Page 17 of Shaedes of Power (Soul Magic #1)

CHAPTER 17

W e spent the rest of the morning walking along the fields together, talking about everything from our childhoods to our favorite swimming holes at Pellshaeven. I learned the Dark Prince’s parents died very young in faerie wars, leaving Ciaran feeling very protective and responsible for him from a young age. His parents were both green Shaedes, and Ciaran had often vocalized to him that he believed it was their blind allegiance to the Balance that had gotten them both blown up by battle magic. Edmyn never apologized for how my parents died, but now I knew he knew how it felt to have family taken from you.

After jumping across a murky creek, bubbling with what looked like a current of mud from the swamp making its way slowly through the lands, we had come to another large hill. We climbed to partake in a different view of the crops he had planted. Now I could see the whole of the castle, its outline eerily framed by the blue skies across the meadow. It was quite foreboding, with its square, fortress-like towers and tall windowless walls of stone. Edmyn pulled off his shirt and laid it down for me. He gestured that I should sit, and he sat down beside me on the dry grass, perfectly content with the dirt and the dust.

“This wouldn’t be the worst place, you know. Under different circumstances, I could find a way to be happy here. I’m just not sure what those circumstances would be.” Edmyn relaxed back on his elbows, looking long and peaceful.

“You say I have the ability to make people see things in a different way, but that seems to be your specialty.” I picked up a shriveled clover growing nearby in a dust patch and twirled it around between my fingers. “I can see the beauty in some of it, where before I had seen none. These clovers are still clovers, just different.” I handed it to him, and for some reason, when our fingers touched, I jumped a little.

“People are always afraid of what’s different, Little Prism.” He reached up and put the little brown clover behind my ear. On its way back down, his hand brushed against my cheek, causing nerves throughout my body to frizzle. His gaze was so unnerving, as if his eyes saw parts of me I had never thought I needed to hide. Those beautiful eyes, flecked with gold in the dusklight, found everything—all of it—and left me feeling exposed.

He lifted a finger up, then pointed downward, causing all the pins in my hair to fall to the ground and the braids to untwine, leaving my hair loose and wavy.

“I like it better this way,” he said. As if I had asked his opinion.

I suddenly felt very unsure. Was I so easily distracted? A wave of guilt hit and almost knocked me over. As I sat here ogling the handsome Dark Prince, Glory was going blind in a dark library researching every possible book on dark magic to uncover a loophole that doesn’t exist, completely unaware that Edmyn had an actual plan. The other high Shaedes, at this point, were most likely bracing for impact since Ciaran’s time limit had run out—ignorant of the fool’s errand Edmyn had sent his brother on and unknowing of where Glory and I had completely disappeared to. And then there was Farris, perhaps with whom the majority of my guilt resided, as I brought him into this world of magic and war and then promptly abandoned him. He, who was so deserving of someone who would not forget about him while traversing the shadows.

“I think it is probably time to get back,” I said abruptly. “I told Glory I would meet her for lunch.” Edmyn did not seem affronted. He sprung to his feet and offered me his hand to help me up—but he didn’t let go until we got to the castle.

As we arrived, Glory was already sitting in the dining room with a stack of books on either side of her. She raised both eyebrows as she watched us enter—me with my hair wind-swept and Edmyn, smiling, half-naked with his shirt balled up in one hand.

“Hi,” I said, pulling up the chair across from her. “No Amira?” I asked.

Glory eyed us both as if two shadow beasts had just pulled up chairs to share the meal. “Hello,” she said carefully. “Where have you been?” A simple question with a simple answer, but she wanted details.

“Edmyn was showing me the crops he’s planted in the eastern fields. I never did make it to the courtyard.” I smiled awkwardly. Edmyn was enjoying making Glory uncomfortable. He leaned all the way across the table to reach the water pitcher, flexing his bare triceps in her face.

“No,” she said with an air of incredulity. “I don’t suppose you did.”

Edmyn laughed a hearty, bellowing laugh that startled us both. He got back up, as if the theater had finished its epilogue, and bowed to us.

“Ladies, it’s been a pleasure, but I need to find some sustenance that this afflicted body can actually digest.” He winked at me, a demon in a demigod disguise.

Glory picked up some bread and looked at me expectantly. The guilt was still there, quietly eating at me, while another, much smaller part of me yearned to follow Edmyn.

“We were just taking a tour of the grounds,” I said, hearing the rough edge of defensiveness in my voice. “He is very proud of his tomatoes.”

“I’m sure he is,” she said haughtily, beginning to load her plate with food. “Are we any closer to knowing the plan, or if there even is one?”

I opened my mouth to speak, on the very cusp of lying to the only one I could truly trust within these walls. But if Edmyn was really going to poison his brother, he was the only one who should know about it. Why I also got to know about it, I wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t the worst thing, being the one in the Dark Prince’s confidence.

“I know Prince Edmyn has a plan. He doesn’t seem to want harm to befall us or the Shaede Court, but we must still be careful. I am not as confident any plan will work against Ciaran.” And that was the truth. “Did you find anything in your studying?”

“Not really, just lots of books on torture and death. Some as old as Draku himself, which was kind of neat to see. But there was one ancient scroll that I thought might be of some interest to you. It looks like a letter from a Nymph faerie called Sandrell to her sister Eyllaria. Here.” Glory grabbed the thin piece of parchment she had splayed between two books. The paper felt hearty for a relic. Perhaps it had been spelled to remain well preserved. I spooned myself some vegetable soup and slowly read it aloud.

