A Fate so Wicked: Into the Shadows, Book One, page 3
“Elowyn,” she called out as my heel met the street. “I’ll send word the minute I hear the shipment is on its way. If you need anything, my door is always open.”
If she lived that long, I wanted to say. Instead, I muttered another ‘thanks’ and stepped out, taking a full breath of the damp mid-morning air. Without the tonic, I couldn’t see her making it another six months.
Sugarfoot sensed my disappointment as I approached and nuzzled her snout against my cheek.
“I was too late.” I ran my fingers through her mane, trying but failing not to feel sorry for myself—for my mother—for my neglect. Her death would be on my hands. My stomach revolted as last night’s dinner made its way to the back of my throat. “What am I supposed to do now, girl?”
I ransacked my worthless brain, desperate to come up with another plan.
A young girl, no older than ten, walked out of the bookstore carrying multiple brown bags—her defeated mother followed closely behind. The amount of money my mother spent on books for me when I was about that girl’s age was likely in the hundreds. If only I could go back to those carefree days.
Sugarfoot nudged me in the same direction, but I brushed her off, reminiscing about the stories of beautiful faraway lands inside those fairytales I read late at night. She’d forbade me from reading them at one point. Mother was afraid I’d become disillusioned with reality, so I’d sneak them into the bag when she wasn’t looking and hide them under my mattress. I still had my favorite, albeit very worn, copy of A Void so Dark, about a faerie princess on the verge of death. Her dark magic had consumed her, but the sun restored her health using nightingale, a flower with magical healing properties.
Sugarfoot nudged me again, and I whipped around—a threat hanging on my tongue—when an idea popped into my head.
It was outlandish. Improbable. Downright delusional. Yet that didn’t stop the smile that curled up my lips. What if such a flower existed?
“Stars, you’re a genius!” I rubbed the top of her head. “I’ll be right back, girl!”
Not wasting another minute, I pushed aside all logic and took off toward the bookstore, skidding to a stop before the stained-glass doors. I inhaled the warm, earthy scent of used books and entered. There was nothing more peaceful than the inside of a bookstore, the thousands of pages begging to be read. Characters to fall in love with. New worlds to get lost in. If only there was enough time in this life to read them all.
Relying on my intuition, I hastened up the creaky wooden staircase, weaving through the labyrinth of shelves. I held onto the hope that, when the moment came, I would recognize what I sought amidst the array of items.
The store was usually barren for a Saturday, with maybe two or three other customers wondering about. The faint hum of the phonograph trickled throughout the space, playing a lovely, classical piece I’d never heard before.
Shelf after shelf.
Book after book.
My finger had been damn near rubbed raw from running it along the endless book spines. Doubt gnawed at my ribs—this was ridiculous. Pointless. Maybe Mother was onto something. Maybe those books had disillusioned me from facing the realities of the world.
My shoulders rounded. I should just accept it. Let my guilt swallow me alive. Go back home with my tail between my legs.
Then, I saw it.
The mythology section loomed ahead, dark and tucked into the far back corner of the library, away from prying eyes. The hairs on my neck stood up as a worn, leather-bound book, unlike the rest, caught my eye.
I pulled it off the shelf. Something ancient inside me knew this book didn’t belong there—even holding it felt wrong. It was whimsical and alien and filled with odd symbols and incantations. A grimoire, I realized.
It called to me.
But what was it doing there?
When King Broderick II banished the fae across the Dolorem River, they’d taken all their magic left with them. And all magical instruments had been eradicated—burned. Questions buzzed around in my head as I flipped through the pages, passing different potions and concoctions. Until I spotted it.
Nightingale:
A late-spring flowering perennial. Star-shaped petals. Deep red foliage with a black stem and angular leaves. Fully erect and fast growing. Blooms at night and withers the forthcoming morning.
Location: Faerway
Usages: To prevent and cure respiratory ailments and diseases.
Instructions: Bring one cup of water to a boil. Add two crushed nightingale flowers (stem included). Add a pinch of dandelion. Add two dollops of honey and let the mixture brew until it reaches a deep violet hue and promptly remove from heat.
That was it.
That’s the same description of the flower in A Void so Dark. I shivered from the goosebumps that tickled my neck and flipped it over in my hands, examining the worn edges and sigils on the cover. Searching the book to see who it belonged to revealed it was nameless. No price tag either. It was as if the universe had placed it there specifically for me to find.
I didn’t want to risk anyone else discovering it, and as much as I didn’t want to do what I did next, time was of the essence, and I had little to spare.
Checking over my shoulder, I slipped the book into my satchel and hurried down the staircase, passing the clerk with a small wave before shouldering the door open. My heart lurched as my feet hit the street outside.
Sugarfoot snorted her disapproval—sensing my deception—as I raced along the flagstone to the only person who could give me answers. Confirmation.
Mari startled as I charged through her door next, fumbling with the jar in her hand. “Elowyn, love, are you okay?” she asked, her hazel eyes wide with concern.
I nodded and waved off her question. Then I breathlessly slapped the book onto the counter and pushed it toward her, opening to the dog-eared page. I pointed to the image of the nightingale. “Have you heard of this before?”
