Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
Blair
Blair sprang awake, her breath pluming in the cold air.
Her shadows hovered over her bed, and the howling wind beat against the glass of her visiting-scholar dormitory. Something lay in the air, not just at Vísdómr, but all across Sorin.
Rook landed at her feet and nibbled her toes.
Blair hissed, shooing him away with her hand. “Did you forget your beak is sharp?”
Rook ruffled his feathers and avoided her gaze as if the reminder was an insult.
Blair checked the time on the enchanted clock above the door. Embers glowed in the small hearth, the warmth lingering. She yawned, rubbing tiredness from her eyes. Blair had only slept a few hours, restless and agitated. The book she’d read before falling asleep still remained on her lap.
Rook cawed, bouncing foot to foot by the door. He flapped his wings and pecked at the lock in mid-flight, demanding for Blair to open it.
“Blasted books.”
Cold and tired, Blair obliged her familiar and eased the door open. Rook shot free of the room, but remained a few feet down the hall, tilting his head at her. The wind continued to howl, no sing, and Blair paused. A name hovered on the wind.
B . . . l . . . air.
Not any name, her name.
Blair, follow my voice.
It was the whisper of a female. Gentle but stern.
Blair blinked, shaking her head. No. She was still asleep. This was a bizarre dream. Why would someone call her name on the wind? Who? What?
Hurry, the voice sang.
Its power reached out and caressed against Blair’s soul. Like understood like. Storm, shadow and winds. All of it cooled in the air. Ice crawled across her window. The fire in the hearth froze over. Blair’s skin tightened as cold prowled through the dormitory.
Rook flew down the hall and landed, waiting. Expectant.
Do you want to learn what you are?
Like a bucket of ice had been dumped over Blair’s head, she stilled, the question chilling her to the bone. Yes, yes, yes—the darkness slithering in her veins sang with the wind.
Rook gave Blair one last look and took flight. His black feather wings grew distant, and Blair didn’t think any longer, she darted out of her room and raced after her familiar.
Left, right, down and down. Blair paused to catch her breath only for Rook to shoot down a hall she’d yet to explore.
She cursed through clenched teeth and turned. The bookshelves loomed over her, titles peering down with disappointment as her bare feet slapped against the stone and disturbed the quiet hour.
Ahead, Rook sat atop a werewolf’s paw carved from marble.
The heel pressed against a row of books, its twin at the other end.
As Blair reached Rook, he flew from the statue with enough force to knock the appendage back.
A click sounded, and the bookshelf—no, hidden door—swung open and revealed a dark corridor leading beyond.
Rook purred, pressing his head against Blair’s jaw.
Follow my voice.
It came from all angles, and yet Blair’s familiar flew through the dark corridor.
Despite every instinct screaming for her to not, Blair followed.
She snapped her fingers, and in the confines of darkness, she drew out her gray shadows which provided a bit of light to the darkness.
Like a spiraling tower, the corridor tunneled downward, and the temperature grew colder and colder.
At the edge, Blair encountered the most peculiar area: a well set up reading nook. Leather chair, red rug, oiled lamp, and a wool blanket, threads snagged from use. A stack of books lay on the floor, the first bursting open as a breeze caught hold of the cover.
Blair.
Rook darted through a crack in the wall, and as Blair wedged herself through, night and forest greeted. The winds welcomed her, pushing her in the direction of Rook flying into the forest.
“What . . .” Curiosity warred with caution, but Blair grasped the first and ran through meadow and dashed into the trees.
“Rook,” she hissed.
He descended from the canopy and dove east, staying only a few feet ahead.
Moonlight kissed the tips of his onyx feathers, a shimmering beacon as Blair grew further into the forest and then landed on a lone tree.
White trunk, red leaves, crooked branches.
It didn’t belong in the Vadon Mountain, not with the oaks, pines, and redwoods. It was of a different time and place.
Light from the canopy cast a spotlight on it, shimmering the well of water pooling at its circling roots.
A strikingly beautiful female with a sharp hawklike nose, hair twisted into a studious bun, coal smudged around her eyes, and red-stained lips stood with arms folded, deep-blue eyes expectant.
She wore black trousers, and a collared shirt—she could easily pass as a scholar in the Nūa Library if it weren’t for the unfitting accessory strapped to her back.
A sword with three moons lining the hilt.
“You’re the Blood Goddess,” Blair whispered, stepping back.
That is not my name.
The female didn’t move her lips. Instead, the winds carried her voice. Calm, at ease, so unlike the accounts of the Blood Goddess, but she possessed the sword from the illustration Lorkan and Blair had found. The three-moon symbol sneered at her, and a question lay on her lips—
The woman shifted, moving like mist hovering over the forest ground. She wasn’t physically there, but a transparent figure spun between realms.
Wait. Blair gasped and rocked backward. No, she might’ve said out loud.
Shadows wavered in the air—the same gray tendrils Blair conjured with her magic.
They awakened beneath her skin, snaking with familiarity.
In the midnight air, likeness caressed likeness.
It was different from witches’ magics greeting one another, but power of the same power saying hello to a long-lost friend.
Blair rooted to the forest floor as rigid as the pines around her.
“I don’t understand,” she breathed, driving her fingernails into her palms, wishing the sting woke her from this bizarre dream. “How is that possible? What am I? If—”
There is no time for me to explain—your sister’s rebellion against the gods has allowed me a mere moment to speak with you.
