Page 7 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 7

Calla

T he door to the old cabin opened before I’d even dismounted, and an angelic voice drifted out from the dark opening.

“Come in, Your Majesty. I’ve been expecting you.”

A chill slipped up my back, but I approached without hesitation. There was no point asking how the old woman knew who I was or that I was coming to see her, especially if she truly had the powers I hoped she did. I stepped over the threshold, somehow keeping my breathing steady when I found myself standing, not in a cold and dark hovel, but a warm and bright great room better suited for a noble’s manor than a creepy cottage.

I briefly noted the room’s furnishings—a cluttered worktable, several chairs, and candles everywhere—but quickly focused my attention on the frail frame of the old mage stooping in front of the hearth to retrieve a steaming kettle.

“Please, sit,” she said through thin, wrinkled lips, lifting a spindly finger to one of the chairs at the table.

“I don’t have much time.”

“Sit,” she commanded, her dark eyes catching mine as the chair closest to me slid back from the table, inviting me to settle upon it.

Perching on the edge of the seat, I repeated my words. “I don’t have much time, Minerva.”

“Ah, but magic takes time, love,” she said, her lips curving up into an unnerving smile. “Especially the magic you’re needing.”

“Then let’s hurry this up, shall we?” I asked. “Can you find out who is responsible for killing him or not?”

The old woman sat down across from me and folded her hands atop the table, studying me intensely. “Of course I can?—”

“Name your price,” I said, impatiently. The sooner she told me who was responsible, the sooner I could have my revenge on them, and the sooner I could move on from this sorrow.

“But that is not the magic you seek,” she said, her eyes darkening.

I leaned over the table and glared at her. “Of course it is. What else could I?—”

“Revenge,” she hissed through a sinister smile.

“I don’t need magic for that,” I said.

“Perhaps for simple revenge, but they murdered your husband, Calla. Don’t act as though merely killing them will satisfy your need for retribution.”

I studied the old woman for a moment. “You suggest I curse them?”

“Not you, child. Me. For you. Just a simple curse I’ve devised to?—”

I waved a hand dismissively and settled back in my chair. “As long as it works. You guarantee it will make them suffer?”

“There are no guarantees in life or in magic, but by their very nature, curses generally do cause great suffering.”

“Fine,” I muttered, crossing my arms and dropping my head at an angle. “And what’s the price for that magic?”

Minerva lifted her bony shoulders in a shrug. “Nothing tangible, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Stop stalling or?—”

Her smile shifted into a sneer. “Or what, Your Majesty? You’ll find another mage to curse your enemy for you? There are no others in this land or in this time with the power to do it, so either you learn some stars-damned patience, or you leave my house and forget this vendetta.”

Gritting my teeth, I pushed my breath out slowly before finally saying, “Very well. What do you require?”

“Silence,” she said, and I pressed my lips together. A trill of a laugh escaped her withered lips. “Not silence now, love. Silence forever.”

Instinctively I lifted a hand to my throat, which earned me more laughter. I glowered at her as I dropped my hand back down to the table. “Stop being so cryptic.”

“Then stop assuming things,” she countered, not saying more until I offered a small nod of agreement. “I will tell you who is responsible for killing your husband and ensure they suffer in return, but you must be silent about it.”

My brow tightened. “Who would I tell exactly?” Even as I asked, though, Isa’s face flashed in my mind.

“You may be surprised, love.”

Raising my hands out to the sides, I muttered my agreement. “Very well then. I will not tell anyone.”

Minerva’s eerie smile returned. “You won’t have a choice. If I do this, and you try to speak of it, try to inform someone of Brennan’s killer and what I’ve done for you, you won’t be able to. Your voice will choke. Your pen will fail.”

Impatiently, I bobbed my head in a string of quick nods. “Fine, yes, I understand. Please, let’s get on with it.”

She angled her wispy-haired head to one side, and I squirmed under her scrutiny. “Why so antsy to return to your empty bed, Your Majesty?”

I sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I simply want to get back to ruling my kingdom.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” With those words, she snapped her fingers and the clutter disappeared from the worktable. A sweep of her hand summoned a map of Sandurdam, the five nations neatly labeled. Emeryn, Arenysen, Kinham, Wrenwick with Dolobare sitting in the middle of the Laraburn Sea to the east.

