Wizard's Masquerade, page 34
It would take only an instant.
The Demon Door seemed to note her hesitancy because it made a ghastly noise that was somewhere between a cackle and a gurgle, its ice-cold breath rippling her clothes and making her teeth chatter.
“Leyna, come on,” called Damian, who was waiting for her on the other side of the door. “It’ll be alright.”
A part of her wanted to jump through the door, to make a running leap. Perhaps, then, she would have a chance of surviving if the Demon Door decided she didn’t belong. But it was a foolish thought—the door was infinitely faster than she. Its teeth would slice through her quicker than lightning, and that would be that.
Her legs felt giddy, her entire body numb, as she eyed the deformed, vicious jaws.
This is ridiculous, she thought, rubbing her hands together as she tried to bolster her courage. But whether it was ridiculous that she was scared to step through the door or ridiculous that she was even contemplating risking her own life with a demon, she couldn’t decide.
“Leyna, everyone’s gone,” said Damian. “Come on, hurry up.”
She lifted a shaking foot and slowly, carefully, stepped over the lower jaw, where the mishmash of razor-sharp teeth reached as tall as her knee. This could be another way to lose her leg—or her life.
Finally, the first foot contacted the cobblestone floor of the dungeon on the other side.
And then the other foot.
And then she was through.
She sighed in relief. She’d made it.
Chomp. She shrieked as the jaws snapped shut, tripping forward in her terror to escape the door.
Her body smacked against the cold ground, and for a moment, she saw white, then black, and braced for the pain that was sure to come. The teeth…the horrible teeth…
Was this death? And then…
And then she realised she was fine.
She was fine.
Pushing herself up on her elbows, hurried to stand, the damp floor slimy on her palms as she pushed herself up. Her legs, her arms, her head, and even her long cloak were intact. I’m fine.
The Demon Door was leered at her, its ugly face somehow visible on this side of the door.
“Oops,” it said, the deep voice echoing in the dark antechamber.
“Yeah, it likes to do that,” said Damian casually, nodding at the door. “Especially for first-timers—or for those standing at the back of the queue.”
“You should have warned me!”
“Nah, you would’ve shit yourself. Anyway, chin up. The first time’s always the hardest.”
“I thought it was bound by a contract,” she complained, dusting her clothes off.
“It is. It was just scaring you. The door can’t have killed you, even if it wanted to—not if you have the authority to be here.”
Leyna tried to calm her breathing as she followed Damian deeper into the dungeon. “Good thing I have the authority, then.”
Chapter twenty-four
The Chase
By the time she slipped under the covers, the first rays of sun brushed the tall, embroidered curtains.
“How was last night?” asked Grace, pulling on her uniform.
“Fine,” she mumbled, not in the mood to recount the arrest.
“Well, I’m taking Seth for a ride in the grounds,” said Grace. “He was looking so sad yesterday. I think fresh air is just what he needs.”
“Good idea,” said Leyna, sitting up. “And he agreed to go?”
“He did,” she beamed. “Would you like to join us?”
It was tempting. Perhaps a ride in the grounds—a proper ride, one without the stress of arresting traitors in the middle of the night—would do her some good.
“Will the jester be there?” she asked. She needed to talk to him—or interrogate him. She wasn’t sure which.
Grace paused in the middle of brushing her hair. “The jester? I suppose so. He’s usually there in the mornings, isn’t he? Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” she said quickly, pulling the covers aside and sliding out of bed. “Yes, I’ll come.”
Outside the stables, she introduced Floofy to Budsworth, holding the furry creature outstretched in her palms. Floofy sniffed the air uncertainly, while the horse pushed its snout close, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled his scent. Suddenly, without warning, Budsworth snorted at Floofy in greeting, the strong puff of air causing his messy fur to whorl and fuzz out around him. With a high-pitched yelp, Floofy shied away from the mare and scurried up Leyna’s arm, where he buried himself under her collar. Despite her attempts to coax him out, Floofy refused to emerge.
