Chapter Seven
Before I can think, I move. And walk completely through the closed door.
Now that I’ve done it, it feels relatively simple. Like holding my breath; I can feel when it slips, when I’m in danger of losing control. I test the bounds as I make my way down the stairwell and into Sundar and Copelan’s rooms. Each time, I have a few minutes before my control begins to wane.
The real test comes when I phase through their door, knowing there will be guards outside.
With bated breath, I approach on silent feet, unsure still of how this works. I can channel my spirit, it seems, but I’ve yet to understand what it means. If they turn around, what will they see? A phantom, or a girl?
With all my courage, I dart past them.
The guards do not so much as blink.
Bolstered now, I press myself through the next set of doors.
Then I hide in a closet while I regain my strength, my usual fatigue creeping in.
With it, my spirit flickers in and out like a flame in the wind.
When my strength returns, I continue, phasing through storage rooms and parlors, making my way through the fortress.
I slip into hidden alcoves or closets when I feel myself losing my grip.
But a few minutes later, I can always channel it once more.
Even so, it’s taxing, like a weight on my chest. But I refuse to leave without helping my friends first.
When finally I locate my father’s wing, I’m relieved to find it mostly empty save for the guards outside.
Those, I whip past easily, and the holding cell is simple to find—a nondescript door with a single guard stationed before it.
Slipping past him and through the door, I descend a lone set of stairs leading to a cell door, gridded with iron, at the bottom.
Sundar and Copelan are inside.
I blink into existence just outside. Sundar is slumped against the wall, dozing. Copelan, however, notices me quickly, a stripe of moonlight silvering the blond of his hair. “Vasalie?” He blinks. “How in the—”
At that, Sundar rouses, jumping up at the sight of me.
“Shhh,” I say. “There’s a guard outside. We mustn’t be heard. Are you two all right? Has he harmed you?” I scan them both for damage.
“Not yet,” Sundar says. “He’s politely requested Anton’s whereabouts. We kindly declined to tell him. He left us after that, but I’m certain he’s planning all kinds of pleasant interrogation tactics. But, Vas, how are you here? You can’t be caught—”
“I—It turns out you and your mother were right, Sundar. Dying…it changed me. I can channel my spirit form. I can phase.”
“You can…what now?”
I take a breath. “I’ll demonstrate. Just…don’t scream, all right? Don’t make a sound.”
With that, I unwrap my fingers from the bars of the cell, then push.
I slip through the metal as if it were smoke.
I’m in the cell with them both, neither saying a word. They just stare at me, Sundar’s mouth dropped open like a trout.
I use the silence to tell them, quickly, what happened. My encounter with Illian, how I escaped. That Anton has escaped, too. That he is currently residing in Morta’s Lair, alive. That I must find my way there as well—all in a rush of barely strung-together words.
“Vasalie,” Sundar says. “Illian is a manipulative shit. Do you really trust him? This is some kind of trap. It has to be.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But if there’s any hope that I can save Anton, I have to try. I have to, Sundar.”
Sundar scrubs his forehead, pacing a few feet. “I don’t like this at all.”
“She isn’t wrong,” Copelan says. “Without Anton…”
“Anton would want you safe,” Sundar says. “Why do you think he sacrificed himself for you? Don’t make it mean nothing.”
“You heard the council, Sundar. If Anton doesn’t appear and confirm our story, it’s over. What other choice do we have?”
At that, he visibly deflates. “I just…I feel like I’m failing him.”
“We only fail if we give up on him. Besides, I have his pendant,” I say, digging it from the neckline of my dress. “It offers some protection, at least against Moranya, no?”
I plan to confront her, perhaps use it to bargain with. If that doesn’t work, perhaps she’ll accept my soul in exchange for his.
But I don’t tell them that.
“You have to go, Vas,” Copelan says. “Sooner rather than later.”
Sundar sighs. “He’s right. If there’s a chance to reach Anton, we must act quickly. Fates know what Moranya wants with him now. Souls, and the prophecy—”
“Damn the prophecy,” I say. “And damn the Fates.” Maybe Moranya is real, but if the Fates cared enough to send a message, why not come and help? Why stand idly by?
I’ll always believe in Anton over them.
“You’re starting to sound like a heretic,” Sundar says with a grin.
