Category: Uncategorized
-
♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
Chapter 50: Bones of the Forsaken
Jasper kept his gaze on Larissa the entire time as the bog witch placed a hand over each restrained cattle. He resented the skeptical and malicious glares the knights directed at her as Larissa passed the poison she had ingested into each frightened cow with a single kiss. The black taint of Arachne’s affliction slowly receded from the bog witch’s eyes, skin, and veins, even as the two beasts beside her collapsed with a thud, panting as they suffocated from the black foam and bile that poured out of their mouths.
“Saints above,” Lieutenant Hadley whispered as the knights that restrained the cows between two wooden posts released their ropes and stepped back from the foul scent of rot and decay.
Larissa stepped forward slowly, her strength wavering as she reached out to the Huntsman, her eyes gazing somewhere else. Jasper quickly took her hand and wrapped a supportive arm around her waist as he led her away from the knights that stared between the sacrificial animals and the witch that had cursed them with equal disgust.
“So—” Larissa drawled weakly as she rubbed a streak of dry poison from the corner of her mouth, “Now that you’ve found her, what’s our next move?”
“Well, to start, I suppose we ought to be honest with her first.”
“That seems advisable, given that the true Kirsi would already know what we want.” The bog witch tilted her head towards him as her cold, pale fingers tightened around his hand. “But will she agree?”
Jasper pulled her closer and kissed the hair above her ear before nodding to where the Scarlet Witch appeared between the row of tents ahead. “It looks like we’ll have our answer soon.”
“Jasper,” Kirsi greeted as she marched towards them with a determined expression. “There you are.” She paused to take in the Huntsman’s pale companion with a critical gaze. “I trust you are feeling better, Lady Larissa?”
Jasper arched a questioning brow while the bog witch smirked, then stepped forward to acknowledge the ice witch with a low bow. “I am, thank you, your Majesty.”
Kirsi blinked slowly in response before hastily motioning the bog witch to stand. “Please, do not—I am a Duchess, not a Queen, Lady Larissa.”
“And I am a witch, not a lady, your Grace.”
The ice witch’s lips fluttered between a laugh and a smile before she nodded her head in acknowledgment. “Very well. Please tell me how I should address my Savior.”
“Ahem!” Jasper interjected hastily, noticing Lieutenant Hadley shadowing them from a distance. “Could we—speak to you—somewhere a bit more private, your Grace?”
The Duchess frowned and then pointedly turned to glance at the chaos all around them. “There’s not much privacy to be had. The woods aren’t particularly safe right now, and I’m afraid the nobles at the manor would be—less than welcoming to your friend.”
“I know of a place,” Larissa replied swiftly, selecting one of the bottles tied to her corded belt. “I can have us there in the blink of an eye—that is—if you’ll trust me, your Grace?”
Kirsi’s eyes furrowed slightly as she eyed the murky contents of the bottle. “I think it would be rude not to trust you after what you’ve both done for me.”
“Rude but—perhaps wise—given how little you know me.”
The Duchess scoffed and then glanced at Jasper as if uncertain how to respond.
“Please, your Grace,” the bog witch amended as she extended a pale hand toward her dying coven’s last hope. “Trust us.”
Jasper sighed as he rubbed Larissa’s back worriedly but placed his hand on hers without protest. The Duchess hesitated, glancing around them to where her knights rushed about, cleaning up the campsite and stomping out the charred remains of their assailants. She spotted Lieutenant Hadley, standing at a distance surveying them with a frown, and called out to him, “Tell the Colonel, I’ll be back.”
Hadley blinked in confusion, then took a step forward as Kirsi placed her hand over Jasper’s and Larissa’s. The bog witch activated the spell on the bottle, whisking them away in the blink of an eye, startling both the Lieutenant and the crow perched on a nearby tent that squawked furiously as it took to the sky, soaring quickly back to the manor.
❆❆❆❆❆
The sound of waves and singing seagulls greeted Carina as her feet sank into the shallow waves and damp sand of an unfamiliar coastline that stretched out across the sapphire sea. She blinked in surprise as the water witches withdrew their hands. Jasper turned to follow Larissa, who moved up the shore towards a breathtaking wall of giant cliffs that disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. Scattered specks of white soared in and out of the misty shadows far above them while a few of the noisy gulls nested in the rugged cracks closer to the shoreline.
The Duchess lowered her gaze from the formidable heights and focused on the strange rocky terrain, which seemed to move and even—clatter—as they drew closer. She quickly realized why as the strange crustaceans, which oddly resembled tiny skulls up close, rose up onto their hind legs, their pale front claws open and outstretched as they glided towards the bog witch, emitting a bizarre buzzing sound that resembled a low demonic growl.
