Page 46 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

“Come in,” the woman called, exactly three seconds before Sadira heard approaching footsteps.

The owner did not knock. Sadira looked around the room then, confused as to who had let the woman in when she knocked.

After scanning the room several times, Sadira finally noticed what she had initially thought was a wardrobe door swing open.

Another cat skulked through, prowling towards the fireplace.

She glimpsed the top of a staircase before the door closed.

“Sorry I’m late.” The gruff voice belonged to the old man they had last met in Albyn.

Caellum glanced at Sadira. They had expected them.

Sadira shrugged. She was learning that the Wiccan on the mainland had a far greater sense of foresight, perhaps even more so than those on Doltas.

She wondered why. The old man reached for the counter ledge to guide himself towards the table.

His milky eyes moved to Sadira, who glanced away, a chill running up her spine, even though he could not see.

“Do you have a preference when it comes to tea?” asked the woman.

“Any is fine,” Sadira replied curtly, growing impatient.

The Wiccans acted like nothing had happened, as if they were oblivious to the true purpose of the incantation.

Neither Sadira, Caellum, nor the old man spoke.

The only sounds were the clinking spoons as the woman stirred herbs in cups, the cats’ purrs, and the crackling fireplace.

Finally, she sat down and placed a tray of four cups in the table’s centre.

Sadira reached for one, but waited with Caellum for the hosts to drink before sipping their own.

A floral, honey-sweetened taste washed over Sadira’s tongue.

In normal circumstances, she would have asked politely for the recipe, but she did not wish to break the tension first. Athena had guided her here, but the hosts should provide insight into the reasons why.

“Arabella,” the redhead finally said, crossing her legs.

“My name is Arabella. Forgive me, but I won’t provide my surname.

While I hold no debt over you, you have since witnessed what knowing someone’s name can do in the right circumstances, under the right spells, and with the way your king is glaring at me, I would not be surprised if you were to weave my name within a curse. ” Arabella smiled and sipped her tea .

“Darragh,” the old man grunted. The ginger tabby cat jumped onto his lap and curled with a purr.

“I imagine you have a lot of questions.” Arabella smiled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Sadira and Caellum remained silent. “Frosty,” she murmured. “I understand why.”

“Do you?” Caellum snapped. She looked Caellum up and down.

“I told you we were sent to set you on a path. I did not reveal what that path entailed or where it would take you.”

“So, you knew,” Sadira said. “You knew the imbuement would not create a weapon to kill Caligh’s men.” Arabella flinched at his name. “Instead, you knew it would link them to the Sword of Souls.”

“It still killed them, did it not? You still won the war and now have an even larger army at your disposal.” Arabella pursed her lips.

Sadira’s vines crept under the table and climbed around her ankles.

Anger threatened to consume her. Yet she was reminded of Elisara and how willing she had been to manipulate the souls for their bidding.

How did that make them any better than Caligh?

“We have an out-of-control army because the queen who wields them is grieving. Did you know the commander would die? Did you foresee that?” Caellum kept his voice firm, challenging the Wiccan. Arabella glanced at her hands.

“Sometimes, the paths we are destined for are not what we always like or will survive.” Sadira shook her head. How could Sadira sit across from Arabella, a woman who knowingly put Elisara in this position, knowing Kazaar would die?

“Why did my grandmother possess such an imbuement?” Sadira asked coldly.

“The book is old,” Darragh finally contributed to the conversation. “She did not know what it was or what it did.”

“That book is sacred, Sadira. It was a history of all that is right with the Wiccan race, all we have built and held dear. However, that one imbuement, those words and power…” Arabella cl eared her throat, though her emotions were unclear.

“That is the reason the divide among our people is so severe it may never be mended. The consequences of that imbuement stretch far beyond the souls and Caligh, it—”

“Too much, Bella. Too much,” Darragh said. Arabella sighed and bit her lip, averting her eyes. Sadira sensed her regret, though she still distrusted the woman.

“If she wants to tell us, she should tell us,” Caellum said, his voice harsh yet strong.

“We cannot alter destinies; we cannot reveal anything that could affect fate’s plans,” Darragh countered. Hoping to learn more, Sadira referred to something else Arabella said.

“You said there is a severe divide among our people. Can you at least explain that? Is it a divide in Garridon? Novisia? Is there something else we should know?” Sadira asked. Arabella shook her head, darting her eyes to Darragh before continuing.

