Chapter 11 #2
Rain? Rain! My swollen feet find purchase, urgency swims through me to run to the front of the castle and help cover the holes in the stone. If water gets through, it could ruin so many ancient treasures that survived the Chief Defenders wrath.
But my feet stay rooted. Frozen. My thumping heart finding relief.
“When the rain comes, it’s time.”
It’s time…
My chuckle is low and gargled, but it’s there. My soul, in this moment, feels a little lighter. I’ll find Mallory one day and kiss her silly.
It’s time! This is my shot.
Running in the opposite direction and against the throng of folk heading to the front of the castle, I make my way to the stairwell and find it empty of guards.
Thank the Fates!
It stinks of damp and smoke. Water drips somewhere in the dark, pattering onto the stone with the soft, constant beat of a pulse. The air weighty and sour, reeking of heartbreak, as though grief and anger never fully left after the Chief Defender unleashed his storm through this place.
With each step, I take my life in my hands, the stone slick from the leaking cracks high above. A smear of soot marks the wall at the bend, a handprint, large and dark, half-wiped away by the water.
No guards. No voices.
Just the steady dripping of rain.
At the bottom, the vault door—or what remains of it—is little more than a jagged memory of what it once was.
One half slumped like a broken shield against the wall, the other split entirely down the middle, scorched black along the edges.
The hinges twisted, its metal warped by heat or fury, or both.
Thank you, Major General Vale. Your grief has truly made this much easier for me.
A nervous breath escapes me, thin and shallow. Everything that lays beyond those doors belong to the Monarchy. And tonight, some of it to me. The vault is gutted. Shelves toppled, trunks splintered, coins tossed, ancient records scattered, relics cracked.
It’s a mess!
In the corner lies the remains of a large, golden ceremonial mask, its face split in half by what might have been a sword strike.
He could have really hurt someone.
My fingers brush along the edge of a shattered chest of gold coin. Dust coats everything, tickling the back of my throat and the scent of old parchment and scorched wood crawls down my nose. I cough into my fist, careful not to be too loud in case it carries up the stairwell.
I need to find haste before those guards come back for their duty.
It’s here somewhere. I feel it. The energy of the Taka thrumming through my veins, calling to my empty chasm.
I scan the room for anything small, round and pearlescent.
The beautiful mineral sea-born and older than this Kingdom—according to books.
Water nymphs were the only authorised, royally appointed harvesters of the deep-sea mineral.
Taka is, was, expensive before it was taken out of circulation, and it looks like pearls.
When black market merchants found this nugget of information, they would sell the shiniest pearls claiming it to be authentic Taka.
And a lot of Water Nymphs were put to trial and executed, the High Magistrates in power at the time using them as the scapegoat.
All in the name of shady merchants making a quick fortune. I suspect the corrupt High Magistrates profited from these merchants, but when there was public outcry, they need to blame someone.
As I said, the world is cruel, and I wouldn’t mind it imploding if I were being honest. To start the races and classes over again in hopes it gets done right this time. So much wrong in the world.
The passive suicide ideation is hitting me strong today.
It’s said one stone, properly wielded, can halt a death, reverse an hour, or an age. One stone is enough to change a battle, enough to save a life. Or end one.
The King’s predecessor outlawed them, driven half-mad by fear after some nameless traveller from nowhere claimed a battle was lost, then won, all because a woman, rumoured to have midnight blue hair, twisted the thread of time.
No one knew if it was true, of course. The tale passed through kitchens and taverns like the pox, each version of the whispered tale growing stranger.
Soldiers swore it. Orphans whispered it. Only fools believed it.
Do I believe it? Am I a fool too? I’ve yet to figure that one out.
I’ll be a fool if I don’t find it soon though.
The fear of being caught, branded a lowly thief and executed plays cruel tricks on me with the way my traitorous body feels the stare of a thousand eyes.
Like every set in the universe casts their judgment.
I hate myself for this too; I hate my husband more.
A splintered box sits half-buried beneath an old, torn battle banner.
The monarchy’s seal almost worn to nothing.
The faint curve of a crescent moon plaque barely visible.