Although Carina didn’t hear Larissa utter a spell, the large crabs suddenly stilled, their black and white shells lowering to the ground submissively as their claws closed and folded almost reverently. The bog witch stopped less than a foot away from the thousands of unmoving crustaceans that appeared to be guarding the cliffside. She turned and held out her hand to Jasper, who clasped it with a familiarity that suggested a deep bond of trust.
“Meet our resident ghost sentinels,” Larissa commented as the Duchess joined them. “Please be respectful. If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.”
Carina raised her brows but nodded. “And where are we exactly?”
The Huntsman glanced towards the bog witch with a faint laugh before responding, “We are in Strugna, your Grace. Welcome to the Cliffs of Sacrifice.”
The Duchess arched her brow at the imposing name, then glanced at the army of crabs as they emitted a low rattling hiss before skittering to the side, creating a path in front of Larissa that led towards the rocky foot of the cliffs. She sighed as the pair continued their mysterious journey but followed along patiently, hoping there was more to this than just sightseeing.
It was only halfway through the moving field of miniature skulls that she realized what the crabs were guarding. A few raised platforms lay along the sandy beach, adorned with seashells, tattered garments, and the white bones of humans—or possibly witches—crawling with the same clattering shells of skulls.
Jasper noticed her confusion and quickly supplied an explanation. “It’s a tradition passed down by sea witches. We offer our dead to the sea in thanks for the bounty, protection, and power she gives us.”
“By sea, you mean—Arachne?”
The Huntsman’s lips twisted mirthlessly. “There are some who cannot distinguish between the two but—no. I’m afraid the Goddess of the Deep holds little value in the empty shells of mortals.”
“Her appetite leans more towards living sacrifices,” Larissa added with a dry chuckle. “Anyway, we are here.”
Carina raised her gaze to the white cliff walls directly before them and blinked as a glittering door took shape before fading away to reveal the mouth of a large cave. Two men, dressed similarly to Larissa, stood on the other side holding spears that appeared more suited to fishing than battle. They bowed before the bog witch, who entered the cave still holding Jasper’s hand.
Feeling oddly out of place in her eye-catching ice armor, the Duchess trailed quietly behind them as the pair entered what appeared to be a crypt. All along the cave’s walls were hundreds of small, recessed shelves that held human skulls accompanied by various colorful seashell necklaces.
Carina’s shoulders tensed beneath the unsettling memory of meeting the unforgiven trapped below Gilwren Forest. She shook her head and focused instead on the runes along the cave wall that seemed to be lined with a blue luminescent algae, lighting the way toward the back of the shrine, where an open doorway led them into a much larger room filled with at least thirty water witches and a large glowing pool of seawater.
The voices of the water witch coven appeared to cover the sound of their approach as Larissa paused in the doorway to observe them. Men and women of all ages were either sewing nets, swimming playfully in the pool, or brushing and braiding each other’s hair. Most of them were dressed similarly to Larissa, though a few wore garments comparable to those worn by commoners in Lafeara.
It was the single child amongst the witches, playing with a sea urchin at the shallow end of the pool, who noticed them first and squealed out, “It’s the Seer!”
The witches stilled and turned to look at Larissa before wordlessly bowing their heads toward the bog witch.
‘The Seer?’
“Kirsi, meet my Coven, the Forsaken,” Larissa announced as she released Jasper’s hand and stepped further into the room, gesturing toward the silent water witches.
Carina pressed her lips together as she gazed across the bowed heads and then focused her attention on the mysterious pair before her. “Why am I here?”
“To show you what it is we are fighting for,” the bog witch replied, her brows furrowing as she turned to circle the small glowing pool leading the way to yet another tunnel door. “There are hundreds of caves like this one hidden along the cliffs. They are filled with my people, Arachne’s forsaken. Cursed with the blood of eels by the witches of Sloverga from birth and rejected by the proud sea witches of Strugna.”
The Duchess glanced over at the Huntsman, who offered her an encouraging nod before they both followed after their quickly moving guide. Larissa led them down a winding tunnel into a small dark empty room lined with seashells where a simple stone slab served as both bed and table. The bog witch took yet another bottle from her belt. She shook it, awakening what Carina guessed to be invisible bioluminescent plankton that offered a pale blue light to their humble surroundings.
“We can speak freely here,” Larissa announced as she set the bottle on the table, then pulled out a chair made of driftwood and dry seaweed, which she offered to the ice witch.
Carina accepted the seat awkwardly, grateful the tour had ended but filled with even more questions than before.