Seth was already at the stables and gave them a strained smile as they greeted him. He was sitting astride a smart, sturdy mountain pony with a dark coat and feathered feet. A dozen heavily armed guards were assembled behind him. Each time Seth rode more than a few feet, the guards would follow, the clunk of chain mail and plate ringing in their wake.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Jester?” asked Leyna, looking around the yard. He was nowhere to be seen.
A smooth, syrupy voice answered.
“He’s not coming.” Leyna jumped as Professor Fry, emerging from the stables and pulling on riding gloves. “He sent a note—he won’t be coming to the morning sessions anymore.”
Leyna tried to mask her displeasure at seeing the blonde-haired woman, who, up to this point, she’d successfully avoided. “Why isn’t he coming?”
“I had the captain reassign him,” said Fry.
Leyna’s grip on the reins tightened. “Reassigned where?”
“Where?” Fry tittered, adjusting the fingertip of each glove one by one. “Why, anywhere else! I don’t see what a jester was doing skulking about with the prince, anyway. He seemed too clever for his own good.”
Leyna glance at Seth, but her cousin was staring into the distance, as if troubled by gloomy thoughts.
“Not to worry, sweetie,” Fry continued. “I’m replacing him for the morning sessions. Isn’t that nice? As an experienced wizard, I’m far more valuable than a jester.”
“Are you sure about that?” Leyna bit back, her comment knocking the smug smile from Fry’s face. She felt a soft touch on her arm. It was Grace, and the warning look she gave was clear: Do not provoke Fry.
She bowed her head in deference to Grace, who was in charge that morning. She gave the order, and they set off, leaving the safety of the rear castle wall. Leyna threw one last glance behind her, but she did not see the jester anywhere.
The gently sloped foothills were thick with grass that had yellowed beneath the hot sun, and had only a scattering of beech trees, their wide-spreading branches bright green with leaves.
Grace led the way with Leyna and Seth just behind, the grass rustling past them, and as they rode faster, Budworth’s golden mane fluttered in the breeze. Fry and the guards fell behind, the metallic jangling of armour hardly audible over the clip-clop of hooves. Leyna inhaled deeply, drawing fresh air into her lungs, and tilted her head upward so the morning sun would warm her face.
A yell sounded beside her—it was Seth, his face bright with exhilaration as the horses charged forward. He gave another whoop and shot her and Grace a gleeful grin, his brown curls bouncing from the motion of the horse. It was the first time she’d seen him smile in weeks, and after the trauma of his near-death experience, she allowed herself to rejoice in his happiness.
As they traversed the grassy hills, the increasingly rocky terrain forced them back to the main trail, which they followed at a slow trot as it climbed up the mountain.
Despite his earlier reservations, Floofy finally emerged from his hiding place beneath her collar. He moved to her shoulder, cooing softly as he stared at the surrounding woodland, where birds flitted from tree to tree and butterflies adorned the ivy vines that circled the lower branches. Soon, Floofy ventured out more bravely and settled upon Budsworth’s head, his chestnut-coloured fur blending with the horse’s finer pale-yellow mane.
They rested at the base of Triplet Falls, enjoying the cool spray of fresh mist from the three waterfalls, their horses untethered as they drank from the pool nearby. Relaxing by the watering hole, Leyna was pleased to see that Seth looked at peace. As the minutes passed, however, his facial muscles grew taut, and despite her and Grace’s attempts at small talk, he closed off again.
They began the journey back towards the castle, plodding down the steeper inclines. Grace led the way, whilst Fry and the guards stayed far enough back that the professor’s snickers were barely audible. Leyna’s shoulders stiffened, suspecting that Fry was hanging back on purpose to undermine Grace and sway the guards in her own favour.
Taking a breath, she focused her attention on Seth.
