A Curse of Flame and Ash, page 30
Familiar symbols and passages leapt from the parchment, each attempting to persuade me to study further, but I ignored them all. An intuition insisted the answer lay deeper in these pages, and refused to accept any other distraction. As the pages rippled against my thumb, a sharp jolt shocked me. There. Pausing on the page, I stared at the symbol calling to me, insisting we’ve met before.
Witch’s mark.
I stroked the script back and forth, wondering. Where had I seen this mark before? And just as sudden as the jolt which shocked me, I recalled the stone tied around the mortal-in-hiding in the market. She wore this mark carved onto her necklace, confirming my suspicions of her magical gifts.
For the first time since Aramis showed me his secret place, I felt light. A dread that oppressed me for weeks faltered, breaking way to hope. The authors of this text believed witches possessed the power to travel to the Shadow Realm, and I had access to one.
An uncontrollable glee rushed through me, and I parted my lips, ready to share my discovery and suspicions with my friends, but hesitated. Aramis—and the others, for all I knew—desired to kill all Gifted mortals. Was saving Aramis worth endangering this woman? I needed to get Aramis back, but I didn’t want to betray someone to do it, no matter how little I knew of her.
Fuck.
I swallowed the acidic bile rising in my throat and closed the text. Making my decision, I brewed a strong concoction Grandmama taught me. A brew that gifted stealthy escapes.
Chapter 50
Midnight approached. Fifi sprawled on my bed next to me in a sound sleep, a thin line of drool spilling from the corner of her mouth as her nose created a soft rumble of snores. Molvys had passed out on the sofa. His neck was kinked uncomfortably, and I felt guilty for the soreness he’d feel in the morning. But I had to do this.
Pulling a light, silky cloak over me and my training clothes, I gently opened the apartment door, leaving my sedated friends behind. The guards standing watch were slumped on the floor, sharing Grandmama’s potent brew with them, too.
Within the moonlit tapestry of night, I slipped through the corridors I had grown familiar with, treading softly, the soles of my shoes caressing cool marble. I darted through the shadows, a phantom navigating the lines of the known and uncharted. The portraits of bygone rulers gazed down at me, their painted eyes bearing witness to my transgression.
A flicker of candlelight spilled from a partially ajar door ahead, right in the direction I travelled. Two guards shared stories and laughter, their armour glinting like a silent warning. Receding into an alcove, the lacework of shadows became my sanctuary. They passed by, the echo of their footsteps fading into silence.
I emerged, a whisper against the tapestried walls. The corridor yawned before me, its end concealed by a veil of uncertainty. I could almost hear the collective breath of the fortress, its ancient stones holding secrets that dared not speak.
As I tiptoed forward, approaching my exit, the air cooled. The moon lent its luminescence to my path, painting ethereal patterns on the marbled floors. A guard patrolled ahead, his footsteps rhythmic and steady. I retreated, seeking solace within a niche carved into the wall, my breath suspended in the space between heartbeats. His gaze swept over the shadows I allowed to conceal me, and then moved on, oblivious to his future high queen.
The fortress came alive with murmurs, the night a symphony of secrets. I descended a winding staircase, its steps worn by the passage of time. The grand gallery opened before me, its windows like portals to the night sky. Bathed in starlight, I stood amidst the whispers of forgotten generations, my reflection cast upon the polished marble floor.
A distant clock chimed, a solemn reminder that time was my enemy, and slipped into the corridor leading to the kitchen. My heart swelled with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation, gaining a thrill from the rebellious action. It’s why I risked so much with Cara. But the fear of being caught formed an uncomfortable pit in my stomach.
At last, I reached the kitchen, concealed in the far corner of the fortress. Beams of light cascaded over the eerily quiet room, melding with the remaining aromas of savoury meats contrasting with sweet fruit pastries, its waltz from the day finished. In a few hours, the kitchen staff would resume their work, so I marched toward the back door, ready to save Aramis.