“To start,” Jasper began, appearing just as uncomfortable if a bit more anxious as he leaned against the doorframe beside Larissa. “You spoke of this before—about—Jasper not being my true name.”
The Duchess nodded slowly as she crossed her legs and then her hands patiently against them.
“In truth, we almost met before, years ago, when you first reached out to the Strugna court to open a trade agreement as Frost.”
Carina blinked in surprise, caught off guard but equally intrigued.
“I was curious about this mysterious investor who possessed such a keen insight into the future,” Jasper continued, absently rubbing his fingers together. “So when the Royal Consort turned down your request, I followed your captain back to his ship and disguised myself as a member of his crew until he met with you in Lafeara.”
“You—” Carina’s hands tightened against her ice armor as she recalled the many attempts Frost and Captain Austin had made to open a trade line for Strugna’s rare medicinal herbs. They only managed to secure a foothold in the foreign kingdom’s trade market after three years when Strugna’s Crown Prince rose to power to challenge the Royal Consort. “You are—Prince Llyr?”
He smiled and nodded in affirmation. “I would have never made the connection between Frost and the new Duchess of Bastiallano had I not come to see you myself. And to think—all this time—the Scarlet Witch stood before me.”
“The last time we spoke,” Carina replied slowly, eager to move the conversation to more pressing matters. “You mentioned a promise that I made to Strugna’s royal family?”
“Yes,” Llyr responded after a moment, his voice tight with unreadable emotion.
“You realize that your father was unable to hold up his end of the bargain.”
The Crown Prince clenched his fist silently as his seal-grey eyes lowered to the stone slab before her. “Yes.”
“But we can offer you a new deal, Kirsi,” Larissa interjected, stepping forward to face the ice witch confidently.
“Something equal to your request that I kill your goddess?” Carina replied neutrally as she folded her arms.
The bog witch smiled, her cerulean-blue eyes darkening as she seemed to gaze into the ice witch’s soul. “It’s not easy to weigh the life of one friend against the lives of thousands of strangers.”
The Duchess’s clenched her jaw as she inhaled slowly. “Just tell me what it is you’re offering. And please—speak plainly.”
The darkness slowly faded from Larissa’s eyes as she smiled apologetically. “Forgive me. I impose no judgment, only insight. As to what we can give you, the Crown Prince and I would like to extend an offer of Strugna’s allegiance and support, both in your quest to eradicate Lafeara’s witch plague as well as your continued quest to challenge the six gods.”
“And in return, you would have me kill Arachne?”
“The moonlit path to immortality requires the death of a god, does it not?”
‘They don’t call her a Seer for no reason. She seems to know more about the world of gods than even Percy.’ Carina tapped a finger against her arm slowly, then nodded.
“Then our goals serve each other,” Larissa replied with what might have been a genuine smile of relief. “Why shouldn’t we work together?”
“How does ending Lafeara’s plague serve you?”
“Revenge,” Llyr growled, drawing the Duchess’s gaze back to him. “We know the witch responsible for Lafeara’s plague—because the same bitch used Arachne’s blight to kill my father and elder brother.”
The Duchess uncrossed her legs as she turned towards him fully. “Who is it then?”
“One of Arachne’s three daughters,” Larissa answered, placing a comforting hand on the Crown Prince’s chest. “The Eel Witch, Morgana.”
Carina stood up quickly, the first real flicker of hope stirring unbearably in her chest as she approached the startled pair. “So then, how do we find this eel witch?”
“That’s—the thing,” Larissa replied slowly. “It’s likely that you’ve already met her.”
“What?”
“The curse she placed on your maid—I mean, Lady Ivy,” Llyr explained. “It’s not something she would have done casually in passing. Ivy was chosen—”
“Because of me?” The Duchess clenched her jaw as they fell silent and closed her eyes, replaying the details of the tentacle witch attack that Ivy had described. “You’re right. I do know who she is—but I don’t know how to find her.”
“We can help with that,” Larissa replied reassuringly.
“How?”
“I should be able to track her to some degree using the same curse she placed on your friend.”
“And, if we work together to slow the spread of this witch plague, we might be able to lure Morgana out of hiding,” Llyr continued eagerly as he slid his arm around Larissa’s shoulder. “We have a plan—though I can’t guarantee its success—”
“I’m in,” Carina growled as she held out her hand. “Where do we start?”
“So trustful,” Kirsi snickered cynically as the Crown Prince hurriedly stepped forward to shake the ice witch’s hand. “Have you learned nothing from my memories?”
‘You made a deal with them first.’
