Shadow Rules the Land: Chronicles of Radelea, page 7
I shake my head. “Just tell me.” I purse my lips when he hesitates. “Vander.”
He slides his arms into his leather jacket, the supple fabric clinging to the curves of his biceps. “She wants to live here, in the manor.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, but my eyes narrow. “Why?” I rub the heel of my palm against my temple, trying to prevent the headache that is sure to arrive at any moment. Blodwen. Here?
“She didn’t offer a reason.” He sits on the edge of the bed to slide his feet into his boots and pull the laces tight. “There’s breakfast on the table when you’re ready. We’ll be in the safe room.” Rolling his shoulders, he stands and leans over to me, pressing his lips against mine in a lingering kiss. He’s gone mere heartbeats later.
I’m left to ponder Blodwen’s intentions on my own while dressing in my leathers and braiding the long hair on the right of my head. I will need to shave the short stubble on the left soon. It’s at that stage where you cannot tell its length from afar. I run my fingers through the thick hair, the cropped patch that always reminds me of the tavern fire, and sigh. Today is going to be one of those days.
I rush through a breakfast of eggs and slices of a green food I have not tasted until now — it’s kind of nutty, but delicious — wondering if Blodwen merely wishes to spend more time with her son. With war demanding sacrifice, and stealing lives that do not deserve to be lost, I wonder if Torin’s mother is feeling somewhat sentimental.
Her loneliness might be too much after all this time. Living on an island made of nothing but rock, with only the fearsome sea creatures to keep you company, cannot be an easy life to live. A shudder runs down my spine when I remember why Maude banished Blodwen to the island her dilapidated hut rests on. She takes pleasure in feeding off the tormented minds of others, even torturing the fae for the desired effect.
That, or she intends to feed from the suffering the Dusk fae endure daily. As I clear away my plate, I decide the latter is the more likely scenario.
Shouts echo through the manor as I walk closer to the terrace-level safe room. The words garbled at first, becoming clearer as I walk towards them.
“You still haven’t said why.” Torin’s tone is one of frustration. “You agreed to come here and discuss payment, yet you haven’t given us a reason why we should allow you to stay. We have enough enemies without angering Maude further, and letting you live here will do exactly that.”
Blodwen’s oily voice prickles the hairs on my nape. “Is it so hard to believe a mother wishes to spend more time with her son?”
“Yes,” says Torin.
I slip through the ajar door, closing it softly behind me. It doesn’t surprise me to see him with his arms crossed over his chest, those dark eyes narrowed to slits at his mother, nor am I surprised to see Vander standing beside his second, his posture rigid. Wyn’s presence, however, is a welcome sight.
Her long hair is tied back in a tight bun at her nape — a strange style for her, given she prefers to leave her ebony locks loose — and her eyes bear the weight of many sleepless nights, but at least she is here. She’s taking an interest in the court and trying to fight her demons.
I ease into the room and stand beside Vander, ignoring the wall of shadows in the corner. “Well met, Blodwen. It’s lovely to see you again.” Lovely scalds my tongue.
She limps towards me, those thin lips peeling apart to reveal crooked and missing teeth as she smiles. Her gnarled hands wrap around mine in a vice-like grip. “Bria of Dusk.” She closes her eyes, her nostrils flaring as she scents the air. “You have shattered the walls around your power. Did you discover why they were there?”
“No. I’m not interested in knowing. I have access to my magic, and that’s all that matters. Though, I’m certain Father is responsible for caging my powers.”
She frees my hands, leaving a scorching echo of her touch behind. I clasp them behind my back, discreetly easing the feeling away. “I wonder why,” she says, her dark eyes sparking with curiosity. Sunken and haunting, they’re eerie to see. “Why mask such power?”
“Jealousy? Anger? Regret? Fear? There are many reasons why Kerym would cage her magic,” says Torin. “That’s not why we’re here. Why do you want to stay with us, Mother? I want the real reason, not some bullshit excuse about wanting to spend more time with me. We both know that’s a lie.”
