Page 29

Talysse

T he first thing that strikes me when I crack my eyes open is the devastating absence of Aeidas’s warmth beside me.

Aeidas has left. Just like that.

And it hurts more than expected.

Did I really believe that he’d give in to whatever is between us and let me walk out of the Trials freely? He’s a Fae, a prince. Would he turn his back on his duty because of a human?

Snorting at my naivety, I grab my clothes. The Candle is still there, and so is the Flint, safe in the pouch around my neck. The prince has kept to his odd code of honor.

Outside, the first rays of the sun gild the mists, and a black carriage is already waiting for me. My muscles ache in a tender, blissful way, and so are other parts of my body.

The road meanders between melancholic landscapes before reaching a sad little village. Tenebris appears like a capital compared to this. People here are clearly suffering, their long faces telling more than a thousand words, and anger simmers inside me.

This is what the Fae did to us: their greed, their neglect, their lust for more power, their elitism. Despite Aeidas’s beautiful words and vows to end the Hex, how could I even consider for a second that he’s any different than his kind who caused all this?

My trembling hand rises to shield my eyes but the images of suffering linger, refusing to fade.

The nights are getting longer, and soon, the sun will set forever.

This will be one of the first places to be swarmed by Shadowfeeders and Tainted; that pale blonde girl who tried to give me a flower but got shooed away by the Fae soldiers would be torn into pieces or join their ranks, just like Tayna.

Tears of powerless rage wet my cheeks. The world might be dying, but I still need to win this. Maybe there’s hope. Maybe Aeidas’s documents are false. Maybe I’d be able to find us a safe island somewhere…

“One small step after the other, Talysse,” Father’s favorite saying echoes in my mind, just like back then when he was encouraging me to climb trees in the garden. “Only with small steps you’ll make it to the top.”

For a brief moment, I find myself longing for the simple comfort of my father’s arms, his voice reminding me that I’m a survivor. But such comforts belong to another world—a world that no longer exists.

The house we’re brought to spend the day and prepare for the last Trial looks like a richly dressed corpse. The Unseelie have done their best to make it more presentable but achieved the opposite. The hastily dragged luxurious furniture, silver cutlery, and golden-threaded fabrics only deepen the contrast between the lavish decadence of the court and the suffocating reality in the kingdom’s outskirts.

Two tall Fae soldiers clad in black take me to the doors of my room.

“How many contestants have returned?” I ask, and to my surprise, the bearded one with the soft brown eyes answers.

“It’s only you, the prince, and Galeoth, m’lady. Lord Galeoth is wounded, recovering in his room. Seems like the waves crushed him against the beach rocks, and the healers asked not to disturb him.”

“Take me to him,” I demand, but the soldier shakes his head.

“He’s asleep, m’lady. We better let the potions do their work.”

I weigh in on my options for a long moment. Sneaking out is out of the question—the stern face of the Fae confirms that. My heart heavy with dark premonitions, I straighten my doublet and enter my room.

This can’t be good. If Gale survives this but cannot participate in the Trial, he’d have to face the winner, even if he’s in a helpless condition. One way or the other, he’d be slaughtered. And so would be I, if I’m not smart about this.

One small step after the other, Talysse.

To get better chances at this, I need rest. So I throw myself on the hard bed, covered in silk sheets, but sleep is elusive. Sweet shudders run down my body when flashbacks of the past night haunt my mind, followed by the cold, terrifying reminder that these could be my last hours. Memories of my childhood home and the serene face of Tayna finally give me the peace I so desperately need. After hours of tossing and turning, a fitful sleep claims me.

*

A hard knock on the door startles me awake, and I look through the grid window, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand. The day is dying, its blood staining the Wastelands. The old village mage heads to the crumbling two-story house they use as a Beacon, supported by two young men. It’s the perfect capture of this dying realm.

The guard with the kind brown eyes enters and leaves a tray loaded with fresh food at the corner of the bed, then leaves without saying a word. Fingers trembling, I pile sauce-dripping meat on a slice of bread and force myself to chew and swallow. The food tastes like ash, and my fingers tremble. Soon it will be all over.

Just after finishing my meal and splashing some water on my face, trumpets summon us outside.

It is time.

The first stars flicker through the weak Blessed Light spell covering the village. Mage Stargaze is already there, her appearance more alien than ever. She looks like a well-preserved corpse who was called back to life and brought some strange knowledge along from its trip to Atos’s Underworld.