“I made a deal with the boy’s father, a King. I would never in a thousand years strike a deal with a bog witch.”
The Duchess glanced towards Larissa, who clutched Llyr’s arm with an expression of unadulterated joy as the pair exchanged looks only soulmates could share. “I do, however, have one condition before we proceed.”
A flicker of hesitation surfaced behind the bog witch’s cerulean blue eyes even as Strugna’s Crown Prince responded eagerly, “Anything, Kirsi.”
-
♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
Chapter 48: An Anchoring of Trust
Carina felt strangely delirious as she opened her eyes to the blinding sunlight that breached the pale blue clouds that stretched lazily above her, casting a halo of light around her vision. She blinked slowly, mesmerized by the woman kneeling over her, whose bright blue eyes and smiling face glowed with warmth and familiarity. A tingle of pain ran down her neck as a cough sprang up the back of her throat, opening her lungs fully.
When she opened her eyes again, the shrouded wall of men kneeling around her was all she could see. The Duchess blinked up at them slowly. The unsettling sensation of coming from somewhere—of losing time, tickled against her brain as the smell of smoke, blood, and rain crashed against her awakening senses.
The muddy, pale faces of her knights, Colonel Isaac in particular, took shape around the Duchess as she raised her head carefully from the cold hard earth below. They were all drenched and in various states of disorderly dress, though only a handful looked as if they had rushed straight from their beds without grabbing a single piece of their armor kit.
“You’re awake, your Grace,” Isaac murmured with relief as she turned to regard his pale wet hair curiously.
“Yes, but—why am I on the ground?”
“You don’t remember?”
The Duchess frowned as she pressed her hands against the dirt. Her muscles were stiff and weak as if she’d slept in far too long. The Colonel placed a hand against her back, supporting Carina as she sat up. She rested there a while, embarrassed and confused, and then brushed a hand against the back of her skull to check for any unexplained lumps.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve woken up after being knocked unconscious…no wait, that’s Kirsi…not me….’
“Let’s give her some space,” Isaac called out, prompting Lieutenant Quinn to usher the men away.
The knights shuffled back to a more reserved distance, clearing her line of sight to the half-collapsed, smoldering military tent behind them. Carina immediately connected the dots as she grabbed the back of her neck where the bog fly had bitten her, then swung her gaze back to the Colonel questioningly.
“Our Huntsman, Jasper, brought a bog witch to save you,” Isaac explained, standing up fully before offering his hand to her. “She drew out the poison, but there’s—we have a new complication to deal with.”
The Duchess accepted his hand, allowing the Colonel to pull her to her feet and steady her as Carina took in the unfamiliar woman standing only a few yards to their left, cornered by none other than Captain Beaumont.
Of all the witches Carina had seen in Lafeara, this young woman’s waist-length red braids, black scale armor, and pale skin lined with dark veins certainly looked the part. A corded belt that appeared to be made of green and purple seaweed adorned her waist, clinking with a colorful assortment of shells, fish skulls, and various small bottles that contained foamy, murky water, though one appeared to hold sand and a few moving, small crustaceans.
The bog witch stood rigidly with a pale hand pressed over her mouth, her expression somewhere between terrified and needing to vomit. The Knight Captain, who stared her down with a threatening glare, appeared unphased as he held the tip of his sword against her sternum.
Beside the Duchess, Lumi whined petulantly as she wiggled her snout under Carina’s hand for attention. The sound drew Beaumont’s gaze towards them, draining the cold, threatening energy from his eyes as his shoulders relaxed.
“Captain, what are you doing?” Carina pressed cautiously as she took a few steps towards them, shrugging off Isaac’s cautioning grip and dismissing her scriva. “This lady is our guest. More to the point, she has done me a great service by removing poison left by Arachne’s assassins.”
“She is one of Arachne’s chosen,” Beaumont growled as his violet eyes returned to the bog witch frozen before him. “Her true intentions will always be in service of her goddess.”
“Arachne chose me, not the other way around,” the bog witch hissed through clenched teeth. She quickly hid her mouth, grimacing as a thin black substance seeped free and spread along her gums.
“You lie! I know eel blood when I smell it, sea witch!”
“What are you doing?”
The Duchess turned to where the perspiring Huntsman raced towards them, Lieutenant Hadley not far behind, leading, of all things, two reluctant cows in their direction with the help of a few other knights.
‘Why—cows?’
“Get your sword away from her!” Jasper snapped as he pushed the bog witch back, stepping protectively between her and the Knight Captain’s blade. “Larissa is not your enemy!”