“Dearest Eyllaria, I know many raindrops have fallen since I last wrote. How wicked of me to keep you from yet another month’s recount of life here at the mouth of what the humans call the Borysthenes , right on the edge of the blackest of seas. The water isn’t exactly black, but the times are. The humans are restless and seek the lands of their neighbors. There is constant war, constant traffic up and down the river. I am terribly bored and terribly lonely. Most of the other Nymphs are older and tire easily of conversation or diversion. Perhaps I may confess here to you, the naughty tricks I’ve been up to, so that we both might be amused. Two nights ago, I sat alone on a rock, telling stories to the waves and watching them roll with laughter. A ship, on its way home from devastating a nearby enemy, found the entrance to the Borysthenes a very rough homecoming indeed. From my perch, I watched the waves take the ship to shore, smashing the hull onto rocks, and in the dim moonlight, its passengers stagger onto land. I felt perhaps the tiniest bit responsible. I am, after all, a masterful storyteller, capable of sending the waters into reverie or raucous abandon. I flew across the night toward the shore, as only two men remained on the beach. One was dead, and the other danced with death, his head bleeding a steady stream onto the shell ridden sands. The old Nymphs were always leaving the humans to their devices, always watching them live and die without interference. But I thought it would be pleasing to save this one. He was quite pretty to look at, and the thought of bringing him back as something better and stronger with more cunning amused me. I kissed his forehead and stroked his long hair, taking care to braid some of it, and then kissed him again. While I sang some of our favorite hymns, I coaxed a little magic into him, pretending he was a little fish out of water that needed Mother Earth’s love and caresses to breathe again. Suddenly, his eyes blinked open—they were very handsome indeed. He spoke of a dream where a beautiful woman made love to him on a bed of sand, and I smiled and called him ‘ Víkingr af hjarta minn ’ in his own tongue. I am both delighted and fearful for the new species I have made, sister. The Víkingar will be a force like no other, or at the very least more interesting to watch. I hope you and Mother are doing well. Pellshaeven is so beautiful in the wintertime. Do not tell on me, dear sister. Most affectionately, Sandrell.”

I looked up at Glory, who was only half listening, her nose buried in a forest green covered book as thick as a brick. “ Víkingr af hjarta minn?” I repeated aloud. “What does that mean? That is a language I am not fluent in.”

“Viking of my heart,” Glory said without looking up.

“My stars! Sandrell created the Vikings ?” My mind was reeling. The image of Sandrell, so inconvenienced with her own melancholy that she would use refinement magic on a wounded sailor and create an entirely new line of hard, resilient, titan-like men, who we all knew worshipped Nymphs and Shaedes alike, for her own personal entertainment. It was shocking. And it also confirmed, from a Nymph’s own careful hand, that they had the ability to truly change living things into something else.

“What I wouldn’t give to ask her a few questions,” I muttered, silently rereading the letter over and over.

“Remember, the Balance did not favor the Nymphs in our histories, Opal. She sounds kind of unhinged to me,” Glory said, taking a few more bites and diving back into her book .

“Are you saying that refinement magic shouldn’t be performed? Because if that were true, why were my sister and I gifted it?”

Glory shut her book, and the sound echoed in the dim room. “I’m saying refinement magic is dangerous. Look at what your sister was able to do. Look what she made.” I tried not to feel like some sort of mutant that should be quarantined, but Glory saw the dismayed look on my face. She said kindly, “Look, Opal. I’m not saying I think you are going to run around making homicidal daywalkers. But be careful. Whatever you make, the Balance will know. And look what life is like when you lose its favor.” She gestured around the dark room, and all I could do was nod.

I had so little control or understanding of what this magic was that I never stopped to really think of the responsibility that came with it. Sandrell was a wild faerie that used her power for her own pleasure. Surely, all fae were guilty of that in some way or another, that was how we lived so comfortably and peaceably. But I agreed with Glory; there was an edge of danger to this spell, and its results were irreversible, so if I ever did feel that magic engaging with someone or something—I’d better be very sure of what I was doing.

We ate in silence for a while until Amira came in, looking pale and frazzled. “Edmyn has just informed me that he is going back to check on the shadow beast pens, and to see if Ciaran needs any assistance. He asked me to tell you.” I looked at her trembling lip, her fingers repetitively tapping her sides nervously.

“You know he can’t die, right?” I said with absolutely no sympathy in my voice. The fact that she was this worried about someone who was indestructible was almost ridiculous, but the anxiousness was real.

“It’s just that it doesn’t make any sense. Normally I don’t miss my magic, but I hate feeling helpless in situations like this.” Now that I could understand. Glory and I exchanged unkind glances, but it didn’t look like she was going to leave without reassurances.

Glory was more generous than me. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said. I nodded in agreement.

Amira sighed, thanked us, and left the room. Glory and I finished eating, and I followed her to the library. We spent the whole afternoon there. Glory’s research seemed all over the place, but I was only looking for one thing—more letters from Sandrell. We came up empty-handed after hours in the dark, domed room, with nothing more than dim candlelight to aid our searching eyes.

We found a few servants in the hallway and asked what time it was. Somehow it was after nine at night. We were both exhausted, a little disoriented from losing so much time, and not at all hungry after gorging ourselves at lunch. We asked the servants to lead us back to Edmyn’s room, ironically the only room we’d actually feel safe in. When we arrived, I had half expected and half hoped to see Edmyn there, but I didn’t. We dressed in the slinky nightgowns from the previous night and climbed under the covers. The fire was going strong, but the silk was cold. Glory hummed a little song, one that I had heard before but couldn’t name, and the two of us fell asleep with the furs pulled up to our noses.