lowered to the bed.
“Oh please, don’t trouble yourself,” I urged.
“This is Auren,” Morah said, patting Fallon’s hand. “She’s the one I was telling you about—the one that got all of us out.”
“Euryphaessa,” Fallon stated. “And ward breaker.” His voice was deep and had a rough edge to it, like a storm on the horizon—seemingly calm from afar, but brewing something powerful within.
Suddenly, remembering that he was the rightful heir to Benmoor, I dipped into a small curtsy to show my respect, but he raised his free hand to stop me from completing the movement.
“No need for the formalities,” he said calmly. “I can’t see them anyway.”
Indeed, he hadn’t looked up at me yet.
“Oh. Of course.” I felt my cheeks flush red, having forgotten that he was blind. “Can I ask how you knew—”
“I heard your feet shuffle. And your right knee clicked as you bent it,” he said. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a polite grin.
“Right.” I wrung my hands together in front of me.
When he finally lifted his unseeing gaze, it landed on the left side of my waist, and I saw that beneath his thick brows, he had eyes that looked like they were once hazel, but were now coated in a milky sheen. He couldn’t see me, but he was wholly aware of my presence and my general location.
I recalled Morah telling me of how he had become a seer against his own will. His magic was to blame for the loss of his eyesight.
A blessing, and a curse.