Her jaw slacked. “Where did you get this book?”
“Is it real?” I pressed.
She straightened her apron, her nose crinkling in disgust. “In stories from fae folklore, yes.”
“So, is it true? Is there some way to get it?” My words were desperate, but I didn’t care to shroud my tone in bravery now.
Mari closed the book and shoved it across the counter like it was infected. “Not any I’m willing to take. If it was real, and I’m not saying it is, I wouldn’t touch that flower. That realm and river are cursed. Who knows what dark magic runs through it?”
I ground my molars together. The answer to my mother’s problems was potentially right in front of my face, and she expected a few scary stories to deter me? If it were true, and the nightingale did exist, the harm of not trying heavily outweighed the risk of taking a chance. Living in a world without my mother was not one I wanted to suffer.
Dark magic be damned.
“Leave this be, Elowyn,” Mari warned as if she could read my thoughts. “I know how hard it is to watch someone you love—”
“Die?”
She wrung her hands, a beat of silence passing between us before she spoke again. “The best thing you can do is spend as much time with her as you can. At least try it. The elixir I provided will alleviate any adverse symptoms. When the trade deal settles, you’ll be the first person I notify.”
Mari’s words passed over me but didn’t fully settle. I nodded, tucking the grimoire under my arm, noticing the way Mari’s shoulders slumped in relief as it left her presence.
She added, “Please, promise me you won’t get involved in fae matters. They’re cunning creatures. And not to be trusted.”
Although I nodded again in agreement, I was deep in forethought. My reassurance to her absentminded—at best.
Because I’d already made up my mind.
I was going to cross the Dolorem River, find the nightingale flower, and right my wrong. Even if it was the last thing I did.
Three
“All we can do now is make her comfortable.”
Rain drummed against the window, muffling the nurse’s words. Not that I needed the natural dampener, the rumbling terror in my ears did that already.
She stood at the other end of the table with her wrists perched on the top rail of the chair, her black hair pulled into a neat bun. Betrys had been tending to my mother since I’d gotten back from the apothecary six hours ago, and the exhaustion that rolled off her was palatable. It only got worse when I broke the news about the figroot tonic.
Although she did her best to remain professional, I could tell Betrys was frazzled. More on edge. And I was there with her.
Dread clung to the air. The unspoken—ever-encroaching—reality had come sooner than I ever hoped.
Stars, Betrys had been part of our family for almost a year. I’m sure it pained her to speak those words as much as it did me to hear them. With an internal sigh, I stabbed the carrot on my plate, chewing as my mother’s plate grew cold beside mine. It was a sight I’d grown familiar with, but soon there would only be absence.
“I’ll start coming earlier in the mornings until she nears the end,” Betrys continued. “If you need any help to make burial arrangements, I can bring some information tomorrow. We can look at it together.”
My fork clinked against the plate, and I sat back to meet her soft gaze, my chest tightening. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her offer—I did—I just hated how we were there because of my mistake. The main thing I was responsible for.
“Thanks, Betrys.” I smiled. “I can take it from here. You should get home before this weather worsens.”
She began gathering her things when Mother shuffled out of her room and shuffled towards the table. Betrys set her bag on the floor and tried to assist her, but my mother shook her off.
“Oh, no need to bother. I got it,” Mother said as she pulled out the chair. “I may be dying, but I can still manage a few things.”
I gave Betrys a knowing look, silently thanking her for her patience as she pulled her hood over her head and slipped out the front door.
“Mm. Doesn’t this smell delicious?” Mother marveled, fanning the napkin onto her lap. “Lamb—my favorite. It’s been a while since you’ve made this.” She stirred the mashed potatoes, helping herself to a large spoonful. “What’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you dropped your father’s ring down the sink again.”
I chuckled. The fury that feeble woman emitted that day had shaken me to the core—there wasn’t a doubt in my mind she’d have murdered me if we weren’t able to retrieve it.
I wasn’t ignorant. Cooking my mother’s favorite meal tonight wouldn’t ease the wrath. Not after I told her what I was planning. But I hoped it’d lessen the blow.
“Did you have any more episodes today?” I ripped into a piece of lamb, working up the nerve to tell her what I’d planned this time.
She, like most in Wendover, was terrified of the fae. For a moment, I debated not telling her, but my conscience talked me out of it. If I didn’t return…
“No, the pain elixir Mari gave you did wonders.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “It knocked me out almost immediately. I guess she figures I can’t be in pain if I’m asleep.”
The clatter of silverware scraping against our plates filled the beat of silence that followed. My throat dried. I was more of an ask for forgiveness, not permission, type of person, and the inevitable argument looming ahead had me on pins and needles.
“I went to the bookstore today,” I finally said, taking a sip of water.
“Is that so?” Mother poked at her carrots. “Don’t you already have enough books?”
“You can never have enough books, Mother.”
“Tell that to the five bookshelves bowing from the weight of all yours.” She pointed her fork at me and shook her head. “Did anything catch your eye?”
