I’m blinded.
The light which surrounds me is so bright I can’t see anything past the glowing. Sunspots dance in my vision. They follow me even when I close my eyes and no amount of blinking will get rid of it.
In the end, I keep my eyes closed and settle for trying to feel my way around with my hands.
That’s when I realise they’re no longer bound. The cuffs which stopped me using magic are gone. That’s why I feel stronger. Their absence has allowed my immortal healing to kick in. I’m still raw and tender as I feel my way around, but I’m in less pain than I was before.
I’d probably be completely healed by now if they hadn’t starved me. But I’ll take any improvement I can get.
My fingers, still exploring the stone, find an edge, and I swing my legs towards it, feeling for the floor with my bare toes.
The first contact makes me hiss, the brutality of my wounds making themselves known now that I’m not running on pure adrenaline.
I grit my teeth and bear it, forcing myself up until I’m standing.
A thousand whispers begin as I try to get my bearings, all of them in a language I don’t understand. They’re lyrical and soft, almost lulling to listen to. Their volume increases as I take my first halting step, sway slightly, but don’t fall. I stretch my hands out, struggling to feel my way in the brightness.
One voice abandons their soft conversation and rises over them all, grating against my eardrums.
“Wraith killer, you’re awake.”
Something brushes past me, spreading a coolness that makes me shiver despite my natural resistance to the cold.
“I can’t see,” I mutter.
The light dims, but only fractionally. Barely enough to let me make out the jagged, ghostly edges of shapes. When I snap my eyes closed again, the light dims even further until I feel brave enough to make a third attempt.
Finally, I can make out more than blurry lights.
The first thing I notice is that I’m surrounded by crystals.
The massive, glowing crystal monoliths are a hundred times bigger than any I’ve seen before. Each one must be large enough to power an entire city.
Beyond the mirror shine of the crystal, gossamer filaments of glowing light bound back and forth inside the stone. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. Dazzling compared to the soft glow given off by the crystals enchanted by mages.
“Go slowly. You hit your head in the fall,” that same disembodied voice says.
“Who are you?” I demand, turning.
On the slab of crystal I was lying on sits Glenna’s athame, the black-handled dagger gleaming in the radiance which surrounds us. I grab for it instinctively, keeping it at the ready as I examine the wraith hovering in the air beyond.
This one looks the same as all the others except for the way it holds itself. Regal, yet deliberately non-confrontational. Its claws are raised, but more in a gesture of surrender than attack. I get the oddest impression that it’s trying to seem unthreatening.
“I am Acelin, King of our people—though we care little for such titles. Brother to one you have killed.”
Okay. Two can play at that game.
“Nilsa, Shadow of the Moon. Your people killed someone close to me.”
“We know. We have watched you.”
“We?”
“Wraith are one. Individuals, yet part of the whole.”
I can’t wrap my head around what he’s saying. Especially when every word is spoken in that awful voice. My head pounds with each word; or is that just blood-loss?
“Why did you lead me here?”
