Chapter 35 Wards #2
Pulling out several books, one by one, she checked the publishing dates.
All were written in the last two centuries.
Huffing, she pushed the chair farther down the shelf and climbed up again.
Stretching herself to see, she spotted a thick tome, nearly falling apart from age, and pulled it off the shelf.
She flipped it open and, to her delight, discovered it was published four-hundred-and-fifty years ago.
Cradling it to her chest like it was made of glass, she stepped down and placed the book on the writing desk.
The leather of the cover was falling apart and torn at the edges, much too delicate to read in a lounge chair.
She opened the cover, the title page was obscured by a layer of dust. She leaned in and blew gently across the surface of the page.
A cloud of dust flew into the air that made her cough.
She turned a page. The edges of the parchment looked gnawed on and uneven. The ink was spotty and blurred in places. She sniffed the musty pages.
The preface read,
The sixth edition of A History of Asteria was created to highlight recent events involving the demon wars.
Her heart flew into her throat.
Demon wars?
She hurriedly skimmed the table of contents and carefully flipped to the relevant chapter.
Until the year 607 AD, Asteria was plagued by demons and creatures born of evil. Demons would steal into towns to sow destruction and attack villagers, drinking blood and leaving bodies in their wake. Bodies drained of blood were left in alleys and forests, and chaos reigned across the land.
The Great War spanned five years and was a battle of epic proportions that waged between humans and creatures of darkness.
Witches came from all over the continent to join the fight, and the war largely became a fight of magic—witches against demons.
Also of note were war mages, magic users with gifts of fire and destruction, who led the charge.
After a long and bloody final stand, humanity was victorious.
Demons were wiped from our world, and peace was had by all.
Shortly after the Great War, leaders and advisors from across the five kingdoms met and decreed practitioners of dark magic—particularly the practice of demon summoning and any form of war magic—were not to be trusted, and that certain measures be implemented for the good of all humanity.
Elizabeth’s head snapped up, shock rocking her back in her chair.
The fighting over five hundred years ago hadn’t been humans against witches—it had been humans against demons, and witches had fought for their side.
That’s why they had burned the books, destroying the old histories.
Queen Rowena and her father, the old king, hadn’t wanted them to know that witches had been their allies, and from the sounds of it, saved them all.
Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to read any more, so she carefully put the book back on the shelf and trudged back to her chamber.
She stayed up late, staring at the ceiling, and thinking of all she had learned about witches from her time with Risna and Nasera. They weren’t cruel or dangerous, and certainly weren’t evil.
Why had the old king wanted to hide the fact that the witches had been their allies? And what was the use in erasing the demon wars and casting blame on another group?
Elizabeth turned her pillow over and laid her head down on the cool silk. She stared at the black flowers on her nightstand and wondered how witches could have ever been painted as the villains of history.
***
The next few days passed in a blur.
Her friendship and appreciation for Fiza grew as she accompanied her on her trips to Veridas and brought her the contraceptive tonic every morning, leaving a steaming mug wordlessly on her writing desk.
She wasn’t sure if she and Caspian would ever lie together again, but she wanted to be prepared, just in case.
On the days spent at the castle, she would shut the drapes in her chamber and practice levitating stones.
It was pretty, her magic—peridot fire arcing through the air.
She had improved in leaps and bounds. But whenever she relaxed or grew tired, the green fire would vanish, and the stone would clatter to the floor.
She was surprised when she realized that since starting her lessons in magic, her headaches had disappeared.
Had the headaches been her magic trying to escape?
Had her body been subconsciously trying to protect her?
Sometimes Ambriel visited her, and they would walk together through the fields and forest trails. His presence was calming, and she found she could be open with him and talk about anything.
The only time he caused her disquiet was when he brought up the prophecy.
“There has to be a reason he chose you,” Ambriel insisted once more. “He spent a year looking for you since the last human he brought back to his castle. He’s searching for something.”
“But that’s silly. Caspian’s never mentioned a prophecy or even an amulet. He offered me a deal because I was in a difficult situation and desperate enough to make one. I doubt there is any more to it than that.”
“Perhaps.” Ambriel didn’t sound convinced.
Elizabeth looked away. She wanted to help Ambriel, but she was worried sick that telling him who carried it would put Charlotte in grave danger. She couldn’t allow word to travel that it rested in Harrison Manor.
Awkwardly, she said, “Any—any leads on where the amulet could be?”
Ambriel shook his magnificent head. “Unfortunately, not. We have reason to suspect that the demons already have the amulet with the blue gem in their possession. We don’t have it in our hands, but we know where it is. The location of the purple one, however, remains a mystery.”
She glanced at the ground. “Ah. Well, if I see anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Have you seen or heard of the amulet that we seek yet?” Ambriel said slowly, piercing her with his icy stare.
“No,” she said, a bit too quickly.
“Are you sure?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. “It would be a very bad idea to lie to me.” He paused, surveying her with scrutiny. “Honesty is a virtue, Elizabeth. I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”
His stature seemed to swell, and his form filled with light. He was frightening in his beauty. The glow emanating from him nearly blinded her. “We need the amulet. It is the final piece to the puzzle, and we seek it above all else. You must be honest with me.”
Ambriel’s gaze softened, and the light of his power faded, and soon, he looked as he had before. “I’ll remind you that lying to an angel is a sin of the highest order.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She met his eyes squarely and lifted her chin. “I haven’t seen it. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
He relented and relaxed. “If you see it or hear of it in passing, please let me know.” He paused. “When you leave the demon, we can hunt for it together.”
She murmured her agreement.
As soon as I can warn Charlotte and ask her what in the Seven Hells is going on.
“I have faith in you. I’m sure you’ll find it,” Ambriel said, smiling so kindly that it twisted her gut into guilty knots.
Gallantly, the angel led her back to her horse.
She mounted astride, and he held her gaze before she lifted a hand in farewell and turned her horse to the path back to the castle grounds.
After she brushed Draugr down, she walked back to the castle in good spirits.
When she approached the back entrance of the castle, she spotted something strange: Finnigan, appearing to talk to himself in the gardens.
He was leaning against the castle wall, nearly obscured by a trellis of ivy.
“He will never suspect,” Finnigan muttered.
On the other side of the trellis was a shadowed figure, but she couldn’t see who it was. There was a murmured reply, too soft for her to hear. She wondered who he was speaking to.
“I know. Soon,” Finnigan promised. Absentmindedly, he grazed a finger along the ivy-covered trellis. He took a tendril of ivy and rubbed it between his fingers, as if lost in thought.
Finnigan paused, as if listening to a reply that was too soft for her to catch.
“Come now, he is our real master and won’t lead us astray,” Finnigan said sharply. His voice softened. “I am only trying to help you.”
Finding no way to get to the castle doors without being seen, she began taking unnecessarily loud steps and whistling as she approached.
Finnigan whirled on her and snarled. “Elizabeth. What are you doing here?”
She smiled brightly, pretending to have just noticed he was there. “Oh, Finnigan, nice running into you.” She glanced at the trellis, but whoever he had been talking to was gone.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped, crushing the ivy vine in his fist.
“Walking, if that is acceptable to you,” she replied coolly, before continuing.
As she reached the castle doors, she felt Finnigan’s eyes boring holes into the back of her skull.