“Have you thought more about what sort of mount you would like to summon one day?” asked Leyna, hoping the topic would garner Seth’s interest.
“Not really.”
“Still thinking of riding a lion into battle?” she joked, remembering their conversation at the feast several weeks ago. She instantly regretted bringing up the feast—it was one of the last times the young prince had seen his parents.
Seth shook his head, looking so miserable that a stronger breeze might have blown him off his pony. What can I do? What can I say? There must be words that can comfort him…
She wondered again whether keeping yesterday’s incident on the balcony a secret was the best thing for him.
Had he meant to step off the balcony rail? Or had he simply lost balance? One thing was clear: no one in their right mind would have climbed up to stand on the stone railing like that.
A thought occurred to her: his parents were gone, but he wasn’t alone.
“You should tell Grace,” she murmured. There was enough distance between them that Grace wouldn’t hear, but she kept her voice low, just in case.
“Tell her what?” asked Seth.
“About what happened yesterday. She won’t tell anyone, and she’s a good friend to have. You’ll be seeing a lot more of her now that I’m on the night shift, so you may as well.”
Seth nodded. “Alright. I might do that.”
“Good.”
“And the magic lessons? Does that mean you won’t be teaching me anymore?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Not for a while, anyway.”
“Oh. Well, I did have a question on magic.”
Leyna sat straighter. Anything that took Seth’s mind off things and sparked his enthusiasm was a good thing. “Go on.”
“Where does magical energy come from? And why do I have so little? I can only cast a couple of spells before I’m done.”
“You’ll build up your reserves with time.”
“Yes, but why do we need energy if the magic comes from the Other Side?”
“It’s not that simple,” she said, wondering if they had time for her to explain it all. “Here’s the short version—each spell is a contract, a bargain that you make with the demons. But it doesn’t come free—there’s a price to pay. Think of it like the market. You don’t show up to the Royad Market without coin, do you?”
“I suppose not…”
“Well, in the same vein, you can’t have secured a contract without offering the Other Side something in return. That’s where our energy comes in.”
Seth did not seem satisfied with her explanation.
“So…are you saying that each time I cast a spell, I’m giving something up? Like a piece of my soul?”
“Er, of course not,” she said, trying to mask that his question had caught her off guard. For all the theory she’d studied in her first year, the topics had never covered the spiritual aspects of casting magic. She rubbed her palms as she recalled the lessons.
“What’s that?” Seth asked suddenly, pointing to their left.
Leyna tensed, following his finger. “What’s what?”
The trees were thick, but an old weather-beaten path branched off the main trail.
“Seth…I don’t see anything,” she began, but then spotted it. Lifting her gaze, she made out the silhouette of a beast perched upon a rocky outcrop.
“A wolf,” said Seth in awe.
“Get back,” Leyna muttered, but she was transfixed on the creature looming above.
It was watching them, motionless, and made no move to attack. It was large and muscled with black shaggy fur and was close enough that it might have made the distance if it pounced. She should have raised her casting hand to protect Seth, or signalled the guards behind, or called out to Grace, but something stopped her.
It was the eyes that had her captivated—they were not yellow or amber as a wolf’s should have been. Instead, they were almost as black as its fur, the dark brown irises barely distinguishable from its pupils.
The horses had scented the wolf; their ears twitched, but neither of them showed any signs of anxiety.
“I’ve never seen a wolf that big,” Seth said.
“It’s not a wolf,” she whispered. “It’s Quinn.”
“What?” Seth’s jaw dropped. “But I thought he died.”
Behind them, the metallic clink of their armoured escorts was growing louder, and up ahead, Grace was riding back in their direction. As Grace drew nearer, she called out:
“What’s the holdup? Is everything alright?”
The wolf flinched at the sound of Grace’s voice.
“It’s Quinn!” cried Seth. “Grace, it’s Quinn! Hurry!”
Grace could not see the wolf from her position.
“What?” she called back.
