A Curse of Flame and Ash, page 31
My heart raced like a wild stallion, galloping against the reins of fears as I rounded the corner, coming face to face with two guards. They were formidable, their armour gleaming in the torchlight, their eyes sharp and vigilant. My hands tightened around the hilt of my concealed dagger, determination and desperation forging a steely resolve within me.
With a fluid motion, I propelled myself forward, my dagger singing through the air in a graceful arc, not allowing them time to conjure their magic. The dagger found its mark, meeting flesh with a whisper of steel, and silenced the guard’s startled gasp as his body crumpled to the ground. My heart thudded like a war drum, the moment demanding all my focus.
The second guard spun toward his fallen comrade, his eyes wide with shock and alarm, not expecting an attack in their concealed location. Exploiting his distraction, my body became a blur of controlled urgency as I lunged forward, delivering a swift and precise kick to his knee. I clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling his cry of pain.
A fierce but brief struggle ensued as his attempts to break free were met with the unyielding force of my determination. With a swift swipe of my blade across his neck, his body went limp. I lowered him to the ground, my breath uneven, my senses still heightened with adrenaline. The corridor bore witness to our silent battle, the shadows themselves seeming to applaud my triumph. But then Andraste’s voice rang toward me, reminding me that worse approached.
A light at the end of the corridor displayed two shadows. A lean female and a broad, thick male hanging from a chain, his arms stretched above his head. I peeked around the corner and swallowed a gasp.
The skin on Aramis’ chest appeared black and blistered, a shade more menacing than onyx lightened to indigo and maroon. Another section of marred flesh ran from his ribs to hip bone on his right side caused by a dreadful slice. Blood slowly dripped from the wound and splattered to the floor below, a palm-sized puddle already forming.
I experienced his pain when he’d received those wounds. So brutal and cold. Fire didn’t cause the black and blistering. Flames and heat couldn’t burn a Fire Fae—those came from frostbite.
Recalling the excruciating pain of an invisible force piercing through my cheeks and tongue, I dared to inspect his drooping head. Blood crusted along his cheeks and square jawline. A puncture wound through each one.
“I know it’s in the hidden chamber, Aramis. And the amulet is used to open the door.” Andraste lifted the amulet lying around her neck. “But I also know that something prevented you from retrieving it yourself. Tell them what to be prepared for and I’ll help you escape. We’ll run away. Like we always dreamed.” Holding his wounded cheeks in her hands, she forced him to look at her. “We can be together. Just us.”
A weak, deformed smile formed between the puncture wounds. Andraste faced away from me, but the muscles in her shoulders relaxed at his reassurance. She brushed a strand of red-stained hair from his face.
“To that tropical island we found once when sailing?” Aramis gleamed.
“Yes, yes exactly. It can be just us. We’ll feast on tropical fruits and buttery shellfish. Swim naked in the ocean. Make love on the beach, under the stars,” Andraste purred, sliding a finger down to a frostbitten pec.
“It sounds nice.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She stepped closer to him.
“Alone and isolated,” Aramis added.
“Just us.”
“Where no one can stop me from ripping your heart from your chest and squeezing it in front of you,” his voice transformed into a monstrous snarl. She stepped away as he lunged forward like a feral beast, the clanking chains stopping him.
“You’ll be begging me to rescue you. Give it time.” Andraste walked over to a table displaying various weapons and instruments. She inspected the selection, choosing a long, sleek pick. It glowed white like ice with a metal handle, the same weapon used against those Fae Aramis had arrested for harming the woman in the stable yard.
Returning to Aramis, she drove the pick straight through the left side of his torso, under the ribs.
He groaned in pain and my body folded over. I glued my lips shut and inhaled sharply, trying to not give away my position. My side burned with a frigid cold right where Andraste stabbed Aramis. Clutching my flesh, my knees buckled and smacked against the floor. The pain suddenly ceased.
For a brief moment, there were no words, no movement. Aramis and Andraste stared at me, and I winced back at them. The only path to defeat Andraste lay in having surprise on my side, and I’d let it slip away.
“Interesting,” Andraste whispered.
