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I strike again. “I’ve learned a lot in my travels,” I say. “Is it now a crime to talk to a magic user? A fae?”
He parries and I block. “No, not a crime. In fact, It’s refreshing to see that someone has interacted with magic users in a peaceful way.”
I block his next strike and try to understand his meaning. Does he really mean what he said, or is this a trick of some kind? A way to get me to talk more? To tell him where the fae are that I learned from so he can send his guards to kill them. But when he continues our sparring session without asking any more questions, I’m left even more confused than before. But I don’t bring it back up for fear that he will want more information that I can’t give him, so we just go on as if he hadn’t mentioned it at all.
Even though I know Daimis isn’t striking as hard as he can, our sparring is taxing on me, and my sore muscles burn in protest. I don’t know how much time has passed, but sweat runs down my temples and my spine, and we’re both breathing heavily. When a wave of nausea washes over me, I know I’ve pushed my body hard enough. It’s time to end this round. As Daimis throws a combo, I see my opening. I block his first strike and spin in along his weapon while his body is still being thrown forward with the momentum of his second strike and sweep my staff to strike the back of his knees. This sends him sprawling onto his face. He spins onto his back, only to find my staff coming right for his face. I stop the jab just shy of his nose. “My point,” I say, breathing heavily from the exertion.
“That was fun,” he says smirking at me.
My nausea comes back and my mouth fills with saliva. I drop my staff and run toward some bushes.
“Sky?” Daimis calls.
I throw up my dinner into the bushes, humiliation burning through me almost as much as the bile in my throat. I can vaguely hear Daimis chuckling at my expense.Ass.
“I’m still the winner,” I say during a small break from my gagging, my voice strained and pathetic.
“I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”
I flip him off. A moment later, I feel Daimis’s hands smooth back my flyaways, while I continue to empty the contents in my stomach. When I’ve finished, I sit back on my haunches. He hands me the ladle filled with water. I take it and swish water around in my mouth before spitting it out and then take a drink. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Thank you,” I manage.
He rubs my back. “Come on, Demon-slayer, let’s go to the kitchens and get some food back in you.”
* * *
A week passes, and not a day goes by that Daimis and I don’t go to the training yard. Thankfully, I haven’t thrown up again. My body gains strength with each passing day. And I enjoy the easy way Daimis and I are with one another when it’s just us and our sparring weapons. We don’t talk about anything outside of training. Unfortunately, I don’t win every time, in fact, we’re relatively evenly matched. Although there are times I suspect he’s still holding back. Then again, no one goes all out when sparring. The aim is not to cause harm, but to practice and gain muscle memory.
Daimis’s vague statements about what might be going on in Stonemount has stayed lodged in my mind like a splinter. I can’t dislodge the feeling that what I don’t know will hurt me. Maybe it’s just because I’m not getting much sleep these days. I’m suffering nightmares regularly, and they’re getting worse and changing. Some nights, the hollowed-out faces of the dead in the black market haunt me. Other nights, the darkness chases me, threatening to devour me whole.
Now that I know I’ll be going on the quest, I’ll need to get a handle on the magic within me. The more I know about it, the better chances I’ll have at controlling it. The last thing I need is for it to reel out of control in front of my traveling companions. Or for the shadow demons to come and I’ll have to show them that my magic is almost identical to their own evil magic.
Back when I lived here, all the books on magic were kept in the massive athenaeum deep in the oldest part of the castle.The caves. It was said that the first humans emerged from the caves many generations ago, and over time the castle was built into the rock outcroppings of those caves.
I throw a cloak over my shoulders, cover my head with the hood, and tentatively open the door. There are now two guards at the end of the hallway. I wonder if it’s a result of Daimis finding me in the conservatory, or because the Regent thought I was trying to escape. Either way, it makes no difference. I say my cloaking incantation and slip out and past the guards. When I’m far enough away, I drop my cloaking.
The Castle’s window coverings are open, letting in as much natural sunlight as possible. Now that I’m seeing everything in the daylight, I know where I am. I’m positioned in the East wing: the royal suits. Only the King and his family lived in the East Wing. Were the royal suites moved over the years, or was I put here so they could keep a closer eye on me?
I quickly leave the East wing and make my way to the center of the castle. I occasionally pass by people in their fine clothes. Since I’m dressed just as well, thanks to Mrs. Dower’s pick of a beautiful soft green dress, no one says anything. I get curious glances, but I keep my head high and walk with strong and deliberate steps. If I act as though I belong here, most will accept it. Everywhere I look there are detailed designs with suns, stars, and moons, set into the doors, handles, light fixtures, tapestries, molding, fireplace grates, and more, they’re all symbols of house Berhane, the royal bloodline.