Suddenly, the wolf spun around in a flash of fur and disappeared into the woods.
“Quinn, wait!” cried Seth, and without warning, he rode off the main trail, vanishing amongst the bushes and trees.
“Seth!” Leyna yelled, squeezing her thighs—but Budsworth had read her mind and was already plunging into the trees. The mare rapidly picked up speed as they followed the old, sloped path down, the overgrown bushes pressing in on either side.
“Seth!” she yelled again, her ears too full of wind and noise and rustling branches to know if the guards were following. “Seth, wait!”
The speed was dangerous. Seth was not far ahead, and as the trail levelled out, she glimpsed the wolf that Seth was pursuing.
Could it really be Quinn?
Her priority was Seth.
Just a little further. If I can just catch up to him…
Seth was a much better rider than she remembered, but she and Budsworth were faster, and it wouldn’t be long before they caught up to him. How she would grab his reins on the narrow trail to stop him was another matter.
The trail curved gently, and Seth disappeared out of sight, blocked by the trees and undergrowth. She urged Budsworth forward, risking a gallop despite the blind corner, squinting against the air in her face.
The corner continued to curve. Trees rushed past.
Then the path straightened, and there was only a short section before the trail diverged.
There was no time to think.
It was impossible to know which way Seth had gone.
They went left, the mare bravely taking the twists and turns, her agile legs navigating the old winding trail. Leyna leant with the horse, trying to stay light, and they swung left and right around the corners as if they’d been training for it— until they took a sharp corner, and a fallen tree the height of Budsworth’s stomach blocked their path.
There was no time to slow down.
Too fast. Too late. They would trip and fly forward. Bones would be broken—that’s what the mossy log meant. The death of horse and rider.
But not today.
Muscle memory saved them. That, and sheer blind luck.
Budworth’s powerful front legs were already slamming the ground for takeoff before her hind feet had even touched down. Leyna kept her weight back as Budsworth pushed off the ground, lifting them into the air vertically.
And they were flying. Flying over the log, their backs curved, their eyes locked ahead.
Free-fall.
Time slowed as Budsworth’s first foreleg landed.
Time sped up, jerking them forward along the trail before Leyna had registered the impact.
They were alive. They were stupid, reckless, and alive.
And then she registered the impact, shrieking as her injured leg took her weight in the stirrup, and her head thumped against the back of Budsworth’s head, her body deadweight as she absorbed the shock. Budsworth had executed the leap perfectly, as had she—but only the mare had managed the landing well. Thankfully, the mare was in tune with her, and immediately slowed down.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, steadying herself. The flash of pain was gone, but a dull ache remained, warning of a sprain that she would feel later. She had pushed her leg too far. “Where to now?” Seth had clearly not come this way—he wouldn’t have cleared that log. No one in their right mind would have tried it.
Her heart was thumping, her breathing heavy, and she chastised herself for risking injury to her horse.
“Good girl,” she murmured, patting the horse whose body was glistening with sweat. She walked Budsworth forward, scanning the thick woods in the hope of some sign of Seth or Quinn. Turning back wasn’t an option; the undergrowth was too thick with brambles, making it impossible to go around the fallen log.
“We’re not jumping that again,” she said. Budsworth snorted in agreement. “Onwards, then.”
They continued along the narrow trail, this time at a more sensible speed. The brambles grew bold, reaching across the path to scratch at her arms and pluck at her clothing. After ducking low beneath the low-hanging branches of a beech tree, they were back out in the open.
They had traversed the mountain significantly, and the castle and city below her were now situated much farther to the left. Beyond Royad lay the flatter farmlands, the pastels pale and fading as they stretched to the horizon.
Directly below were the mountain foothills, but this aspect was rocky and shrouded in a thick forest of beech and pine. Running down the mountain to divide the trees was a smooth narrow gully that had once been a branch of the Maidstone River before its diversion to the castle.