Aramis rattled the chains over his head and growled, “Elowyn, run!”
Ignoring his plea, I marched toward Andraste, readying the dagger in my hand. She quickly sliced the ice pick across Aramis’ abdomen, blood running from the new scratch. He growled, and I brought a hand to the same spot on my stomach. A weak, brief pain sliced through me.
Andraste rose a perfectly shaped brow, this time stabbing the pike straight through Aramis’ gut. I hunched over, groaning in pain as Aramis howled.
“Andraste, stop this,” Aramis shouted through his pain.
“I wonder if it works the other way around, too. Want to find out?” She laughed at Aramis and removed the ice pick, dropping it.
She unsheathed a dagger on her hip and I readied myself. I bent my knees and moved my weight to the tips of my toes.
“Aw, how cute? Your little pet wants to play,” she jeered.
“Let her go!” Aramis struggled with his bindings.
Andraste threw her dagger at my face. Unexpectedly, I managed to slip out of the way and lunged for her side. I aimed the dagger, ready to thrust it through her waist and into a kidney, but she anticipated my move. Grabbing my wrist, she twisted my arm and my dagger clanged to the floor.
She persisted until I fell, my arm burning where she held me. Smoke floated between her fingers as my wrist burned red and my flesh sizzled. Although fire and heat couldn’t harm Aramis, he felt it fine through me. He gritted his teeth, attempting to be strong.
“Go away, you interrupted us.” She dropped me and kicked my body away and as I rolled on the floor, the stone swirled back into shadows and Andraste and Aramis disappeared.
Chapter 52
Sitting on my ass, I searched the darkness.
“Fuck!” I stomped on the nightmarish obsidian floor.
Suddenly, a small girl with blonde hair pranced past me and bright white and yellow mums bloomed from the shadowed floor, creating a field I recognised, that produced a haunting perfume carrying the essence of long-forgotten secrets. The girl weaved through the flowers, giggling.
“Orla?” I whispered and followed her. She weaved back and forth through the wildflower field. With a joyful giggle, she ducked under the blooms and I tip-toed to where she hid.
“Rawr!” I shouted and crouched to her, but no child stood between the flower stems. A little hand tapped my shoulder and my head whipped around to witness her running away.
“You’re it!” she squealed.
“Not fair!” I whined. She hid again, and this felt eerily familiar, as if this had happened.
As I searched for Orla, Linnaea’s dark hair rippled through the flowers. I reached my arms out and let the soft petals caress my fingers. Every so often, a rustle and a few giggles caught my attention. I chose not to chase them and laid down. Flowers squished under me. The other blooms towered over, and I glimpsed the shadows swirling above like clouds on a sunny day. A set of short legs stopped at my head.
I leaned up on my elbows. The little girl had Orla’s blonde hair, but not her round face. My brows scrunched. “Where’s Orla?”
The little girl pointed to the side and I followed her finger to see Mother and Father on a picnic blanket with a pudgy-faced toddler. Orla. I returned my attention to the other blonde girl. “Who are you?”
Linnaea ran over and stood next to her. Identical. Linnaea and the girl were identical apart from their contrasting hair colour. Twins.
A memory tugged deep within my mind. “Rosalind?” I whispered. Both girls giggled and scampered away. I urgently followed them.
“No, Rosalind! Come back!” A faint recollection of a memory tugged at me, a looming darkness emerging that I struggled to recall amidst my frantic search through the wildflower field.
“Rosalind!” I cried in a panic and ran my fingers through my hair. A cloaked figure stood on the edge of Ravenwood Forest.
“No,” I whispered and searched faster. The mysterious figure would hurt her.
“Rosalind! Linnaea!” The edges of my vision fogged over, morphing with the shadow walls around me and I screamed. It echoed through the shadow and the flowers at my feet all faced me. Petals stretched out. Black holes forming in their centre, mimicking my screams, their leaves and velvety petals aggressively vibrating.
My chest pounded and tears streamed down my face. “Leave them alone!” I screeched at the shrieking blooms and shadowed figure. My vocal cords burned.