‘I need to control this situation before it gets out of hand. While I’m inclined to trust Beaumont’s instinct, these two are my best chance at coming up with a decent strategy to vanquish a witch plague.’
“Captain Beaumont put away your sword,” Carina intoned authoritatively, circling the witches towards the royal knight, who flinched with uncertainty as she placed her hand on his sword arm. “If she wanted me dead, she more than had her chance just now. She took a greater risk helping me.”
Beaumont turned his violet eyes towards her questioningly. The Duchess offered a smile of reassurance as she moved her fingers to his sword hand and guided the blade down slowly.
“Thank you.”
“Kirsi!” The sudden crushing arms of Hana wrapped themselves around Carina as the Duchess staggered away from the knight captain. “Are you alright? Captain Silas took us to the manor but wouldn’t say what was happening.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Carina replied, her answer muffled by the folds of the Viscountess’s night robe and her loose golden curls. “All is well. Captain Silas made the right choice. I just—” the Duchess grunted with effort as she attempted to pull Hana’s arms away, “—have a few things to sort out with the knights and our guests. Why don’t you and Ivy get dressed and prepare for breakfast?”
The Viscountess slowly relaxed her grip, blinking back tears as she took a step back to examine the ice witch critically. Carina offered her a brief smile of assurance before turning her attention to Ivy, who stood huddled in her own bedrobe, examining the aftermath of their brief but violent clash with Arachne’s minions.
‘So much for a relaxing vacation before Ivy starts her new life as a school matron.’
The Duchess grimaced before turning her attention to the man beside her friend. “Thank you, Captain Silas. How are things up at the manor?”
“The staff were concerned by our unexpected arrival and state of dress,” Silas responded sheepishly as he scratched his head. “They informed Viscount Gilwren, who was most insistent with his questions. I couldn’t think of a convincing excuse so—”
“Lady Kirsi, your—tent?” Ivy murmured, still apparently in a state of shock as she pointed towards the smoldering structure. “Your clothes and—shoes!”
“Ahh, yes,” Carina murmured absently, shaking her head as she turned to Colonel Isaac. “Could you have the men salvage whatever they can find?”
‘I’m going to need more than a nightgown and ice armor to get through the rest of this absurd holiday.’
“Kirsi—what is one of them doing here?” Hana demanded suddenly, her voice threateningly low as her turquoise-blue eyes narrowed in on Larissa.
‘Now Hana has a problem with her too?’
“Look, I think we should really discuss how we’re going to deal with this?” Silas interjected bluntly, speaking over the Viscountess. “I don’t think we’ll be able to cover up something of this scale.”
“We can’t just openly say we were attacked by a group of bog witches out of nowhere,” Lieutenant Hadley argued with a shake of his head. “There are already enough rumors about the Duchess—”
“We should focus our efforts on making sure we’re better prepared for the next attack if—when they come back,” reasoned Lieutenant Quinn.
“We can’t keep his Majesty in the dark about this either,” Silas argued emphatically. “And with this, we have a justifiable reason to end this pretentious royal hunt, get the royal family safely back to the capital, let them deal with the nobles there, and then fortify ourselves at Bastiallano.”
“We will do whatever the Duchess decides,” Isaac growled, passing the Bastiallano Captain a warning glare.
“Whatever you decide! Why are you discussing it out in the open—in front of them?!” Hana interjected, the venom in her voice startling the Duchess from the barrage of problems and conversations happening all around her.
“Your Grace,” Beaumont murmured, squeezing past the Viscountess towards her. “I’d like a word.”
“Stop! Just stop!” Carina snapped, raising her hands, half tempted to freeze them all in place for a few minutes just so she could think. Her strained voice hushed the murmurs of knights waiting all around them as Isaac and his officers straightened and fell into a respectful silence. “I realize that a lot has happened—on top of the mess of issues we already have to deal with—but handling it like this is not the answer!”
The Duchess exhaled slowly, avoiding Beaumont’s confused look as she turned to address her officers in turn. “Captain Silas, you will resume today’s security for the manor and royal family as planned. Please see to it each patrol is properly prepared, and any losses from this morning—are filled with the appropriate men.” The Captain nodded, looking faintly deflated as he bowed his head. “While you are monitoring his Majesty, you will keep me informed of his every move and notify me immediately if there are any plans to resume the hunt or return to the Capital early. No one is to speak of what has occurred here this morning to anyone without my permission. Is that understood?”
The knights all nodded in obedient silence as Carina cast her glance over their grim and resolute faces.
A weak and muffled groan pulled the Duchess’s attention to where Larissa stood, partially collapsed in the Huntsman’s arms.