She leans against a barrel and sighs. “I heard of the Gloom. Whispers of Maude fighting Dusk reached every corner of Radelea, including my lonely island at the south end of the Deathly Rapids. I don’t trust my High Lady will leave me in peace.”
“Why?” asks Wyn. It’s the first word I have heard her speak in days.
Blodwen’s assessing eyes turn to her. “Because I am Torin’s mother. She will assume hurting me will hurt him. She would be mistaken to assume as much. Even so, she might use me as collateral.”
“Then how about this,” says Wyn, stepping towards Blodwen. “You help us now, and we will send guards to watch your poor excuse for a house.”
“Wyn,” Vander hisses. “That’s not how we speak to our guests.”
She only shrugs.
“Her words were cutting, but she’s right,” says Torin. We all turn to him, and he adds, “If Blodwen’s worried about Maude taking advantage of her, why shouldn’t we send guards to protect her? She knows about Bria’s powers and the cages that were around them, and now she knows about this.” He uncrosses his arms and waves a hand at the shadows veiling the iron cage, and Tohminic within.
Although Blodwen has not seen him, and he’s so silent he might as well not be there, there is no denying we’re hiding something here. If Maude were to capture her and use her mind control gift to sift through Blodwen’s recent memories… That is not something we can risk.
“I agree,” I say, though my voice is quiet.
Vander startles. “You want us to waste resources protecting her?”
“Yes. If Maude discovers the strength of my powers, she’ll stop at nothing to capture me. I’ve lived through captivity once, Van. I refuse to do it again.”
“Those guards would be better suited patrolling our borders or guarding the ward relic.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “But you’re right. Blodwen is vulnerable, and she knows too many of our secrets.”
“If you two are quite done speaking mind to mind, let’s continue the debate.” The glint in Blodwen’s eyes is a sure sign she was eavesdropping on our private conversation.
“Will you do this for us if we send guards to your island?” asks Vander.
Blodwen opens her mouth to speak, but I rush to add, “And if things are looking too dangerous for you, we’ll bring you here. With your history, we’re not comfortable giving you free rein to use your gifts in Dusk. This is the only compromise we will consider.”
The hope pulling Torin’s eyebrows higher is unmistakable. He sags into a wooden chair and says, “It’s the best outcome we can hope for. You help us, and we protect you.”
Blodwen taps a crooked finger against her chin. “I would require no less than three guards. All male. And an escape route, should I need it.”
“Would a rowboat suffice?” asks Vander.
She smiles a crooked smile. “Yes. Yes, I think it would.”
“Then we have a deal.” Vander extends a hand, his light brown skin in contrast to the sickly pale of Blodwen’s too-thin fingers when she accepts the gesture. “Don’t double-cross us, Blodwen. It won’t end well for you.”
She takes the threat in her stride. “I would not dream of it. Explain how you need my help.”
Vander jerks his chin at me, then at the swirling shadows.
Though the shadows are Ruith’s doing, I can remove and replace them whenever I see fit. As much as my entire being protests at the notion of freeing Tohminic from his cage, I gather my Winter-born power in my palms and take hold of the darkness.
Slither by slither, I lift the shadows, sucking them into my soul where they shrink and writhe with my three other powers. They feel foreign at first, but settle after a heartbeat and meld with my magic. My stepfather’s power is substantially stronger than mine, causing the tips of my fingers to tingle with energy. It’s a high I doubt I will feel again.
First, the single wheel and the lopsided base of the cage come into view, followed by the grid of iron bars that track up each of the four sides. Beyond the dark metal, a male figure rocks back and forth, his hands a mess of angry red blisters.
“Put them back,” Tohminic whimpers. “Put them back. Please.”
“How very curious,” says Blodwen, stepping closer.
I close my eyes against the sight of Tohminic so broken and focus on drawing on the threads of my metal bending magic. The silver writhes in my palms, eager to bend and contort. I wonder if they’ll stop fighting my every command given time, but push the thought aside to concentrate.