Aeidas stands there, too, his straight shoulders clad in his usual inky shirt, his Ancestor’s Mark visible on his bare chest. Fierce longing pierces my heart when I see him, his silver hair flowing in the evening breeze, his thumbs tucked in his belt.

This cold-hearted Fae bastard. He’s not even looking at me. His face looks haunted, his eyes—bloodshot, and his gaze is fixed on the court mage. Steps echo behind me, and—Elders be blessed—Gale appears, limping, but winks merrily as he sees me. He’s a bit paler than usual but looks fit enough to fight.

“Remember what I told you back in Nighthaven, Talysse,” he whispers as I walk by. No time to ponder over his cryptic words as Aernysse starts talking.

“Pride of Phyllesia, best of the best, welcome to the Final Trial. The Elders have chosen a wise way for you to prove your virtue and devotion. Deep in the Silverbriar Forest lies a forsaken temple built in honor of the union between Atos and Cymmetra. It was a holy ground once. Now, the woods are the playground of Shadowfeeders, Tainted Ones, and other foul creatures. Your goal is to cross the woods and make it to the temple alive. There you must light the sacred fire.”

That cannot be that hard, right? Cross a forest, survive, and light some damn fire.

“To win, you’d need to light the fire with the Flint and the Candle of Azalyah.” All eyes pin me now, making me shuffle uncomfortably. “And you should be the only one alive of all contestants. There could be only one winner,” she continues, her voice rising to a morbid crescendo. “If another one makes it to the temple alive, they can challenge the owner of the objects or do whatever it takes to obtain them. By any means necessary. The king and queen and the grandest noble houses will be present at the temple to witness the final.”

Just great. Gale and Aeidas will hunt me for the relics, then fight each other over them if they get me, and the last one standing will light this Elders-cursed fire under the applause of the whole Unseelie court. Or I’ll find some clever way to walk out of this alive.

Resourceful, Myrtle called me. I had to be. Death has been breathing in my neck since that day at the gallows, and I’ve always managed to be one step ahead.

I have a lifelong experience in avoiding death. And I plan to put it to good use tonight.

“Head to your appointed carriages now,” the old mage orders, her tone dropping to a raspy, tired whisper, “and make the Elders proud.”

Walking past Gale, I pat him on the back, and he flashes me a sad smile. Aeidas is nowhere to be seen.

The ride is not as long as I expected. The heavy carriage rolls to a stop, and the door cracks open. Night air rushes in, along with the whistling of the wind among dead branches and the not-so-distant howling of some tainted creature. My feet sink into a layer of dead leaves and branches.

“We’re here. The Silverbriar Woods,” the guard announces, and the carriage departs. The sound of the wheels dies out in the distance, and the black mass of the forest looms ahead.

The air grows colder under the black, bony canopy of dead ancient trees. The gloom deepens, and the Shadowfeeders should not be far behind. The moonlight barely filters through the thick branches, but I decide to save my scarce arcane energy in case I have to fight and stumble further in the twilight.

Finding the ruins of an old temple in these dead woods, which stretch endlessly in all directions, seems like a daunting task.

The dry branches beneath my boots crack like bones, and night birds call from the wood depths like lost souls. This is a purgatory. There are whispers that the Elders themselves show Mage Aernysse what they desire to see in the Nightfall Trials in visions she receives while meditating over a gap in the floor, deep in the palace’s fundaments. A fiery river runs below it, bringing the roaring voice of Atos himself, the heat and the vapors coming straight from the Underworld. Something that makes me very skeptical. For all I know, the Elders have left this world, dooming us all to a long, painful death.

The trees grow denser deeper into the woods, and I cast my weak light spell. The forest around changes and springs to life, the shadows around dancing. A smile stretches my lips when I notice that life slowly returns to it.

Crickets chirp, low bushes with waxy leaves sprout between the dead tree trunks, and fireflies swirl ahead.

Life.

Life always finds a way.

Many believe that fireflies are a good omen, so I follow them. This direction is as good as any. The heel of my boot kicks something solid. When I bend over to investigate, my fingers brush against the rough, jagged surface of cobblestones, still warm from the sunlight. Finally, a clue and a direction to follow. All roads lead to the temple, Friar Ben used to say. Whatever lies ahead, at least I am on the way to…something.