“I’m going to get you two out before I go. The problem is…I don’t know how. I can only phase myself. But perhaps I can steal a key, maybe some weapons…”
“There are far too many guards throughout this place,” Copelan says. “If we tried to sneak out, we would alert half the castle.”
“Even if we managed it, we’d start an even bigger conflict,” Sundar points out. “If we disappear along with you, your father will claim we’ve kidnapped you. He could retaliate against Razam.”
I look between them, my heart hurting. “Before Illian appeared, I sent word to Sofya. She’ll alert the council. Surely, they won’t stand for this type of treatment, but that could take time. I won’t just…leave you here.”
“Yes, you will,” says Copelan, folding his arms. “The alternative is your father’s victory.”
“He will torture you both,” I say. “I refuse to let that happen—”
“Actually,” Sundar says, his lips tipping upward, “I have an idea. After a bit of torture—just enough to make it believable—I’ll admit that Anton is in the Lair of Morta. It will be the truth, after all. He will assume that means Anton is dead. It will give him a false sense of security.”
I look between them, worry gnawing at every cavity in my mind.
“The faster you go, the faster we’re free,” Sundar says. “And do me a favor, would you? When you see Anton, try, I don’t know, slapping him out of it.”
Everything in me rebels at the thought of abandoning Sundar and Copelan, but I force myself to leave the holding cell. This is the only chance we have to save Anton, and therefore everyone else.
It’s only a matter of time before they realize I’m missing. I make my way back the same way I came, allowing myself moments to pause and regain my strength—both physically, and to phase. I need a way to make it outside the fortress without being noticed.
A breath of relief escapes me when I find the kitchens.
The doors out back are swung wide, men bringing in crates of local produce for the day.
The sun somehow rose while I traversed the palace, and the kitchens are preparing for the day ahead.
I sneak past them, out the door—and onto the back of the wagon.
Phasing inside a large barrel, I relax back into my physical form, hidden from view.
Not long after, the wagon moves.
It’s a bumpy ride, the little dinner I ate what feels like an age ago now rising with each jolt of the wheels.
We reach the town some twenty minutes later.
The wagon lurches to a halt, sending the barrel I’m hiding in toppling to the ground before I can phase.
I ease out and make a run for it, sliding behind a nearby stall.
Peeking out, I notice we’re in a market, just setting up for the day as vendors bustle about. Taking advantage of the commotion, I break for the forest nearby.
I take a moment, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, and search for a reflective surface in which to find Illian. I soon locate one in a half-frozen pond.
Saying his name aloud feels like a curse. I make it a demand instead, and say, “The veil to Morta’s Lair. Tell me how to find it.”
His smirk inches up from the still, cold water.
It’s simple, really. The veil between our realms is tightly woven, like the finest silk.
Death, however, is like the prick of a needle.
It tears through it, leaving a gap that only heals with time.
Stand close enough to where a death occurred, and it’s rumored you can even see through that gap, he says.
But of course, not just anyone can come and go.
Mortal flesh cannot enter. You, however…
I can channel my spirit.
“You are saying I can slip through such a gap.”
Indeed.
“So I need to find a place where death has occurred. But like what? A battlefield? Ours are age-old. The gaps would be long since closed, wouldn’t they?”
The veil is a living thing and will stitch itself back together, though it can take a few decades. But centuries will not do. My thought is to go back to Anell, where the both of us died. You must know the exact spot; otherwise you won’t find the hole.
“I won’t make it out of Brisendale without being caught. It’s impossible—” But I stop myself.
A place where death has occurred. A death not unlike my own, just over a decade ago.
I know where I must go—if only I can find a way.
But I’m in a market in Sira of all places, and surely merchants must travel to all the different towns.
Among the stalls, I barter off one of three silver bracelets the queen gave me in case I need coin.
I earn enough for a new cloak with plenty left over.
I ask a few vendors where they are headed next to no avail.
Finally, when the weariness is too much to bear, I settle in for a bowl of chowder in a nearby tavern.
There I overhear two artisans discussing the route they’ll take back to Borov, a small village just south of my father’s home.
They’ll remember me should they be questioned later, but I have no other choice. After paying for my meal, I approach their table. “Pardon, but did you say you are traveling to Borov? If so, might I travel with you? I can give you this for the trouble,” I say, pulling off the second bracelet.
“Sure, miss,” says the one on my right—a portly man with brows as thick as his beard. “But we’re not leaving until the morning.”