I round a corner to enter the hall leading to the entrance of the caves that house the athenaeum but halt my steps. The great hall that serves as the entrance to the caves is completely different than I remember it. The hall has large marble pillars that reach up three stories high and line a walkway that ends at two large doors—which are currently shut. I’ve never seen them shut. The athenaeum was always open to anyone who wanted to learn. Also, there is absolutely nothing in the empty hall. Before, there were large seating areas and desks where people could take books and scrolls for reading and studying. Even the artworks that adorned the walls are gone. Did they move the athenaeum from the caves in the time I’ve been away? Or is it now closed off to the public?
I take tentative steps toward the large doors but stop short when they slowly swing open. I’m hit with a strange, sickly feeling of wrongness, similar to what I felt at the market when the shadow demons came, and yet different. It feels like hundreds of tiny bugs are crawling under my skin. It’s both startling and terrifying, putting all my senses on alert, and even stirring my magic. I dash behind a pillar. Everything inside me is calling for me to kill, or to flee and get as far away as possible from the wrongness and its sticky ilk that seems to coat all my senses like tar. I half wonder if there is a shadow demon in the athenaeum, but if that were true, everyone in there would be dead.
I push the awful feeling down and peek around the pillar to investigate. The Regent emerges from the opening with four Steel Guards. I internally curse and quickly hide back behind the pillar before they spot me. I think to cloak myself, but everything echoes in the large empty room, and I fear they may hear me even if I whisper.
The even footfalls of the Regent and the guards bounce off the walls and pillars. Soon, more footsteps follow, but these are shuffled and slower. I hear someone tumble, followed by a “Get up!” from one of the guards. A sliding sound tells me that the doors are shutting, and with them, the wrongness fades. Keys jangle, then the sliding of a lock.
As the footsteps near, my heart thumps like the wings of a dragon in my chest. I carefully creep around, keeping the Regent and the guards on the opposite side of the pillar from me. When I’m sure their backs are now towards me, I risk a peek. About ten prisoners walk in a single file line, following the Regent and flanked by two sets of guards. The prisoners’ clothing is worn and dirty. Their shoulders are rounded, and they drag their feet as if merely walking is an arduous task. They’re connected with nothing but a thin rope, another indication of their weakened state. They must not be magic users. If they were, the Regent would have them in manacles forged with ash from fae bones. The special ash-steel manacles keep the wearer from accessing their gifts.
I stay as quiet as I can, grateful that I’m not one of the prisoners. It certainly could’ve been my fate, and still can be if I’m not careful. The only difference is that I’ll have ash-steel manacles. Just before the last prisoner rounds the corner, she looks back over her shoulder at me, as if she knows exactly where I am. As our gazes meet, I suck in a sharp breath. She can’t be much older than I am, yet her hair has chunky streaks of white like the color was sucked from it. She looks beyond sickly. Her skin is an ashen gray, and her cheeks are hollowed. What’s worse, her expression is full of despair and longing. Like a piece of her has been ripped away and what’s left is a living shadow, yearning to be whole again. My skin warms and my hands shake. I have to ball them into fists, letting my nails bite into my palms to keep my magic from surging through me.
I pivot out of view, pressing my back into the pillar, and squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to keep control of the magic that wants to be set free.Not here, not now.I push down my instincts to fight those guards and set the broken people free. There’s nothing I can do for them without landing myself in the same situation. It’s selfish, but that kind of thinking has kept me alive all these years. I think back to when I thought Daimis was a coward for backing down with the Regent when we got caught. Turns out I’m a coward, too.
After a couple of minutes, the steps fade completely. I eventually regain my composure and my magic retreats. What happened to those people? Somehow, I know that whatever happened to them was not natural, and I’m certain the Regent is responsible. I let a few more minutes pass before casting a cloak over myself and fleeing the hall.
I only make it two steps when I collide with something, although nothing was in front of me a moment before. I grab onto whatever is blocking my way. As soon as we grip onto one another, I can see her. She just appears out of thin air. And then I realize why. She’s a sorcerer, and she was cloaking herself, too. We unintentionally joined our cloaking spells together—our magic recognizing another sorcerer. I’ve heard of this happening, but I’ve never had an opportunity to test the theory. We’re both gripping one another’s forearms, just staring.