My heels are hurting, and my eyes are tired from trying to pierce the gloom. The stars are pacing their ethereal roads, the moon is sliding toward the horizon, and the road swirls endlessly before me. The frog croaking I heard some time ago is getting louder. The road leads to a stone bridge arching over a black creek, its surface reflecting the starry sky. When I am about to set foot onto the bridge, the frogs’ choir suddenly mutes, and the black water beneath ripples. Cold sweat rolls down my temples when a dark figure slowly rises from the murky creek.

A damp, musty scent clings to the air, the unmistakable odor of decay and rot permeating everything. I take a cautious step back when something rustles in the tall reed. The stalks of the reed part and a water hag steps out of the thicket, leaving slimy trails on the gravelly bank.

Atos’s warty backside!

Water hags—one of the most ancient Fae. Created by Cymmetra to watch over the creatures in the rivers and creeks, it was believed they were dead when the Hex spread over the world. My curiosity wrestles with my fear and wins. They’re known to be harmless, but what had the Taint done to this one? Arcane sparkles dance around my wrists as I’m preparing to hurl a spell and throw her back if needed.

The scarce moonlight reflects upon milky white eyes and wrinkly pale skin, strands of green hair draping her bony shoulders. No signs of Taint, just an old and tired Fae, who studies me, head cocked.

“So many in the forest tonight,” she hisses through darkened teeth, “a Seelie, an Unseelie, and someone—” She takes another step toward me, and I slightly back up. “What are you?” she asks, sniffing the air through the dark slits at the spot where her nose should be. “Touched by Cymmetra? Why are you hiding what you are?” She takes another step, and chills run down my spine.

“I...I am a human,” I mumble.

“A human.” She cackles loudly, scaring the frogs who have resumed their concert in the reed. “Fine, keep your secrets…human,” she says, pointing at my mother’s bracelet.

“Can you,” my mouth feels suddenly dry, “can you tell me where the old temple is?”

She stares at me for a while, considering. “And what will you give me in exchange?”

“I don’t have much as you see.” The lie, nearly visible, hangs between us. No way I’m giving her the Candle or the Flint.

“That’s all right.” She leans in closer, and the scent of swampy water and rotting algae hits me again. “A promise would suffice. Promise me you will not forget my help when the time comes, touched by Cymmetra.”

Well, that was easy. I was thinking that I’d to part with my hair or even a limb, as the legends say.

“Promised.” I nod solemnly.

“Follow the old road until you reach the ruins of the tower. An old inn it was, for the pilgrims.” She points behind her back, her dark eyes clouded by memories. “Lots of ale and music spilled there in the old times before darkness came. Then you go right. A wider path leads through an orchard with white trees. The temple is beyond it.” She cocks her head, watching me.

“Thank you,” I mumble, and she glides back to the water. “Wait!” Damned be my curiosity. “How come you’re not—”

“Corrupted?” Her black mouth stretches into a gruesome smile. “Weakened, I might be. Be there are forces in this world, older and more powerful than the Taint, dear human.” She cackles again. “You, of all, should know that.” She measures me up and down again. “I see you carry precious things. Use them well; these woods are swarming with dark ones.”

So she knew about the artifacts and yet didn’t try to take them from me. A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads in my chest. Maybe the world is not that dark and evil. “How do I use them?” I ask.

She looks at me for a while, and then her bony fingers, connected with membranes, disappear among the algae that cover her body like a robe. A curved dagger lands at my feet, its spotless steel reflecting the light of my spell.

“I hope you put it to better use than its former owner,” she says and disappears in the reed, her mad cackle mixing with the croaking of the frogs.

“Thank you,” I whisper, then pick up the dagger and wipe it off my pants. Well, that was one hell of a confusing encounter.

Weighing the dagger in my hand, I’m pondering over her words. Of course! Elders, this is so obvious! I scrape some dry leaves from the forest floor, take the magical Flint out of the pouch around my neck, and strike it against the steel. It takes me some attempts, but soon, blue sparks land into the pile of leaves I’m using as kindling. Just enough to light the Candle of Azalyah. Time to see if there’s any truth to the rumor that it keeps Shadowfeeders at bay.

It’s burning with an unnaturally bright blueish flame, a flame that does not falter in the night breeze. My weak spell dissipates in a shower of arcane sparkles. Raising the Candle, its blueish light scatters the shadows, revealing a surreal landscape where cold, shimmering colors dance eerily. I tuck the blade in my belt and step on the bridge.

“Beware of the dark ones, Princess. If you need safety, come back to me. My water is protected.” Half of her face peeks out of the black water, her voice reaching me among the bubbles. Her milky, inhuman eyes follow me as I cross the bridge.