“But if you’re not the Blood Goddess, who are you? How can I trust you?” Blair rushed.
The woman stepped closer, her stare hard and unbending. You won’t, which is why you must witness the truth for yourself. Crack open the blood of my fallen brothers and sisters, and witness a memory.
“I don’t want a damn memory!” Blair charged but tripped straight into the woman’s shadowy figure. Desperation clung to her skin like the cold particles that drenched her oversize tunic. “I want to know what I am!”
A bloodstone will lead you to the truth. Then find me, Blair Carson. I will give you the answers you seek.
Branches creaked. Thunder rumbled north, and the winds shifted. Magic bristled under Blair’s feet, and layers of earth shook with it. The rest of the trees leaned with the winds, and as they straightened, the air stilled once again.
The mysterious female vanished, leaving her alone in the forest.
“No,” Blair whispered, chest tightening. She spun in a circle, the forest closing in around her.
She ran.
Blair chased after nothing. She’d tugged at her curiosity, a lifelong unfed need for Blair to understand these shadows swimming in her veins.
Like a moth to flame, she’d rushed out of Vísdómr, only to be fed riddles and false hope.
Her shadows leaked from her fingertips and snaked around her ankles.
They might as well have been shackles.
“Tell me what I am!” Blair screamed.
Yet, Blair’s demands were swallowed by the angry winds. Something icy-hot shot through her veins. Was it adrenaline or desperation? Trees twisted with the whipping winds. Voices traveled closer to Vísdómr, and false hope urged her legs to move.
Midnight hair she recognized in an instant snagged her attention, and Blair darted behind a tree. She called upon her bronntanas, using her winds to conceal the sounds she made and her scent.
Lorkan, chest bare and gleaming in the moonlight, continued to pluck blossoms from a tree, unaware she watched.
Why in the Goddess was he out at this hour?
What sort of tree was that? Blair hadn’t studied botany during her time as a scholar, so her mind came up blank.
Not because of the sight of Lorkan, shirtless, chest, arms, and abdominal muscles straining under his pale skin as he worked.
She’d not crossed paths with him since he’d riddled her senseless in his office. Blair had wondered if he was avoiding her, but in truth, she’d been avoiding him, riddled with uncertainty on what they were and terrified of the path she’d started down.
The trees beside Lorkan rustled, and his friend, Alvin, emerged.
He held a basket filled with blossoms, and Alvin’s smile reached his glacier eyes.
Blair studied his attire. Cloak, traveling leathers, hair braided like a werewolf warrior.
Alvin wasn’t a scholar, or at least, didn’t appear to be one.
“You must admit this was an excellent find,” he said.
Lorkan grunted his agreement. His glasses were absent, giving Blair an uninterrupted view of his pinched brow and concentrated gaze. He handled the blossoms with deliberate care as he lay them between the fabric of a handkerchief.
Blair pressed flush against the tree she hid behind, mind reeling with questions. What was so special about this tea?
Alvin placed the basket on the ground and retrieved a leather flask from his satchel. He swigged and passed it to Lorkan.
Lorkan added his blossoms to the basket and sniffed the leather skin. He was silent, and the forest sat suspended in time as he considered. What exactly? Blair was confused more than ever—
“Rabbit,” he finally said.
Blair’s insides twisted into knots. What in the Goddess did that mean?
“Impressive, as always,” Alvin chuckled.
“Are you two guessing animals again?”
Blair whirled. Mya waltzed into the clearing, oblivious that Blair stood yards away.
Despite the frigid air, Mya didn’t wear a cloak or wool, only a flowy linen dress stained with paint.
Her luscious curls trailed behind her back, and she carried a basket of blossoms, though not nearly as full as Alvin’s.
In her other hand, she grasped a gnarled branch, but at this distance, Blair couldn’t make out the details.
“You’re jealous because you’re horrible at our game,” Alvin said.
“Blood is blood.” Mya shrugged.
Every inch of Blair’s body froze. Blasted books, did the leather flask have rabbit blood inside it? No, she silently screamed. That didn’t make any sense—
A ringing pierced through Blair’s mind, and she couldn’t think, could only stare on in horror.
For Alvin’s smile widened, revealing a set of fangs. Sharp, needlelike, glinting in the moonlight.
Vampyr.
Blair’s instinct screamed to flee while her magic rose to defend, wary and wild.
But reason warred within her, or was it denial?
For Alvin had handed the flask to Lorkan.
Who’d taken a sip, too. Who’d guessed rabbit.
Who displayed a rare smirk, revealing his own red-stained fang.
It jutted over the very lips Blair had kissed days ago.
Lorkan was a vampyr, and Blair’s world ripped out from under her.
Lies, deceit, betrayal. It all latched onto her heart, mind, body, and soul.
Blair couldn’t think or see straight. It was like sitting in her kitchenette again, learning the truth of why Evelyn had left.
She’d lost her magic, a horrific reality Blair couldn’t possibly understand, she knew that, but it wasn’t the truth she detested but the wretched knowing that her sister hadn’t trusted her with that secret.
She’d squirmed under reality’s heavy thumb, the message clear: You’re not good enough.
Not enough to be seen. To be told. To be loved.
Lorkan hurt worst off all.
All Blair’s emotions—desperation, fear, curiosity—were snuffed out. A sharp, unbound newness gusted through her veins. It wasn’t her wind bronntanas or shadows.
It was a storm fueled by rage.