“Amongst the Wiccans. But it is that divide in history that affects your paths today.”

“Does it have anything to do with these?” Caellum asked, pulling the three pins from his jacket pocket, and dropping them in the table’s centre. Arabella’s eyes widened. Seeming to sense Arabella’s shift in demeanour, Darragh leant forward to trace each pin with his thumb.

“Where did you get these?” he asked, his tone far more urgent than before.

“I found them amongst my family’s belongings.”

“This is what you described in your dream.” Arabella clasped her grandfather’s hand. “These were the three symbols.”

“A dream?” Sadira asked. Darragh gripped his head in pain the same way Athena had. “Or a memory?”

Forcing his head up, Darragh trained his milky eyes on Sadira.

“A memory,” he murmured. “It is how Bella knows of the incantation, a history shown to her you should not yet know.” Sadira remained quiet, hoping Darragh would elaborate.

Arabella had mentioned their history too.

They needed more information to know how to move forward.

“After the explosion, I had odd dreams about myself as a child, but only flashes of objects and places. It felt so real. I saw these symbols—these pins.”

“Why do you not wish for us to know this history? What are you keeping from us?” Sadira frowned. Osiris’s lands were cursed, preventing him from revealing more. However, Darragh and Arabella made a purposeful choice to stay on fate’s side.

“It’s not his fault. She told us we cannot tell you and that knowing could detour your path. You need to find the mirror first—the reflection—and then we may be permitted to tell you more.”

“Who?” Caellum asked.

“Our deity,” Arabella whispered as Darragh focused on one pin, the wolf's head, and turned it over in his fingers.

“You do not worship Garridon?” Sadira asked, having assumed these Wiccans had descended from the realm. She had never questioned that perhaps, back on Ithyion, they had travelled the other realms and populated multiple places.

“Different faces have come to me in visions,” Arabella began, but Darragh cut her off with a gasp.

“Shapeshifters,” he whispered, tracing the wolf’s head. Sadira’s eyes shot to his.

“What do you mean?” Caellum asked. Darragh became flushed, then, and pushed the three pins back towards the king.

“You must leave,” he said, pushing back from the table.

“Night is creeping upon us, and you do not wish to be in the streets should the shadows from Antor venture to Albyn tonight.” Darragh strode towards the door, concealing the staircase and whoever resided on the floor above.

Shapeshifters . Sadira turned the word over in her mind, having never heard it before.

It related to the wolf’s head and Garridon.

“You cannot reveal everything you have and leave us with more questions! At least tell us what shapeshifters are or their importance in understanding our history? Or a way to defeat Caligh should he return! Is it linked to saving another land? Please, give us something!” Sadira begged.

“Go!” Darragh shouted. “Find the mirror, find the reflection, and then—then you will be on the right path to understand it all.” Darragh slammed the door to the staircase behind him, leaving a stunned silence to settle around the room.

Arabella cleared her throat and gestured towards the door.

Caellum huffed and rose, guiding Sadira to the exit and opening it to face a cool breeze.

“Sadira,” Arabella murmured, reaching for the princess’s hand.

“Please know we are not trying to make things difficult for you.” Sadira opened her mouth to protest, but the Wiccan pressed something into her palm.

“For your wedding. It’s a token of our family history.

The deity will inform me when I can confide in you completely, but for now, please accept this as a promise I will be by your side one day. ”

***

Sleeping alone, Sadira stared at the masterpiece of a painting above the bed.

While her wedding to Caellum in the morning would be unconventional, they had kept to some traditions by sleeping separately the night before.

Though she imagined he was likely lying awake, as she was now, turning over the jumble of information, or lack of, in his mind.

They had debriefed over dinner and shared their theories, but their conclusions were always the same: they were clueless.

Shapeshifter. That word rang through her mind most consistently as she examined the beautiful brushstrokes of the painting in Lord Gregor’s home.

A depiction of rolling fields, towering trees, and wolves and deer running wild through golden wheat.

Sadira lifted the brooch in her hand to examine it in the light emanating from the bedside lantern.

Arabella had hurriedly pressed it into her hands with a promise.

A golden hawk glinted in the flame's light. It was small, no larger than the top of her thumb. Despite its size, she could make out the grooves of its feathers on its sweeping wings. The emerald in its eye flashed. Sadira did not know what it meant or who Arabella’s ancestors had once been, yet.

All she knew for certain, despite everything that had transpired so far, was to trust her.