I shoveled more lamb into my mouth to bid myself time, mulling over the best way to tell her. “Yeah, actually.” The following words rushed out before I could retreat from them. “A grimoire. It was so strange too, like someone knew I needed it and put it there for me to find. It detailed how to brew an elixir using nightingale, a magical—”
“Enough.” She slammed her hand on the table, startling me. “What did I tell you about reading those fairytales? Filling your head with ridiculous ideas.”
My eyebrows pulled together. “It’s at least worth trying!”
“This conversation is over.” Her fork stabbed into the lamb. “My life is not worth yours—put an end to whatever you’re thinking.”
Frustration itched to the surface as she continued eating, and my grip on the fork tightened. I wasn’t afraid, hiding books under my mattress, anymore. I wouldn’t allow her to be taken from me.
“So, I should sit back and do nothing? Why? Why can’t you ever accept my help?”
“Because I’ve never asked for it!” Her eyes cut into mine—a look I hadn’t seen since I was a child, and my chin quaked. “The fae are more cruel and evil than anyone can imagine. Do you know what they’d do to you over there, girl?” A flash of pain crossed her features. There was something she wasn’t telling me—I could feel it in my bones.
“Have you—have you met one before?”
“I said this conversation was over, Elowyn.” Her fork clanked against the plate as she set it aside, done talking and done with dinner. “Let it go. All of it,” she demanded.
Maybe it was pure stupidity to push. Maybe it was months and weeks’ worth of bottled-up fear and anger and grief. But this conversation was far from over.
“No”—I tossed my napkin down—“I’ve sat here day in and day out watching you wither away. Refusing my help either out of pride or guilt—or whatever stars-forsaken reason. But I’m done. I can’t. Expecting me to sit back and do nothing when there could be a solution on the other side of the river is beyond selfish. It’s idiotic!”
Mother pushed back her chair and weakly stood, looking down her nose at me. A vicious tone filled her words. “You’re just like your father. Dead set on being a martyr, trying to get yourself killed. Now that’s idiotic!” She turned her back to me, a coldness I’d never felt from her, and headed toward her room. “Clean these dishes up and get to bed. You’re clearly demented from a lack of sleep,” she said over her shoulder.
A rumble of thunder followed in her wake.
I wanted to go after her—finish the conversation and get her to see my side—but it was pointless. She’d made up her mind, and I knew there would be no getting through to her.
So, I sat there quietly, listening to the rain dwindle to nothing as I bid my time, trying not to let her harsh words get under my skin. Being compared to a man I didn’t know felt odd, but being a martyr when the alternative was loneliness felt right.
While I respected her concerns, I had my own that needed tending to. This was my mistake, and regardless of whether she wanted my help or not, I’d be damned if I didn’t make it right. I was done feeling useless.
I’d prove to her and everyone else in this realm just how capable I was. That I wasn’t a good-for-nothing bastard child. This needed to work. It had to. There was no other option.
Mother,
By the time you read this, I’ll be halfway to the Dolorem River. I know you never ask for my help (or want it), but I can’t live with myself if I don’t try. You said yourself, the what-ifs will drive me mad, so I need to make this right. Hopefully, I’ll be home before Betrys begins her shift. However, if I’m not, you’ll find your morning medicines beside this letter. Take them.
You’ve always been there for me. Now it’s my turn to be there for you.
Please forgive me.
Love, Elowyn
It was just before sunrise the next day when I set the letter on Mother’s nightstand and tiptoed out of her room, grateful I’d be miles away by the time she read it. I didn’t want to hear the string of curses she’d unleash when she noticed I was gone. Although she was sweet and docile most of the time, her anger was unmatched.
Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I felt the cool morning air against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the warmth I’d left behind in my bed.
The sun hung low in the sky as I stepped outside, bypassing Sugarfoot as I made for the barn. I scanned the building, sheathing a hunting knife at my hip while I stuffed a bundle of rope into my satchel. I grew up in the Elmhurst Woods bordering my home and spent countless summers outside, climbing trees, and hunting small animals for supper. While my mother never approved, it came as natural as breathing.
The hike through the forest to the Dolorem River would only take a couple of hours, a path I’d taken many times, yet as I left the barn, beads of sweat dripping down my back, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was massively unprepared.
“Mother’s going to be pissed when she finds out I left,” I told Sugarfoot, scratching the bridge of her nose.
She shook her mane in agreement, and my chest tightened.
“I’ll be quick.” My words came out as if I were trying to convince myself, too. “If anything happens, keep an eye on her, okay?”
Sugarfoot’s brown eyes gleamed with a hint of sadness, or maybe it was hope. I couldn’t tell the difference.
Unshed tears forced pressure to build in my throat, and I debated forgoing the entire thing. Sure, Mother had Betrys to care for her in the event everything went south, and I knew I was completely justified in doing whatever it took to help her, but was it right? I huffed a breath; it wasn’t the time to think about the moral consequences. Everything would be okay. I’ll find the nightingale and get out of Faerway undetected. Everything would work out.
With a resolved nod, I kissed Sugarfoot once more and started toward the forest’s edge. Further from home. From my mother and safety. Further from warmth and everything I knew.
“Cross the river, grab the flower, and come back home,” I repeated over and over again.