I stared at the map for a long moment, but nothing happened. From beneath my lashes, I glared at the mage. “Well?”

“Well,” she started, seemingly unperturbed by my rude tone. “We never discussed the price for their identity and location.”

Huffing out a loud sigh, I rolled my eyes at her. “Which is?”

“Your shadows,” she said plainly, and I nearly choked on my breath.

“My what?”

“You think I can’t sense the power you’re so keen on hiding? You’re a Shadow Keeper,” she said.

“I don’t know what—” I started, but a growl rumbled deep in the woman’s chest, stopping my words short.

“Stupidity doesn’t suit you, Your Majesty,” Minerva said icily, but her cold stare soon melted into a kind smile as she reached forward and took one of my hands in hers. “Don’t fret, love. I don’t need them all. Just a bit will do.”

“Why?” I stammered, wincing at how fearful and weak my voice sounded.

She offered a single, breathy chuckle. “That is not part of this bargain. But don’t worry. It won’t hurt, and you won’t even notice it’s missing.”

Slowly she turned my hand to reveal my palm, and I stiffened. My breath caught as the magic in my blood thrummed against my will, as if Minerva was calling it forward. Clenching my hand into a fist, I forced my power back and braced myself for the mage’s reprimands.

None came.

Instead, her other weathered hand fell atop my closed fist and she caught my eyes with a sympathetic look. “This power is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing you need hide or deny.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and whispered roughly, “I’ve never denied them.”

Minerva smiled sweetly. “Did you tell Brennan about them? Did you show him what you can do?”

Guilt stabbed my chest like a branding iron pressed against my sternum. I had planned to tell him, but worry had stayed my tongue and now he’d died never truly knowing me.

Pathetically shaking my head, I whispered a “no.”

Her hands squeezed mine gently. “Why do you fear the gift you’ve been given?”

I pulled out of her grasp and opened my hands. Over each palm, darkness gathered, swirling, churning, billowing clouds of black.

“It is simply a shadow.”

“Simply a shadow?” I repeated, incredulously. “Simple shadows do not do this.”

With those words I commanded the shadows to extend beyond my hands straight for Minerva’s throat. Dark tendrils wound around her wrinkled neck, tightening and squeezing until her breath hitched sharply. Her dark eyes widened, and her lips quivered for a moment before finally turning up into one of her unnerving smiles.

Then with a twist of her hand, she summoned a burst of light that sent my shadows retreating back into my veins and cackled almost triumphantly.

“Whether it be shadows or light or air or water or land, your magic does your bidding. It cannot do anything that you do not will it to. The shadow is not bad in itself; how you wield it could be.”

“But the price to wield it?—”

“What price? Powers we are born with come from nature and require no balance to be maintained. But the magic we harness outside of ourselves? That, Your Majesty, demands something in return.”

Impatience gnawed at my nerves. Isa would worry if she arrived home to find me not there. I needed to hurry and finish my business here. Pulling in a deep breath, I opened my hand once more and coaxed several wisps of darkness to surface and swirl over my palm. When I met the woman’s gaze, I could have sworn a challenge brewed in her eyes.

“Take your payment, and let’s be done,” I said sternly, leaving no room for further discussion.

Minerva raised one bony shoulder high toward her ear before twisting her hand around in the air and producing a small vial. She removed the stopper and offered a slight nod. Without a second thought, I sent my shadows forward, filling the vial with my darkness, never taking my eyes off the mage, as if she might disappear as soon as she had this bit of my magic.

No sooner had she closed up the vial than it vanished, a small blade taking its place in her palm. Before I could react, Minerva snatched up my fingers and sliced the knife across my fingertip. The sudden pain forced my mouth open, but no sound came as I watched drops of my blood fall to the map on the table.

At first nothing happened; my blood simply sat upon the parchment in tiny dark pools. I was about to question the mage, when they finally shifted. Slowly the droplets of my blood crept across the map, all heading for the same location.

Wrenwick.

But they didn’t converge on the map’s label of the human kingdom to the south. They settled on the northern peninsula, shifting to form the crude shape of a crown and dagger—the royal crest sitting in the very spot of Wrenwick Castle, where King Olander ruled.