I wrap the threads around the iron pin that bolts the door closed and lift it free. It clinks against its holster, the thick chain securing it to the cage tinkling with every movement, clanging louder when I let the pin fall free. The door creaks as I swing it open with my magic.
“Help me. Please, help me. She will not stop.” Tohminic repeats the same words he spoke when Ruith brought him here. Over and over, each syllable growing quieter as his words turn into more of a chant. “Help me. Please, put them back.” He scampers into the corner, gripping his head in his hands with so much force, the tips of his fingers turn white.
While Torin and Vander pull him free, I draw my magic back inside and secure the hatch in my mind, sealing off my magical signature before Blodwen can taste the true strength of my powers.
“No, no.” Tohminic’s panic is too heart-wrenching to be a ruse. Sweat beads on his forehead and upper lip as he thrashes for freedom. He lunges for the bars of the cage and tries to pull himself back into the scorching confines of the iron.
The acrid stench of burning flesh fills the safe room when his palms wrap around the bars, the scent threatening to bring me to my knees. Memories flash and flicker; a trident piercing my torso, a blazing desert, and an undead guard.
“Breathe, Princess,” Vander says through our bond, even while wrangling a desperate Summer Lord.
I slam my eyes closed, trying to rid myself of the horrific memories. Air hisses through my nostrils as I take a sharp breath and let it out through parted lips. I am not in the cage. I am free. This is not a disgusting trap. The words repeat in my mind until I believe them.
By the time I’m calm enough to pry my eyes open, Torin and Vander have Tohminic pinned, and Blodwen is kneeling beside him, her hands pressed against his temples.
His wide eyes dart around the room, his head thrashing from side to side. His breaths are ragged and harsh, and tears track to the worn fur rug covering the floor. “Please, please.”
I cannot recall how many times the same word slipped from my lips, only to go unanswered by him, by Xaler, and by the Mother Star. Tohminic showed me no mercy then, and I will show him no mercy now.
“Shut up!” My tone is a venomous whip, my shout so loud it causes everyone to freeze. “We will not help you if you keep screaming,” I add in a softer tone.
Tohminic sags into the floor. Though his screams are no longer piercing our ears, he continues to whimper.
Wyn scoffs. “I have better things to do than to watch this.” She leaves before any of us can stop her. I cannot blame her for not wanting to be here — she was a victim of the Summer Lord’s depravity, too. The Mother Star, wherever she is, knows I do not want to witness this, either.
“That’s better,” murmurs Blodwen. She hums as she closes her eyes. “Ah. I’m going to need five guards, not three. And a regular delivery of food.”
“Why? What did you find?” Torin asks.
She silences her son with a scathing look before piercing Tohminic’s mind with her magic once more.
He shudders, his chest vibrating with the onslaught of power to his mind. His eyes widen further, the white surrounding the amber too bright, too riddled with crimson veins.
Blodwen tenses her fingers and grunts.
Tohminic screams, an agonising, tormented sound.
“That should do it.” Blodwen sits back on her heels, her chest heaving. “I have placed wards around his mind. They should hold.”
“What was wrong with him?” asks Vander.
“It is for the High Lord to decide if he will talk about it. For now, I have done as you asked. I expect the guards by the time the crescent moon rises.” Blodwen flits from the safe room, her long black robe billowing behind her.
I turn to Tohminic, frowning. “What did she mean?”
He slowly sits, then moves to his hands and knees and crawls towards me. “Bria. Oh, Bria. I am so sorry.” He moves to grasp my legs, but I jerk back. “Please forgive me.”
I look first at Torin, who wears an expression of shock, then to Vander, who is murderous; His hands are clenched, one of them over the wooden handle of his axe, the other at his side. His upper lip trembles before forming a silent snarl.
I look back to Tohminic, who is still reaching for me. “I can’t hear this.”
No one protests when I flee. The door cracks against its frame when I slam it closed, my back thudding against the outside wall when I lean against it, relishing in the support the exposed brick offers.
My breaths seize in my chest. I brace my hands on my knees and hang my head, those three words screaming in my mind. Please forgive me. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. I told myself I would not shed another tear because of Tohminic of Summer.