It hums beneath my shaky fingertips. The air thickens and the hairs on the back of my neck stand.
I fight the shudder threatening to break down my spine.
Lifting the lid, pearlescent stones spill out over the velvet lining.
Pale and perfect. Smooth as glass.
You beauty!
There’s so many. Each one potentially a ticket into the past.
They seem to pulse as I drift a hand over the round, milky minerals.
A featherlight touch.
Snatching the bag I stashed into my side pocket; I gather as many stones as possible, stuffing them into the small hessian sack. My heart batters against my ribs, body thrums, ears on high alert as the unsettling silence grows louder.
I’m officially a thief—and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. But I’m desperate. For just one chance to change the past and claw back my voice.
My identity.
My freedom.
Tying the strings of the bag and shoving in my pocket, I head toward the stairwell until something moves in my periphery.
I freeze. There’s no sound. No more movement.
Nothing but the unmistakable sensation of being seen. The cold press of a gaze against the back of my neck. The stairwell waits beyond the wreck of the vault doors yet my feet are frozen to the spot like the Fates are giving me a chance to undo what I’ve done.
No, I can’t go back on this now. And I have the backing of the strange lady searching for her lost marbles. No, I’m taking this Taka. Execution be damned. Maybe Niko, the Chief Enforcer, will take pity on me if I’m caught.
The climb up the winding stairwell begins, stones even slicker, torchlights flickering, the dank air growing heavier. My steps are slow and measured. Nothing screams guilt more than a runner.
The castle should groan with the storm, with shouted orders, with boots hammering against the flagstones.
Instead, there is… nothing.
Silence, as thick as wool.
The weight of the bag presses against my side, a dreary reminder of what I’ve done.
What I’ve become.
Guilt floods me as I make the last step, scurrying away from the stairwell and down the corridor, putting as much distance between me and the vaults before I bump into anyone.
A breath I’d been holding for far too long finally escapes as I continue putting one step in front of the other, stumbling into the empty kitchen and wetting my hair, face and clothes to appear as though I’ve been outside helping the others.
Several footsteps echo from down the corridor. “It’s getting worse out there. Rain’s breaching the west wall. Stay outta the lower quarters. Water’s coming in through the old guard barracks.”
Staff scuttle past the kitchen entry way carrying sandbags. Filling a glass of water, I slurp it down, feigning exhaustion with my bowed head.
“Nope. Not having it.” —It’s Evelyn— “Home or bed, Thea. That’s an order.”
My embers, it worked.
It bloody worked.
I hold my palms up, waving them in surrender before tapping my heart to her in gratitude.
Her eyes soften, a sweet smile lifting her lips. “Take a few days. And get better soon.” She taps my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as I plod on by.
My grip is tight around the bag in my pocket as I bolt through the rain, holding my fluttering shawl, shielding myself from water and wind blasting my cold face like a thousand needles.
The ache in my swollen feet no longer register in my brain, the urge to get to Rafe as fast as possible is strong. The quicker I hand over the stolen pouch of goods the quicker my stomach stops feeling queasy with guilt.
His office door looms in the distance of the town, though the street is dark, dark enough to have my body on high alert. All the hairs on my flesh stand to attention, and it’s not because of the peltering rain or the wailing wind.
Shaking the knob to find it locked, I pound the door, my flesh stinging and my small breaths slamming into each other, piling up in my throat, choking me.
There’s no answer to my desperate banging.
I cup my hand over the sides of my eye to peek inside the window.
It’s dark. Empty.
I pound on the door again, the wood vibrating beneath my fist.
Come on, Rafe!
I can’t go back home. I can’t! My husband waits for me to give me that ‘foot massage’ he promised days ago—it’s ironic, actually, seeing as I could really do with one. And what will he do if he finds the pouch of Taka.
And he will find it, the man has the nose of a hound. He once found letters from an old friend I had stashed under a loose floorboard beneath my bed. My punishment was several days of silent treatment, followed by being guilted into severing all ties with my sweet childhood friend, Aurelia.
I never even got to write her one last time. Quite often I sit and wonder what has become of her. If she united with her mate, or whether she finished her culinary schooling.
My cooking skills are great, and it’s because she taught me.