Chapter 51
Beneath the canopy of a starlit night, I weaved through the cobblestone stress of Stoneshalt. My entire body shivered as I attempted to retrace my steps to the market, following the mental map I’d made from all those nights admiring the city from the balcony. The air was alive with whispers of enchantment, as if the very fabric of reality had been stitched with threads of magic and intrigue. Like finally accepting the magic within me had helped me sense it in the world.
My steps were hushed, my breath held, for I moved as a mere shadow myself, not wanting the shivers plaguing me to show through. The rebels tortured Aramis again. Using some kind of weapon or magic to make him freezing cold. In my short time here, I’d learned it was near impossible to make a Fire Fae cold, and the ice shooting through my veins made me nervous about Aramis’ fate. Our fate.
The streets paraded as a masquerade, painted with the vibrant hues of euphoric dreams. Taverns spilled their mirth onto cobblestone streets, their warm light flickering like fireflies trapped in jars. Laughter cascaded like a symphony, rising and falling with the rhythm of life thriving in this mystical realm.
A body pushed into me, driving me into a stone wall. A jagged brick tore into my cloak and scraped my skin. Such a small cut, but agonising with the pain I shared with Aramis. Catching my stumbling body, I came up to the gambling houses beckoning with promise of fortune and folly, their doors opening to reveal the heartbeats of risk takers and fate chasers.
Fae crowded around tables, shouting and cheering, tossing coins and tiles onto sticky wooden tables. One male in particular caught my attention. The way the pot in the centre of the table dazzled him and made him lick his lips sent a sudden jolt of ignominy through me. Was I like him? So transfixed by the win that I ignored everything happening around me, the way this male ignored the female massaging his shoulders and the brawl forming behind him.
While I always paid attention to my surroundings, I became so distracted that I failed to recognize how Oulixeus had exploited me and concealed information.
Yet, amidst the revelry, my gaze remained steadfast, my heart a compass pointing toward a single goal—the witch holding the power to travel to the Shadow Realm.
A shout rang out on the far side of the street, closer to the fortress. Guards held torches high into the sky. I counted five, prowling like wolves, their eyes glinting with suspicion.
Fuck.
Conláed’s voice rang out into the crowd commanding orders to his squad, most likely having discovered the sedated guards and our friends in my chambers. As a friend, Conláed had grown protective of me. So my disappearance with the rebels breaking into the fortress so frequently had probably sent him into a state of panic. As much as I wanted to comfort him and tell him I was fine, I couldn’t. So I conspired with the very essence of the night to remain unseen, to sway with the breeze and meld into the rambunctious crowd.
I sculpted myself as a ghost, flitting between pockets of light and shadow, guided only by the glow of my purpose. The music seemed to know my secret, its melody concealing my footfalls as I traversed alleyways lined with whimsical shops and mesmerising displays of enchantments. Dancers moved in a fusion of grace and wildness, their laughter an echo of ancient melodies showing off their magic. Some twirled in gardens of moonflowers, others spun in savage flames, and one female even glowed as bright as the sun, cascading light onto the street like a prism.
Turning a corner, I recognised the market square. Dark and abandoned, locked in the embrace of night, the canopies of the empty stalls flapped in the gentle breeze, blowing the remnants of sweet and spicy treats away. Not a single being occupied the moon-kissed courtyard, holding a polar opposition to my first visit.
I stalked toward the witch’s stall. Its dark, raggedy canopy stood out against the brighter vendors. The shelves lay bare, an herby residue infused the wood, and nothing sat on the table. I ran my finger across the rip I’d created on my first visit. A hopeful part of me believed the market might be open to the crowds partying in the streets. I sighed, leaning over the table in search of clues to where she may live.
Nothing.
Leaning against the counter, I pulled the cloak closer to my skin, the phantom freeze stabbing into me. As I stood, unsure of my next move, a lone figure, tall and broad, emerged from the embrace of shadows. Darkness followed him, almost like the phantom tendrils were a part of him.
He stopped in the centre of the square, partially cloaked in shadow. The bustle of the city became a whisper, a backdrop to the unspoken conversation unfolding between us. Sensing the male meant no harm, I dared to approach him.