I spun in a circle. Spinning faster and faster. A squeal. “Rosalind!” I ran in her direction. Finally, I caught up to her. She ran an arm’s length in front of me. “Rosalind, stop!” Her brilliant shining hair bounced amongst the flowers.
“I said stop!” I shouted with frustration.
She giggled, making a sharp left.
“Rosalind!” I tripped. At the moment she halted, turning to face me, a burst of energy surged from me. A bright, ashen-grey light exploded from every pore on my skin. I held myself closely. Knees tucked in, head between my elbows. The burst rang like a cymbal, vibrating my ear drum and pushing its way into the base of my skull.
My mother shrieked. The light subsided, and the ringing stopped. Unwinding from my protective ball, I found the wildflowers surrounding me gone. Only ash remained. Rosalind lay limp on the ground ahead of me. Ash and crimson spread across her porcelain skin. Eyes open and lifeless. Staring at me.
Little Linnaea stood on the edge of the ash circle. An expression of shock carved into her face, stained with our sister’s blood. Mother flung her body over Rosalind as she pointed a finger at me. “YOU! YOU DID THIS!” Letting go of Rosalind, she dug sharp, pointed nails into my shoulders. Shaking me, she wailed in a deep, hoarse, mournful way.
“Mommy, stop!” I pleaded.
“YOU DID THIS!” she repeated over and over, her face mere inches from mine. I stifled my cries. Ripping myself from her grip, I ran toward the woods, but they vanished. So did my mother and sisters.
I tripped over a wooden toy horse. Falling onto a plush carpet, I evaluated my new surroundings. My room at Elmswood Castle. Not the room in the tower, but the room I’d lived in before becoming an outcast.
The door rattled with force and I ran to a corner and crouched between pink wallpapered walls and a white stained dresser. I drew my knees into my chest. Wrapped tightly, I rocked back and forth, ash and blood covering my clothing.
The door continued to rattle as I bawled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” But a furious grunting joined the convulsing door. My father. He emerged into the room and stomped toward me, lifted a large hand, and struck my face.
I squeezed my eyelids as his hand connected the piercing pain radiating through my head. Expecting a second strike, I opened my eyes.
A navy blue canopy hung over me and, suddenly, I was back on my bed in my tower. Oulixeus knelt in front of the fire, younger than when I’d last seen him. He kept his hair longer in his twenties—so handsome. The only one who visited me, defended me, and still treated me as Rhyddean’s future queen after my exile.
He rose to his feet, holding an iron rod. The tip, shaped like an O, glowed orange. I crawled backward on the bed with no place to run. He protected me and loved me… he wanted to own me.
“It won’t hurt for long,” he cooed. Tears threatened to fall as the bed shifted and he knelt on the edge, pushing my legs open. Holding my left thigh, he plunged the burning iron into my flesh. I bit my lip, refusing to show any sort of weakness. “Good girl,” he said, whispering his approval for the first time, as the charred acridity of my skin filled the room.
I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted this all to be over. The pain, the trauma, life. I finally allowed myself to scream when the burning became unbearable. I fell into a fetal position and rocked myself. Sobbing and whimpering.
“Rosalind. It was my fault!” I sobbed, recalling my forgotten sister. The horrendous tragedy my family refused to speak of, including her name. Blood pounded through my heart, forcing it to pound against my ribcage. My lungs expanded and collapsed at a vigorous rate, making it impossible to absorb the oxygen. A dizziness exploded in my head and spun the room and tingles crawled up my jaw into my cheeks.
A snickering burst through my panic attack. “Don’t like what the shadows showed you?” Andraste’s knee-high boots filled my vision. I was sprawled against the stone floor again. Beatrix had warned me of this, of the Shadow Realm feeding on my magic, finding ways to consume me.
Andraste crouched and rested her elbows on her knees.
I didn’t care about her anymore. I killed my sister as a child. Linnaea’s twin. I killed her with my magic.
My nose ran as my lungs slowed and Andraste took a fistful of my hair and pulled. I let her. Too stunned to care. Too focused on the traumas my conscious hid from me.
CRACK!