“I—we need to deal with this!” Jasper blurted out, concern ringing through every word.
“Lieutenant Hadley, please see to it our guests have everything they need,” Carina ordered swiftly. “I will speak to them later once Lady Larissa has recovered.”
The bog witch raised her murky blue eyes to meet the Duchess’s with a cynical, baffled snort before her hand dropped weakly to her chest. The black stain that coated her lips and chin and the dark veins spreading down her jaw and neck sent a shiver down Carina’s spine.
‘It’s—almost the same as Ivy’s curse. Perhaps—’
Jasper wasted no time as he lifted his companion into his arms and rushed towards the cows, lowing impatiently as they wandered back in the direction of their field. Lieutenant Hadley snapped a quick salute to the Duchess before jogging after them.
Carina exhaled worriedly, hope and fear clawing against reason and caution as she glanced toward Ivy before turning her tired gaze to Colonel Isaac.
The previous Commander of Bastiallano’s knights offered her a quick nod of understanding before turning to address his men. “Lieutenant Quinn, continue seeing to our wounded and dead. Those of you not on shift recovery or scheduled to patrol this morning report to the Lieutenant. Get yourselves properly dressed, and then get this camp organized! I don’t want to see a single bug, dead or alive, within a mile of us! Sergeant Darnell, organize the Duchess’s belongings, list down any damaged items that need to be replaced, and carry whatever you can salvage to the manor.”
“I-I can—help with that,” Ivy offered timidly as she raised her hand.
“That would be most helpful. Thank you, my Lady.”
“You are moving Lady Kirsi back to the manor?” Hana questioned quickly.
“We do not have another tent appropriate for her Grace to use in the field,” Isaac replied before meeting the Duchess’s questioning stare. “And stone walls make a better barrier against—rain and pests.”
“All the same,” Carina murmured. “Prepare a temporary tent for me here. I don’t think it would be wise to meet so openly with our guests in front of the nobles.”
“Perhaps if we offered her different clothes to wear?” Ivy suggested, her voice barely loud enough to register.
“Perhaps.” The Duchess glanced awkwardly to where Beaumont stood silently as if waiting his turn to be addressed. “Ivy, you and Hana should see to your things as well. Your tents might have been damaged in the skirmish—get dressed and then start moving our things into the manor. Just tell the Viscount the storm did some damage, and we decided it would be better to take him up on his offer of shelter. I’ll join you in just a moment.”
“But—Wait, Kirsi!” Hana protested as the ice witch turned to address the royal knight.
“Captain Beaumont, I would also like to speak to you privately for a moment if you’d care to follow me?”
The knight captain nodded silently, his expression reserved as the Duchess walked towards him. It was only when Carina absently reached for his arm before correcting herself and simply striding past him that she saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly with the hint of a smile.
❆❆❆❆❆
“I’ll be quick,” Carina began promptly, only stopping to face him after they had walked to the edge of the camp. “I need to know what Nicholas is planning. There is too much at risk with a private army of mercenaries standing idly on one side and now more than one group of hostile witches appearing out of nowhere. This is no longer a safe jaunt through the woods to blow off steam, the royal family could very well be in danger.”
Beaumont nodded slowly as he turned to survey the busy camp of knights behind them. “Marquess Borghese claims his target has always been the Crown Princess. According to his testimony, the fire witches your men encountered were sent by a member of the Ventrayna Royal family—although who and why, the Marquess would not say.”
‘Is that what happened in the original timeline? I thought Acheron’s death was strange, especially if it was Lord Marco who was the foreign noble arrested, but what if Eleanora was the true target? Lord Marco is part of her hunting group along with Lord Acheron.’ Her brows knitted in confusion as each theory only presented more questions. ‘But why set Marco up if foreign witches were to blame? Also, Maura didn’t mention anything about the Crown Princess being in any danger during the Royal Hunt, though—she was stuck at Rose Palace while the royal couple was away.’
“What does Nicholas intend to do then?” Carina exhaled tensely. “Targeting Eleanora is still an attack on the crown—not to mention the risk to national security if Ventrayna were to use this as an excuse to invade….”
“That—I don’t know,” Beaumont admitted reluctantly. The disinterest in his voice irked the Duchess, who narrowed her gaze at him in disbelief. “I can only tell you what I’ve witnessed and overheard, your Grace. His Majesty has been in talks with Viscount Norley on more than one occasion. The Viscount serves as a temporary representative of Duke Hargreve. There was talk of punishing the Marquess for a lesser crime—and the suggestion of Nicholas taking Lady Priscilla as a Consort to appease the Royal Faction and Lord Stryker.”