“It isn’t wise for a young woman to be wandering in the dark,” he said gruffly, taking me in from head to toe, as if evaluating me. I mimicked his review, analysing his appearance. He packed on a bit more extra flesh compared to the other Fae I’ve met. Dark, almost black hair, but the moon illuminated streaks of silver throughout the unkempt mane.
“How do you know I’m mortal?” He referred to me as a young woman, words chosen deliberately.
“Lucky guess.” He shifted on his feet, grinning to reveal a missing canine tooth. His teeth didn’t rot, nor present a yellowing stain.
Liar.
Conláed’s voice echoed through the narrow streets, tipped with anxiety. I didn’t have time for games. “I’m searching for someone who I think can help me. She tends to this stand during the day.”
“Beatrix. If they catch you with her,” his eyes darted to the city behind me, “she’ll burn.”
“I know. That’s why I need to hurry.” The gleaming of the moon revealed the sincerity within him, a gentle soul wrapped in a rugged body.
With a knowing nod, he gestured for me to follow, leading me through a labyrinth of stalls. His steps were ragged, incongruous with the city’s pulse, like he didn’t belong there. But I followed, trusting the currents of fate bringing us together.
As we navigated the serpentine alleys of the city, stories and whispers brushed against my senses like a cautious breeze. Warning me to keep my guard up, to safeguard my perceptiveness.
“The name’s Düghall,” the gruff man announced, turning down a dark street. With each step, we walked further and further from the city’s core, closer to the poorer communities near the walls. Near the site of the rebel attack. The streets became narrower, darker, and putrid. Rats scurried across our path as the less fortunate huddled under tattered material pressed against any available alcove.
Though some of the more affluent Fae wandered through these streets too, clinking coins into the hands of scantily dressed females. One repeatedly kicked a sleeping homeless Fae, laughing as the poor male vomited. Düghall gripped my wrist and pulled me forward, like he’d felt my imminent intervention.
Walls between worlds seemed to thin, revealing an execrable connection binding the city’s inhabitants in an intricate dance. If I asked Aramis to clean up these neighbourhoods and assist in ridding the city of poverty, would he have the support of the council and nobles?
Finally, as the last note of the city’s symphony drifted away, the male stopped before a black door veiled in starlight. Here, under the cover of night and within the embrace of the witch’s secrets, I’d find my way to Aramis. Düghall turned to me, his eyes reflecting the magic surrounding us, and in his gaze, I saw a person with a path of conviction. Our destinies had intertwined in this dance of shadows and moonbeams, and as the first tendrils of dawn painted the horizon, I knew we’d meet again.
With a curt nod, Düghall left me to visit the witch alone, melding seamlessly into the shadows. For a fleeting moment, he truly appeared to be one with the shadows, but I quickly dismissed the notion.
Knocking on the wooden door, the young witch, Beatrix, opened the door. I held out my hand to greet her. “Hi, I’m—”
“Don’t. I recognise you. The less we know about each other, the easier it is to stay hidden.” She coughed and nodded her head, gesturing to come in.
“How did you know I’m mortal?” I stepped into her miniscule apartment, filled with fetid mildew and mould crawling across the ceiling. No windows to ventilate the space.
She tucked a strand of her straight ebony hair behind a rounded ear and poured two cups of tea. I nodded a thank you as she pushed one of the clay cups into my hands.
“You look very Fae, but I caught your ear shape behind your hood at the market.” Her voice rasped, probably from the mould. A slight smile crossed my lips. I admired fellow perceptive people, like we developed a sixth sense in the name of survival.
The earthy tea spilled over my tongue, its warmth attempting to counteract the shivers, but to no end. I stared at the steaming liquid, swirling it. “I need your help to get to the Shadow Realm.”
“You don’t want to go there,” she warned.
“I need to go there.”
“There’s dark magic within you. I can sense it. Something untamed and… erratic. The Shadow Realm may feed on that. Use it against you to consume you. It’s a relentless land.” Her dark eyes bored into me, expressing a dire graveness, and I didn’t take her lightly, but I needed to go there. Recognising my tenacity, she sighed and moved to a wooden bench with threadbare pillows pressed against a wall.