Aramis exclaimed something in the distance, and my head throbbed.
The stone floor cracked the side of my skull and Andraste lifted my head, smashing it into the stone a second time. My hearing ceased, blood gushed from my ears, and as the vengeful female cracked my skull a third and fourth time, sound completely muffled.
I was going to die.
Aramis was going to die.
All because I was useless, weak.
The banging ended as Andraste dropped and released my crushed head.
Renouncing the world, I waited for the Veil to claim me. To die here with my Mate—his emerald eyes, blazing with intense depth, being the last thing I see. I was ready for this. Death. As I mentioned to the demon—no, the Fae—in my dreams, I think I was meant to die a long time ago. The Veil stalked me, whispering encouraging notes of death ever since that day in the meadow. Teasing me and taunting me with moments bringing me closer and closer to its dark realm with the beatings, heavy drinking, and those nights on the roof at Elmswood, staring at the solid ground below. I was tired, and I was done fighting it.
Although I prepared to give up, Aramis refused to surrender. As darkness started to warp the Shadow Realm around me, a smoky voice billowed around me. Soothing words of confidence, encouragement, and love. I felt safe.
Safe.
A feeling still foreign to me. And naturally, my instincts told me to not believe the voice. Lies, lies, lies. Everyone just hurts you eventually. They use you until you’re no longer valuable.
My parents used me, grandly accepted me as their heir, the shining pride and joy of Rhyddean, until they locked me in a tower after deciding I was a dangerous monster.
Oulixeus had used me, too. For his enjoyment, but he’d also groomed me to love and obey him, hoping I’d follow his lead without question once I knew the truth and extent of my powers. But he fucked up.
Cara never used you. Another voice inside of me said.
No. Cara and her family never used me. They treated me as a part of their family. Feeding me, teaching me, caring about me.
The smoky tendrils of the voice embraced me like a lover, and I pushed away the dying instinct. I wanted to believe this one didn’t use me either.
Just open your eyes.
Open your eyes and you can do anything.
The dagger lay in my view. Its chaotic quillon branched off in all directions, each tine holding a new possible outcome, all dependent on the choice I made now. The lacklustre blade projected a plain weakness, nothing like the power and importance of Conláed’s mounted sword, but beneath its disguise lay the most formidable weapon in the realm, because it enhanced my magic.
Andraste had continuously proved her skill as a warrior, as adept as the male warriors I’d come to know as friends and my Mate, but she didn’t possess my unique magic, nor a weapon to enhance it. I could beat her and save Aramis. I had to. Despite the countless possibilities the tines teased, I knew her death would be the ultimate fate.
Grabbing my dagger, the room swirling around me, I gripped it tight and fell into the defensive position Cara had taught me and Molvys helped me to perfect. My weight was light on my toes and my arms were up, ready for any blow.
Andraste heard my movements and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, she’s annoying, isn’t she?” Snapping around, she flung a dagger at me, which skated across my cheek as I dipped out of its path.
Too close. Molvys and Conláed had trained me better than that, yet the room persisted in its disorienting twirls while my head throbbed from Andraste’s relentless assault on the stone floor. Fuck, it felt more dreadful than indulging in fairy wine.
She stood at the table full of weapons and relentlessly threw knife after knife at me. I dodged them all, only tiny scratches marking me. The entire time I attempted conjuring my magic to turn them to ash, just as I did with the hiisi and Sir Haldwin, but my headache overwhelmed me, making it difficult to focus.
Come on!
Andraste smirked, knowing I struggled to regain my balance and strength. Choosing the largest knife, the same length and width of her forearm, she bent her wrist backwards and whipped it at me.
The tip of the blade aimed straight for the centre of my chest cavity, flying with a force so powerful it would pierce right through me. Inheriting Fae healing wouldn’t save me from a wound like that.
It’s as if time slowed down. I witnessed the panic form on Aramis’ face and Andraste’s smirk grow as she predicted her winning moment. She no longer cared if she killed Aramis along with me. Her insanity overtook any concerned thought of him. Or maybe she wanted him to die, knowing he’d never break and return to her.