Locks rustling behind the door has my heart skipping a beat. As soon as it opens a crack I barge through, my knees crying in pain when they meet the hard, wooden floor with a heavy thud.
“Lina, fuck!”
With my eyes closed and my lungs fighting for breath my senses heighten.
Everything is magnified; the distant noise of rain as the oak door shuts, locks bolted and heavy footsteps of bare feet stomping across the floor before a weighty blanket gets thrown over my shoulders.
He crouches in front of me, his thrumming energy vibrating through my pores.
“Look at me.”
I can’t, Rafe. I’m fighting for my life here.
“Lina, look at me.”
At the sound of this name for me, I prize my eyes open, his features coming into focus. Dark brown eyes, strong straight nose with a little bump on the ridge. I wonder if he wears glasses. He’d look nice in glasses.
High cheekbones, defined jaw covered with a couple days of stubble, wide lips, somewhat full, with two faint, thin scars running through them like maybe his teeth went through the flesh in an accident he had as a boy.
Rowdy boys do that don’t they. Climb, only to fall and end up with teeth piercing their lips.
“Fell off a horse.”
His confession rouses me, and I realise I’d raised my finger to trace his scarred lip. Lips I shouldn’t be staring at. Nor touching. His gaze is weighty, his dark eyes turn that little bit darker. Perhaps I’m delirious on adrenaline but the way he looks at me it’s as if he sees me. All of me.
Remove your finger from his lip, Thea.
But it’s soft and plump and warm and the way he looks at me is nothing how I’ve ever been looked at before.
I am fucking ridiculous.
Snatching my hand back to my chest, I shake the crazy from my head and return my gaze with a flat platonic smile.
Smooth, real smooth.
“What happened? Why are you here?”
Unravelling the blanket and fumbling through my dress pocket, the hessian bag of Taka rattles in my palms. Rafe’s eyes widen, his pupils shrink and his face pales. He knows what I have before I even have the chance to rip it from my pocket and dangle it in front of his face.
He says nothing as he takes the bag, stands, and paces the room, which I now notice the faint golden glow of a portal on the wall of runes.
He wasn’t here. But came and let me in. Did he hear me?
Was he… my embers, he has no clothes on.
Well, nothing but short, loose black undershorts. The man may as well be naked.
I ignore the abundance of muscle and toned ridges, powerful thighs and thick sturdy arms with lines of pulsing veins. Instead, I feign ignorance, moving to his side to view the several round stones he holds in his palms. The rest of the Taka in the hessian bag hangs loosely by his side.
Rain pelts the window, my wet sodden dress sticks to my clammy skin, and I pray he says something soon to take my mind off everything.
Rafe looks at me. I look at him. He looks at the Taka, then looks at me again before his gaze snaps to the window.
“Fuck!” he says, pouring the stones back in the bag, gripping my upper arm and hauling me through the golden portal.
A force grips me, unyielding and unforgiving, pulling me, pushing me before Rafe’s steady arms cocoon me, holding me firm to his chest, the heat of his skin searing my cold cheek.
The roar of power pierces my eardrums, the push and pull of my limbs almost becoming unbearable, forcing me to tighten my grip around Rafe. I’m not used to portal travel.
Where is he taking me!? His panic is palpable, and now I fear everything will go to shit.
My husband will see I’m not coming home tonight; or ever.
He’ll hate the loss of control, alert the authorities, the castle, the town.
I’ll be punished. Humiliated. Everyone will be looking at me drawing their own conclusions. Rumours will run wild.
‘I heard she had an affair.’
‘Saw her with a naked man before they disappeared.’
‘No, something went missing from the castle and she ran. Thief.’
‘Thief.’
‘Thief.’
‘Thief.’
‘Whore.’
Oh, what have I done?
Before I spiral further, the chaotic swirl of the portal ends. My stomach lurches to my throat, and as quick as we exit, Rafe stumbles, his sturdy arms dragging me with him.
My vision goes black. All I feel is my body horizontal and a searing thump to the side of my head. Nausea and buzzing drown out Rafe’s panicked voice as darkness creeps in.
What a pathetic way to die.