Carina stared at him in disbelief, momentarily distracted by the detachment in his voice as Beaumont spoke of his own father, then slowly registering what it was he actually said. “Wait—are you saying—the Marquess is going to get away with it?!”
“Not entirely. I believe Nicholas intends to strip the Marquess of his title and power—”
“—yes, while in the same breath granting Borghese and the Duke more power by making Priscilla a Consort!” The Duchess turned away, folding her left arm across the elemental chest plate as she pressed the cold fingers of her right hand against her lips. “Is this a move against me? Is Nicholas trying to ensure that I, and by extension, the Noble Faction remain the weaker of the two? Does he—” she paused, returning her ice-blue eyes to the knight captain, “—know that I’m a witch?”
Beaumont frowned as he considered her question. “It’s possible that Nicholas suspects, but—he’s made no mention of it in my presence.”
‘Then, if he does know or is at least suspicious, Nicholas is circling around the issue. His stance beside Eleanora last night seemed to suggest that he still wants to maintain a balance of power between the two factions while ruling over both. So, letting the Marquess off and marrying Priscilla is what—another attempt to maintain influence over one party while appeasing their opponents?’
The Duchess pressed her fist against her lips with a groan before dropping her head in exasperation.
“I will say that although Nicholas criticized your arrest of the Marquess and his nobles, he stands firm in his support of you as Duchess,” Beaumont added as if hoping to reassure her. “The Crown Prince has been pinned in his entire life by one force or another. He views you favorably as an ally that can help him obtain a bit more freedom and power.”
“So, is he afraid of the nobles, or is it just Duke Stryker? Because rewarding someone for breaking the law isn’t much of a deterrent to stop them from trying again!”
“I think Nicholas just wants to avoid the possibility of a rebellion on any front before his coronation.”
‘That makes sense. Challenging the Royal Faction now could lead to problems that would drag over into his coronation. But once Nicholas becomes King…no, if he was planning to weaken the Royal Faction permanently, he wouldn’t make the Duke’s niece his Consort.’ Carina shook her head as she crossed her arms and paced restlessly beside the knight captain. ‘This is a disaster either way. Priscilla became a Royal Consort after the Royal Hunt in Maura’s timeline. Her entry into the palace was the beginning of the Crown Princess’s downfall. And Eleanora’s brief disappearance and death happen only a few days after Nicholas is crowned king, forcing the Pope to extend his visit.’ The Duchess spun in place, reversing the direction of her tight circle as she compared recent events to those of Maura’s past life. ‘Small events may have been altered or averted, but the main events that led to Maura’s execution appear to be falling into place.’
“So what?” Kirsi murmured, stirring irritably beneath Carina’s troubled thoughts. “You got Hana away from her for a reason. Let Eleanora sink or swim on her own.”
“Your Grace?” Beaumont pressed cautiously as he inched towards the smothered circle of grass left beneath her pacing feet. “If there is anything else I can do to help?”
“No.” The Duchess sighed as she slowed to a halt, then turned to face him. “Thank you, Captain, for being open and honest with me.”
He took a step closer, smiling slightly as he eyed the new streaks of white spilling out of her ash-brown hair. “I told you I won’t lie or hurt you.”
“Then, can you also keep Larissa’s identity and presence here a secret for me?” Carina watched as his violet eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched before he looked away and nodded silently. “Thank you, Beaumont.” The knight captain’s focused gaze drew her attention toward the line of knights baring covered stretchers, carrying the dead towards the edge of the forest where they were laid out for burial preparations. “Oh, one more thing, Captain.”
Beaumont raised a brow as she stepped up beside him.
“The scout that encountered the fire witches said there was a royal knight among them acting as a messenger for the Marquess.”
His violet eyes hardened with understanding as he straightened and sighed. “So, the Royal Knights has a traitor in our midst.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but—the scout didn’t get a good look at him.”
“This was yesterday morning?”
The Duchess nodded.
“I should be able to narrow it down,” Beaumont replied with a hint of frustration. “Though it will take some time to dig up any connections they might have with the Marquess. If your scout remembers any other details—”
“Sergeant Cooper’s been sleeping mostly, but if he does remember anything else, I’ll let you know,” Carina promised as her gaze moved to the cloud of crows swooping low over the vibrantly swaying green crown of Gilwren Forest.
‘Now then, before the next unexpected crisis, I should speak to our guests.’
