50. Chapter 50
Happiness was a seductress. It whispered sweet promises coated in poison; it engraved itself onto her heart with thin, sharp needles so when it disappeared from her grasp, it would ache, begging for more of its toxin.
At several points in her life, she had achieved joy and subsequently lost it; she should have known then that happiness was but a fleeting illusion, something to fear when it arrived, for its loss was imminent and immense.
She lifted Bri onto her shoulder, lightening her weight with magic, and lugged her through the underground facility.
It wasn’t the same one as before, but it had a similar enough layout that she found her way out soon enough.
Yareli settled Bri on the ground, cast a warming spell on her, then shot a fireball into the sky; it exploded, trailing a beautiful blue tail like a comet.
Assured someone would find Bri—because Augrys would be searching for them—she turned on her heels to depart.
“Reli.” Bri’s voice was hoarse and soft. She had almost missed it with how quiet it had been.
“You’re going to be okay,” Yareli said, dropping to her knees in front of her. “Tuom’s dead. I sent a flare. Someone will come.”
Bri moved her lips, but it wasn’t audible. Yareli bent down, putting her ear to her lips.
“Don’t leave.”
“I can’t. There’s something I need to do.”
“Stay.”
Yareli hesitated. She could still change her mind—stay, wait for Augrys, go home, and let Izmari be a distant memory.
They’ll come for you.
No. She wouldn’t be safe until she was powerful.
She stood.
“Tell Augrys I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
Yareli strode away, guilt ballooning in her chest until moving was the only thing she could do to keep from returning.
Walking until her teeth chattered and the pain in her side was too great, she was soon lost in the forest. Vertigo hit her, and she leaned on a tree.
Hot, slick blood coated her hand; her wound had reopened, but her decision was made.
No more guilt. No more hesitation. She visualized her destination.
The palace entrance appeared in her mind, its great white fortification towered in the dark sky.
The anti-shadowstep spell, a thin, invisible shield, was firmly in place.
It wavered, however, and she found the perfect vulnerable point to exploit.
Yareli shadowstepped, pinching the fabric of the world with her magic, and when she appeared above the palace, she sent a shockwave of energy at the weak spot, piercing a hole in the barrier.
She completed her shadowstep, falling on the palace’s curtain wall.
Before she could celebrate her success, a spasm shuddered through her, and black dots swam across her vision.
She leaned on the stone, weathering the lightheadedness until it faded.
Only then did she realize how quiet it was.
No soldiers rushed to grab her. In fact, the palace in the distance was mostly dark. The coup had been successful, then.
It meant Augrys needed to keep the resistance alive more than ever; it meant she had made the right decision to claim what was hers.
Stanching her abdomen’s bleeding again, she leaped off the wall, soaring through the air with an uncanny agility, and tumbled a few feet from the palace.
There was still no movement. The hair on her arms stood in alarm. She crept along the edge.
Weni, she called out to her in her mind. She wasn’t sure the Fae was listening, or if she could reach her, but she tried it because Weni seemed to always hover around. Any idea how to sneak in without drawing attention?
Go to the back, stick to the shrubs by the side of the building. There’s a secret passageway by the kitchen.
Yareli did as Weni instructed, creeping along the side of the building, careful not to brush against the rose bushes.
She moved fast under the night’s cover, stopping when she heard footsteps from the building’s windows.
Her breath came in short frost puffs, but she didn’t dare cast a warming spell.
Her core was still depleted, running on fumes and sheer stubbornness.
She would not stop; she would not fail to acquire her power.
Finally, at the corner of the palace, Weni stopped her.
Place your palm on the rune inscribed on the building.
Yareli surveyed the wall, switching to touch when she couldn't make out anything in the dark. Her hands shook, but she finally found it—a small circle with a cross running through it—on one of the lower bricks.
Pour magic into it.
The moment she did so, the brick rumbled; it disappeared, leaving an empty gap like a missing tooth.
The void expanded as though it were a black hole eating everything in its vicinity until it was tall enough for her to pass through.
Yareli jumped when the entryway closed behind her, shutting her in complete darkness.
When time passed, and the darkness remained, she cursed.