Walking deeper into the woods, following her directions, one thought doesn’t leave me alone. She met two others tonight. It’s obvious who the Unseelie was. But there was a Seelie, too? All Seelie died in the war or were mercilessly executed by Aeidas’s family in the aftermath. Are there any survivors in this area? And which side would they be on?

*

My legs are burning when the ruins of the inn the hag has described appear like a tombstone among the briar. The outlines of the main hall, a large oak growing at its heart now, are still recognizable. The stables are reduced to a pile of charred beams. Brushing my fingers over the old stones, still holding the warmth of the day, I try to imagine how the place must have looked before—welcoming light, music and the smell of roast must have tempted the weary passengers. All gone now, all destroyed by the Hex.

The forest has grown unusually quiet. The crickets and night birds are silent, and even the wind has stopped.

This is not good. I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the darkness beyond the light bubble of the Candle, and freeze. There, behind the lonely doorframe—the only still recognizable piece of masonry standing—the shadows deepen and lengthen. Two eyes, glowing with dark iridescence like pinpricks in the fabric of the world, fixated on me.

A Shadowfeeder!

And if there is one, more will follow.

My feet are faster than my brain. I hold the Candle above my head as branches and thorns smack my face, pull my hair, and tear my clothes. Each wound makes me gasp, leaving a trail of blood behind that the Shadowfeeders and their thralls will surely find delicious.

The path is lost among the thick dead trees. There’s only charred soil and branches beneath my boots, no signs of the cobbled road that was supposed to lead me to the temple. I dreaded arriving at the temple but right now, it’s a far better option than what’s behind me, catching up. The temple would be protected by a halo, as the royal family and selected nobles wouldn’t want to miss the grand finale of the Trials.

The sound of running feet behind me grows louder—

By the Elders!

They are a legion. Dozens of Tainted Ones—creatures who used to be human or Fae, now turned by dark blood—are chasing me, trying to cut me off. A mass of darkness follows them, controlling them. It looks as if they’re herding me in a certain direction or just toying with me, like a cat with its prey.

The water hag! She said her water is protected. But how to get back there?

I frantically look around while leaping over a thick branch on the forest floor. This part of the woods is unfamiliar. The dead trees are different, their thorny branches clawing at me.

My lungs burn, each breath turning into agony. Sharp pain stings my calves with every step. How long will I last?

Primal, chilling fear threatens to paralyze me as ragged breathing reverberates behind me, mixed with the uneven steps of heavy boots. It’s the type of breathing you hear from an exhausted horse. I throw a quick look over my shoulder and—

Black, lidless eyes stare back from a rotting face. Uneven, sharp teeth with pieces of flesh between them snap. The Tainted One is so close it just needs to reach out its clawed hand to grab me. And so many behind it—

Then, suddenly, the ground beneath my feet disappears.

So this is how I die.

Falling and breaking my neck. A preferable option to being torn apart by Tainted Ones or joining their ranks as a mindless monster.

A trunk breaks my fall, knocking the air from my lungs. My elbow meets a rock, and I shriek in agony. The worst happens when I reach the bottom of the ravine and roll to a stop. My ankle gets caught in some roots and twists at a bad angle, and my forehead slams into something hard.

My cry of pain is cut short by unconsciousness.

*

Waking up, I stare straight into the eyes of Death.

By some mercy of the Elders, I am still clutching the Candle tight, its flame unfaltering. Seems like the Shadowfeeder cannot enter the light it casts, a meager protection, but protection anyway. I sense him pacing around, testing its defenses with hungry tendrils. I’m sprawled on the floor, blood from the open wound on my forehead trickling into my eyes. My ankle sends searing, pulsating waves of pain all the way up to my heart.

The Shadowfeeder’s thralls have surrounded me in a tight circle; all of them look down at me with their empty eyes, drool dripping from their dark, broken teeth.

Will the light protect me against them too, or does it work only against their masters?

Lips trembling, I slowly reach for the water hag’s dagger and curse through my teeth when I realize it’s lost during my tumble down the slope.

Great. Everything I have to defend myself against a Shadowfeeder and its horde now is an ancient Candle and my weak magic. Panic claws through my bones, piercing me with icy needles. Their rotting, twisted faces sneer at me beyond the blueish flicker in my shaking hand. The stench strangles me, and their noises—breathing, hissing, jaws snapping, bones cracking, and growling—fill the thick putrid air.

Will it hurt?