Pulling a black tin box from underneath the bench, she knelt on the rough floorboards and sifted through the insides. A deck of bent and scuffed cards, crystals of all shapes, sizes and colours. Some tumbled and some raw. Bones, rune tiles, incense sticks, and jars of salt made up the rest of the box’s contents.
She poured coarse grains of white salt in front of her.
“What are you doing?” I tiptoed closer, not wanting to disturb her but curious.
“Creating a door to the Shadow Realm. Witches cannot travel there the same way Shadow Fae can. They use their magic to teleport. Witches have to harness their magic,” she elaborated, less afraid, as if magic soothed her.
The salt created the shape of a star, and she placed various crystals at each point. “Clear quartz for opening the doorway. Selenite to keep the shadows at bay. Hematite for grounding and strengthening the connection between spirit and body. Angelite for positive vibrations and connecting with your guardians. And finally, black tourmaline for protection.”
As she placed the black tourmaline at the top of the star, she scurried back to her box and grabbed a jar of black salt. “Obsidian salt,” she described, and poured the salt in a circle around the star. “It is used as a compass.”
“A compass?”
“To guide you out of the Shadow Realm.” Plugging the jar with cork, she placed it to the side and sat cross-legged in front of the portal. She gestured toward me. “Step into the centre of the star.”
I lifted the hem of my oversized pants, to not disturb the salt, and sat cross-legged where she instructed. All hesitation vanished within me as a powerful tenacity rushed over all logic and reason.
Pulling a cage out from under the bench, she released a long, slithering black snake. A body too thick to wrap a hand around. A black tongue jetted in and out of its mouth. Milky white eyes evaluated its surroundings, searching for prey or predators. The creature made me think of Oulixeus. Sly, lying, bastard.
She recited an ancient language I didn’t recognize as she chanted the spell, her body rocking back and forth. The snake in her hands spasmed. Bringing it closer to her chest, she rocked faster. Bit by bit, the snake faded into dust, the same way I obliterated my enemies into ash.
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and my vision clouded over. My throat scratched and ash filled my lungs. The witch kept chanting, but I suffocated. Like Oulixeus coiled his hands around my neck again. The witch’s voice faded.
Real hands gripped me, the fog cleared to Oulixeus bent over me. Maliciously smiling. I gripped his forearms with my hands and tried pushing him away. My back arched as he choked the air from me.
Shoving a leg into him, he stumbled away, dissipating into smoke. Gasping, I stood and surveyed my surroundings. The world around me unfolded and writhed in an eerie, ashen ballet, like the restless spectre of a lost soul.
Beneath my feet, more shadow. Afraid to step and fall into nothingness, I cautiously pressed a foot down. Solid. I took another cautious step. Solid. Gaining confidence, I searched for Aramis. For anything in this shadow world.
Snap.
My shoulders hiked. Not again, not again. I grasped the hilt of my dagger and whipped around. Shadow. My peripherals caught the shape of antlers. I whipped around. Nothing. The shadows playing tricks on me.
I walked for minutes, maybe hours. How did beings live here? In a dark world. No sky, water, ground. I pushed my palms into my eyes and sighed.
Laughter. My head perked, and I slowed my heart to listen. It was the same cackle from the forest. Andraste’s laugh. My steps quickened and in the distance, a light diffused by the swirling shadows emerged.
A sconce bolted to a stone wall protected a single flame the size of my thumb. It illuminated an archway with stairs leading downward and Andraste’s cackle bounced off the walls.
One, two, three. I inhaled courage.
One, two, three. I exhaled all the anxiety and fear.
Descending the stairs, the dungeon’s air clung to my skin like damp cobwebs, carrying with it a palpable sense of foreboding. Torches cast flickering shadows that danced in macabre harmony, painting the stone walls with eerie silhouettes. I pressed forward, my steps soft against the unforgiving ground, every fibre of my being attuned to the rhythm of danger echoing through the corridor.