Her magic was running on empty, but she lit a flame on her palm anyway, revealing a dusty hallway filled with cobwebs.
“Great. As if blood and dirt weren’t enough, I now have to risk spiders in my hair,” she muttered, but she started the trek anyway, cutting through the spiderwebs with her free arm.
It didn’t take long to come upon a fork in the path. She went right, following Weni’s instructions. She took another right, then a left, and countless more until she could no longer remember her way back. She reached a winding staircase heading deeper underground.
It was all eerily similar to Tuom’s memory vault, but she didn’t dwell on that, counting her steps instead to keep her from succumbing to exhaustion.
She also didn’t allow herself to think about Augrys.
She couldn’t bear his look of disappointment, the subtle pain in his eyes as he took in her current state—bedraggled, injured, and probably magic drained once again.
Leo was easier to think about; he’d be furious with her, refusing to talk to her for a few days, but showing her he cared with acts of service.
She couldn’t blame him; he hadn’t wanted her to tag along. It was her fault.
But at least she had rescued her friend, killed her tormentor, and was on her way to becoming powerful. Leo would understand that. Augrys was another matter. The only upside was that she didn’t have to think more about it; he wasn’t here. It was her problem, and she was the one dealing with it.
She took the final step, landing in a compact room.
She sneezed; it was dustier than the corridors, and her feet left deep imprints on the ground, upsetting the thick layer of sediment that had sat untouched.
She held her light farther, seeing the faint ridges of a door set in the dark, gray stone.
Runes in tiny print traced its outline, and she thought she could faintly make out ancient Izmarian.
A familiar pulse came from it, but it was gentler this time, like the soft touch of a loved one.
Her power lay behind it, except she had no way of opening it.
Touch it.
Yareli jumped. After traversing through the muted, dark staircase, hearing Weni in her head again had scared the hell out of her.
She placed a tentative hand on its cold surface; it responded immediately, lighting up a brilliant purple.
Thunder clapped in the room as the door struggled to roll away.
Extinguishing the flame, she covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes against the sudden brightness.
The strong smell of rotting wood hit her nostrils, and she gagged, but when she opened her eyes, a lush forest filled her vision.
She stepped forward.
A tug in her abdomen hit her, dragging her backward, away from the doorway.
She screamed, then choked as a veil fell on her, tightening around her in its familiar embrace.
She was shadowstepping, except it wasn’t her doing.
She struggled harder, but even her magic didn’t listen to her call.
She was screwed. Darkness fell over her, and she was yanked away from her power.
Yareli landed in a lavish, private sitting room with a plush red carpet; her knees sank into it.
Paintings and sculptures were strewn across the room, lying in a state of incompleteness.
Paintings were missing the subject’s face.
Sculptures remained headless, blocks of unshaped stone on top of their necks.
The sudden change in surroundings unbalanced her.
Being sent away moments from claiming her power…
Indignation bubbled in her chest, coalescing into a giant outburst ready to tear the room. She strode toward the painting opposite her when she heard a voice behind her.
“Yareli.”
She spun around.
The Fae Queen, her gown pooled onto the ground, like a yellow ink splotch on the red, awaited her. Yareli’s chest rose and fell in great heaves. Queen Reamiria knew her real name. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry.
“Be at peace, child. I harbor no ill will. Your disguise is great spellwork.”
“But you saw through it.” Yareli pointed out.
“I am the queen of Fae. My magic goes beyond what ordinary Fae can accomplish. I knew the moment you entered Izmari, felt the moment you stepped in the capital city, and saw through the spell the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Why did you say nothing?”
She released a long sigh, and Yareli noticed her physical state for the first time. Hollowed, dark eye bags, sunken cheekbones, a complete one-eighty from a few weeks ago.
“You’re sick,” she said.
“I am both unwell and well.” At Yareli’s confused look, Queen Reamiria continued. “There is little time available to me to instruct you on the history behind the relationship between the Fae Queen and the Great Tree.”
Feet stomped past the room, drawing their attention to the door. When they faded away, she spoke again.
“What you must know is that you were selected by the Great Tree.”