Will they tear me limb by limb, or will they open my stomach and feast on my innards while I’m still conscious, feeling every single tear and pull? Or will they go for my throat like a predator? It’s doubtful they’d show me this mercy. Tears well up in my eyes at the thought of Tayna.

The seven-foot-tall Shadowfeeder looms over the light bubble I’m cowering in; not a man and not a monster, something in between, a creature of pure hatred. It tilts its head, studying me, those terrifying eyes fixed on my bracelet with some odd interest. I try to scramble up but without success. My beaten body just refuses to oblige.

A large Tainted One enters the light circle, my only protection.

“Elders take you!” I hiss. So the light can hold the Shadowfeeders at bay, but not their thralls. Useful knowledge I’ll take with me to Atos’s halls. My fingers close around a rock. Not planning on going down without a fight.

The creature stalks me with uneven steps. It still wears the armor of the Unseelie court guard. Long, scarce strands of white hair sprouting from its rotting skin. Its jaw is hanging loose, and the blue magic light reveals its teeth and the black tongue inside it. It takes another step toward me, and its heavy, studded boots are just inches away from my face.

My rock hits it right in the forehead, but the creature doesn’t even flinch.

What kind of horrible, twisted death are they planning for me?

Its heavy boot steps on my forearm, and this surprises me. I thought he’d have attacked the hand holding the Candle, but instead, his weight crushes my wrist where Mother’s bracelet is. The thrall presses, my bracelet bending and cutting into my skin, drawing a tormented whimper.

The air grows colder, the darkness deepening. The trees seem to close in above me. The forest itself seems to pulse with malevolent energy, each heartbeat a countdown to my doom.

The thralls’ breaths grow harsher, more ragged, their eyes widening in a mix of hunger and madness.

The Tainted One’s boot presses down harder, and a sickening crack echoes through the night as bones give way. Pain explodes in my wrist, dulling all my senses, but with it comes a surge of adrenaline.

I refuse to die here.

I desperately search for my magic inside. Maybe a throwing spell or some clever illusion can help—

There is nothing inside me.

Only terror and the cold grin of death. That magical lake, which has saved me countless times, is gone.

With a soft click, my mother’s bracelet breaks, releasing my aching wrist. It’s the first time I am not wearing it since I was three years old. The heavy boot continues crushing my wrist, but the world—

The world around me changes.

Everything changes.

The shadows around me swirl and coalesce, and I realize with a jolt that the bracelet has been suppressing something—something powerful.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I focus on the Candle’s flame, willing it to burn brighter. The light flares up, casting long shadows that stretch and twist. The thralls recoil, their empty eyes now changed.

Fear.

They fear me.

I use this moment of insecurity and seek once again my magical lake.

And gasp.

Instead of the tender, moonlight-kissed surface, I find a roaring lava lake of sheer power.

The air around me crackles with energy. A rush of arcane power courses through me, shaking me, transforming me. My magic, no longer suppressed, surges to life and spills free into the night forest. The pain in my wrist and ankle dulls. The shadows retreat, and I rise to my feet, the Candle held high.

Unfamiliar spells find their way to my lips. Blinding lightning bolts shoot from my fingers, tearing thralls apart. Some just, holy rage has taken over my body, and my eyes meet those of the Shadowfeeder. They narrow with suspicion.

If only I had a weapon…It takes just a blink, and I feel an unfamiliar weight in my right hand. I look down and see a blade of pure light shimmering like the sun’s rays over the water on a bright summer day.

A mad smile curls my lips as I raise it and take a step toward the tall, shadowy form. The thralls that have surrounded me are reduced to smoking, ichor-leaking pieces of rotting flesh. It’s just me and the darkness now.

The Shadowfeeder lets out a low growl.

And it takes a step back.

Suddenly, my body knows what to do. With a shriek that echoes over the quiet forest, I plunge the blade deep into its chest.

The Shadowfeeder snarls, its form dissolving into the gloom. The remaining thralls, their connection to the creature severed, collapse to the ground, lifeless. The forest grows still, the night breeze picking up the stench and sweeping it away.

I look at the blade in my hand and around the desolated clearing where dozens of torn Tainted Ones are lying, terrifying even now.

A night bird resumes its calls in the distance, and the crickets—their eternal song.

Life. Life always finds a way.

No idea what magic has been locked inside me and where it came from, but it found me at the right moment. Miraculously, my body is completely healed.

I grin in the twilight.

It’s time to find that temple and end this.