Page 61 of The Edge of Darkness

Behind her, one of the wights jumped down from where it had remained perched on a table. It made a steady path toward me, head lowered in curiosity. I knelt and offered my outstretched hand to it, allowing it to take a sniff.

I felt Nivelle watching the interaction, scrutinizing it.

The wight paused briefly before pressing its nose to my fingertips, and I gasped, not expecting to actually feel any physical contact. Its nose was cold as ice—cold as the dead—but when I tried to stroke its head, my hand went right through it.

That only works one way then.

“What are you doing?” Nivelle asked, seeming more annoyed than curious.

I didn’t answer, too stunned by the creature and its existence—another thing that defied everything I’d ever known.

One by one, the other wights came forward to take a sniff and investigate. To meet a stranger. The witch watched them as they circled me. Judging by her expression, this was probably not normal.

After enough of them had inspected me, I stood back up and gently cleared my throat. “We won’t take much of your time.”

Nivelle regarded me for another long moment and said, rather harshly, “We will speak out in the garden.” She strode past us without waiting for a reply, and the front door swung open before her.

The restraint finally fell away from Roirdan’s wrist, and he cursed under his breath as he shook out his hand at his side.

Silas led the way after Nivelle, and we followed, watching the wights scatter in every direction, their trails of mystical blue light winding through the trees.

The world was now cast in an eerie purple light—the fleeting minutes between sunset and nightfall.

Ahead, Nivelle entered a small, fenced area through a gate that was covered in bramble bushes and thorny vines. It enclosed a section of cultivated ground that was teeming with flowers—some of which I recognized, and others I’d never seen before. Sprays of blooms that resembled dahlias—but were the color of dried blood—reached their dark faces toward the murky sky. Large, drooping bell flowers swayed on a phantom wind, their pale petals like skin that had been leached of all color. For a garden, it was a bit strange. Macabre. The wights seemed perfectly at home, though. And that was somewhat fitting—spirits in the form of cats, slinking about the moody blooms and shadows.

We stopped just inside the gate behind Silas, watching as Nivelle continued to drift along the pathways.

“The garden calms her,” he said quietly.

Sure enough, the witch’s demeanor changed before our eyes. In the cottage, she was callous and guarded. Here, her shoulders were relaxed, her gait slow and tempered.

In the evening light, her skin and hair were radiant, as if she thrived under a gloomy, cloud-covered sky. She looked ethereal. Almost . . . pleasant.

But looks could be deceiving.

She paused to lift the bloom of what looked like an exceptionally large, wilted ranunculus . . . and the petals withered under her touch, disintegrating into ash.

All of us stiffened.

When she turned, her gaze landed on Roirdan first. A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

He didn’t flinch, but I could have sworn his breath caught in his throat.

“Karios sent the summons a few months ago,” she said to us. The tone of her voice was calmer and quieter than it had been in the cottage, but still not warm or welcoming. “The instructions were for him to find his Dionam in the human realm. Once he found you, he was tasked with retrieving a relic on Karios’s behalf.” She shifted her gaze to Silas. “Which, I assume, you acquired?”

He answered with a grin. “Of course.”

“Good,” she said, as she touched another flower that looked like it was on its way toward death—already shriveled at its edges. The petals decomposed under her fingertips.

“I am well aware of who you are, Auren, as well as the task the god-king has placed on your shoulders.” She glanced back over her shoulder at me before moving along to another bush, sending fading blooms to their demise. “Silas will stay with you indefinitely.”

Indefinitely. The word rang like a bell in my mind.

“So, if I defeat Lyceius and take his place . . . If I become a goddess . . . will Silas live forever too?”

The wardeness shrugged gently, continuing her slow perusal of the garden. “Dionachs can exist eternally if the gods and the fates will it. So, I would say that if you achieve your god status, then yes, he would coexist alongside you for as long as you live.”

Silas and I exchanged glances.