Chapter 19 Sugar, Secrets, and a Sassy Fruit Bat
Daphne
Sugar, secrets, and a sassy fruit bat
The wards’ hum deep in the manor’s roots grew louder after Emrys left.
As if my presence had awakened something in the bones of the old building, and its awareness of me was growing stronger by the minute.
My fingers drifted over the piano keys, playing a soft melody Mother loved, but my mind wasn’t calm. Not even close.
If I somehow brought the wards down, he’d be free. A force with wings and power unlike anything I’d ever seen. The world beyond these walls had no idea what slumbered here, cloaked in sarcasm and half-buttoned shirts.
Unleash the lion, let him tear down the circus. Then vanish in the smoke. Chills ran down my spine when I remembered the pictures of kings bowing to him.
“Think, Daphne, think!” I murmured, rubbing my temples.
This was my only shot at freedom—away from Arthur, away from Vexley’s hell.
If I bring down these wards, then the eyes—and claws—of everyone and everything lurking around this place would be on him.
The Hollowborn, Vexley’s men, even the Renegade—everyone would be busy chasing him.
And while they tore each other apart?
I’d run. I’d make myself small, invisible, like I’d learned under Arthur’s watchful eye. Slip out the back while the gods and monsters screamed. And Emrys? I frowned. Why did I even care about him? Everyone painted him a monster, but he’d shown me only kindness since we met.
And yet… the Renegade had marked me. I took a deep breath, assessing every part of my body. I felt great. My bruises were fading, my belly was full. There was no sign of some lingering threat inside me.
It was all a trick, a manipulation, I tried to convince myself. There was no scar or any other proof this had happened. I was beaten, sedated, and tired. Probably, I imagined that horror. But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t let that stop me.
I would figure it out from a sunny porch somewhere in Italy.
The more I considered the plan, the more I liked it. But something important was missing: power. Emrys, for all his strength, hadn’t broken the wards. So how could I?
“Because the wards were made for him, silly girl. They are not just stone and spell—they are personal. Forged with something intimate. Blood, names, pain. Whoever cast them knew him inside out,” the Unbidden whispered.
“I could help… at a price,” its voice unrolled like silk sails in the sea breeze.
“Do you know him, too?” I asked.
It cackled. “Oh yes, I knew him once. And I know the magic that wove the wards. It was not meant for my kind. I can see the faults in the spell.”
I stood in the silence for a moment, my fingers resting on the keys.
Of course.
The ally I needed had been with me all along.
I rose from the piano chair, every limb buzzing. The meal and the wine had dulled nothing. If anything, they’d sharpened my determination.
Milan was closer than ever.
For the first time in weeks, hope rose in my heart, beautiful like the first sun rays after a long winter night.
“Tomorrow night,” I whispered to myself and made for my room.
An hour later, I tossed and turned on the bed, trying to find the right spot on the soft mattress.
“Branwyn…”
The name haunted me. The way he looked at me—like I’d become someone else, someone he remembered.
I pulled the blanket over my face, breathing in the lavender scent clinging to the linens. Maybe sleep would make sense of this. Maybe—
A soft clink interrupted my thoughts.
I jumped.
There, hanging upside down from the carved post of my bed, was a small, wide-eyed bat. Chewing on one of my sugared violets.
“Don’t mind me,” he said around a mouthful. “I was testing your hospitality. For research purposes.”
I blinked. “Nibble?”
He flipped upright midair, fluttering down to perch on the chair like it was a throne. “Shadow, technically, but I’ll forgive the slip. You mortals are bad with names.”
Mortals, I noted.
I stared at the empty dish where the candied violets had once been.
“You ate all of them.”
“They were endangered,” he said solemnly. “Extinct now.”
“They were mine.”
“I was acting on orders!” he chirped, unfazed. “Emrys told me to keep an eye on you. Said you were prone to poking cursed things, attracting spirits, and emotionally devastated centuries-old immortals.”
I blinked. “He said what?”
“Well,” Nibble waved a tiny paw, “not in those exact words, but it was implied.”
I sank into the chair across from him. “So, you’re spying on me?”
“Spying? Please. I’m supervising.” He licked sugar off his claws. “Also, have you seen how you wander around this manor like a sleepwalker with a death wish? The room with the wards? And you fell into the lake? Who does that? I needed all this sugar to recover.”
“I didn’t ask for a furry babysitter.”
“Too bad. I come with the haunted house package. And before you say something rude, let me remind you—I’m the only one here who doesn’t want something from you. Except some more violets.”
I sat on the bed and crossed my arms, unsure whether to throw him out or ask him to stay.
“So do you run… erm, fly to him and report him everything I do?”
Nibble shrugged. “No. Just when something interesting happens. Like you sneaking into places you shouldn’t or getting chummy with undead lake women.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re unbearable.”
He preened again. “Adorable and unbearable. It’s a gift.”
He tilted his head, his wide eyes shimmered, and he looked heartbreakingly cute. “Emrys didn’t tell me what you are. But he cares. That’s rare for him.”
“I don’t care what he thinks.”
“You do,” Nibble said. “That’s the scary part.”
I looked away, frustrated because I knew that bat was right. “What does he want from me?”
“Honestly?” He stretched his wings and wrapped them around himself like a tiny cloak. “I don’t think he knows yet. But it’s not just curiosity anymore. There’s something about you, Miss Daphne. Some echo. Some old thread tugging at his memory.”
I swallowed. Branwyn.
The room was quiet again. Only the creak of the manor’s bones and the soft tap of tree branches against the window.
“Who’s Branwyn?” I asked. He’d probably report this to Emrys, but I needed an answer. The longer I spent here, the more the mystery surrounding him intensified.
His furry chest sunk. “It was someone…very dear to him. Someone who died long ago.”
I took a ragged breath. “How many years ago?”
He scratched his wide ear with a claw, thinking.
“The Boudica Uprising, hmm, math is not my strong side, but you can surely do it yourself.” Seeing my flabbergasted face, he tried again.
“Boudica, the Rebel Queen? The one who humiliated the Romans for years before meeting a tragic fate? Branwyn was one of her generals.”
“But that was” — my lips moved soundlessly —“nearly two thousand years ago.”
“I see you’re no better at math than me.”
It all made sense now. The pictures in that book in the crypt. His power.
“What is he really, Nibble?”
The bat stared at me for a long while with his wide, beady eyes. “That, my dear Daphne, is not a question for me to answer.” Then, much softer, Nibble said: “If you’re planning something dangerous, just—try not to die. It’d be such a waste of potential.” A pause. “And violets.”
With a sweep of his wings, he darted to the cracked windowpane and slipped into the night.
I stared after him, stunned.
I tried to shove Emrys from my thoughts, tried to focus on my escape, on Milan, on freedom.
But the memory of his voice—low and raw as he whispered “Branwyn”—haunted me, filling my dreams with visions of a red-haired woman, bleeding from a thousand wounds, while warriors in steel and leather burned down a wooden village.
Screams and smoke filled the air, while a winged figure watched it all with silver eyes full of madness and pain. A god too late. A man too broken.