How can I forgive everything he did? Choking me in the Autumn gardens, the taunts and threats, capturing me from the Day forest, and forcing me into that cage. The same cage I just freed him from. After Nikolai. I do not know that I’m able to overcome that hill, the jagged mountain that is forgiving him.
Deep voices flow into the hallway from the safe room, reminding me of how close I am to my captor and torturer. The male who put me through so much, so close, and begging for forgiveness. My hands curl into fists. Too close, I am too close and I cannot be near here or I will storm back in and show Tohminic exactly where he can shove his apology.
I jerk upright and peel away from the wall, thudding up the curling staircase. There are only two places I wish to be right now. Since taking Vander to bed is not an option, I settle on the second best choice.
By the time I reach the manor archives on the next floor, I’m calm enough that I stop slamming my feet against the floor. Though I am breathing easier, and I am no longer screwing my face in anger, I am not ready to be around other fae.
After selecting a handful of scrolls and tomes from the shelves, I slide into a hidden alcove along the side of the archives, hidden from view by the statue of an air wielder that leads to the war room. I give my back to the large window, unwilling to stare at the endless night beyond.
I dive into recounts of the first time the Mother Star rose, reading the ancient text of the fae — it’s a shame the language is no longer spoken, the looping but harsh letters no longer written — as they recall how it felt when the darkness gave way to light. It was after the six high fae who ruled Radelea shared wine, signed the treaty, and vowed to cease the fighting. It is when they declared court boundaries.
Many think it a coincidence. That it’s unbelievable, and the Mother Star’s rising cannot be because of a signed length of parchment and a chalice shared between six. Some think the sun is more sentient than we give her credit for and her blessing us for the tentative eons of peace is believable, if not a little far-fetched. The rare few believe she approved of the treaty and rewarded the realm with colour and brightness.
Each recount contradicts the next, with some stating she rose straight after the treaty was signed, and others claiming it was days later. The one thing they all agree on is her appearance was welcome, and something to rejoice. I have to agree. If I could make her blaze from the sky once more, I would give whatever she demanded.
I would offer myself as a sacrifice if I had to.
I set the thick tome on the table, the thud the only sound in the archives except that of a boot scuffing against the floor. My hands freeze, still gripping the ends of the leather cover. I whip my head up just in time to see a vision of black slink from beyond the statue.
If I were a fae from another court, I would not look twice at the statue of a centuries old Dusk fae with the tornado in his palm. But I know better; it’s an illusion, a gateway to the war room, and beyond that, the portal to the human realm.
Ebony hair shimmers under the fae lights as Wyn disappears into the hallway. I have a heartbeat to decide whether to follow or leave her alone, and gut instinct has me rising to my feet and spinning to the window, where she’s darting towards the northern beach, head slashing back and forth to ensure no one follows.
Hazy mist clings to the land. The bitter cold of morning will linger without the Mother Star to warm the blades of grass and curling leaves.
A lone albatross drifts over the lapping sea, and the tip of the bird’s left wing, in a mesmerising onyx, grazes the water. She has to have a wingspan of at least three long swords.
I do not second-guess.
Wrapping the amber threads of my animalistic power around my thoughts, I send pulses of magic towards the albatross, claiming the soul as my own. The core of my being, my mind and soul, soars from the manor and through the open air until I am merging with that of the bird.
Chapter 9
My sharp eyes narrow on a scrambling crab on the sandy shore, and the bird’s instinct is almost powerful enough to override my desire to follow Wyn. I overcome the need to feast on the crustacean and bank towards the west, where Wyn is untethering a small rowboat from the dock.
I emit a clacking bray, my bill snapping together like a pounding heart, and tuck my webbed feet up as I circle overhead, trying to put the pieces together. She must have gone to the war room when she left us with Tohminic, using her memories of Ad’Starrag as an excuse to leave. I feel as if she has disregarded the struggles of anyone who has ever fought some kind of trauma; to use such a thing for your own gain is disgusting. It’s clear she is not herself. She would never stoop so low. I’m sure of it.