-
Chapter 87: A Pure-Blood Devil
Nero’s armor pulsed as his boots sank with a crunch into the screeching pile of burning hellspawn. The conflagration of crawling scorpions swarmed up his torso as their tails struck against the scarlet armor like a thousand tiny needles. A flash of magic spiraled out from the witch hunter’s armor with devastating effect as it scattered the hell fiends across the church. Nero used the boost from the enchantment’s kickback to cartwheel away from the twin flame serpents that dove after him, snapping at the air beneath his chin and grazing his heel.
The chapel’s air, once frigid with frost, now rippled as the temperature climbed dangerously high. The witch hunter resettled a safe distance away and pulled up the scarf at his neck, which he secured over his mouth and nose. “Guess that’s my cue to get serious.”
“Your ice isn’t an enchantment,” Ghost spat venomously. For a moment, the ghoul’s dark eyes flickered red. “You’re a witch!”
“Half-right, pure-blood,” Nero retorted as he dodged another cross-bolt and vaulted over the corner of a pew. A shadow moved in the corner of his eye. Nero barely raised an ice wall before two unseen assassins scraped its surface with their deadly knives.
‘Shadow guards? Right—this was the Emperor’s son, after all.’
“Ho?” the witch hunter chuckled darkly. “So much for a one on one eh, little prince?” He turned to find the pure-blood gone. Instinct sent him diving to the side as the burning blade singed dangerously close to his throat. The sword’s glowing red steel hissed through the witch hunter’s braids that caught fire even as they were cut clean through.
Nero rolled to his feet and put a few more pews between them as he dampened the flames in his hair with ice magic. “You’re not exactly fighting fair, your Highness.”
‘Fighting this bastard up close will only get me roasted one piece at a time.’
“Victors write history,” Ghost mocked as he circled the pews after the witch hunter. “The dead don’t get a say. The church should have plenty of experience with this philosophy. Still, if you want to complain before you die, who am I to deny a dead man’s last request.”
‘Pretentious little brat!’
“I would write that on your tombstone, your Highness, but witches don’t require graves,” Nero retorted as he drew his enchanted dagger. The Witch Star flared against his skin as Nero extended his arm. An ice shaft formed in the air beneath his fingers and closed around the hilt of his dagger. He swung his newly forged frozen spear through the air and leveled it at the pure-blood. “Ready when you are, bastard prince.”
Ghost snorted. “Half-witch or not, I’ve never understood why your kind would serve a religious institution that has persecuted witches and half-witches for centuries. Is it out of spite, jealousy, or inferiority?”
“Do you want a fight or a history lesson?” Nero snarked back as he deflected another cross-bolt with his spear.
They launched towards each other. Fire and ice clashed and hissed against steel as the room filled with mist and sparks. Every impact of their blades sent a wave of heat crashing into Nero’s armor, that flared as it repelled the dangerous magic.
At first, Nero thought the pure-blood was toying with him. Most witches relied on the power of their magic rather than the limitations of a blade or weapon. Still, each of Ghost’s attacks came with a lethal force intent on shattering the witch hunter’s defenses.
‘Why is he holding back? If it weren’t for his skills as a swordsman, I might have the advantage. Unfortunately, I don’t have his unlimited magic to pull from.’
The armor flared a dull gray, the protective enchantment already dangerously exhausted. Nero retreated as he flipped pews into the pure-blood’s path with his spear. His attempts to slow his opponent proved futile as Ghost shattered the benches beneath his sword like dry kindling.
“The ferocity of a pure-blood’s magic is not to be underestimated. They are a living cataclysm of unholy destruction.”
There was only one witch hunter in existence who had defeated a pure-blood alone—the commander of the Witch Hunter Order, the Pope’s right hand, and Nero’s mentor.
‘And I am not him,’ Nero realized bitterly as he struggled to keep the pure-blood before him at bay. The flame serpents had become wings that now boosted Ghost’s speed and the power behind his attacks.
‘Fuck at this rate—’ Nero swung his spear up to meet the descending sword of fire. The power behind Ghost’s attack nearly took the witch hunter to his knees. The air howled and twisted beneath their feet, as the sanctified stone floor of the church cracked and caved beneath the impact.
The chink in Nero’s armor widened as he struggled to remain upright. The spear shuddered against his hands as the sweat dried upon his brow. The enchantments of his rings had long burned out, and his magic was running dangerously low.
“Pulchritudo dolore,” Nero hissed as he glared across the fragmenting spear into the ghoul’s demonic eyes that now glowed orange.
“I smell fear, witch hunter,” Ghost taunted behind the ghoul’s leer as the witch hunter’s weapon dripped and hissed water onto the cracked floor beneath them.
Nero smirked as the Witch Star’s hidden power flooded through him and shifted the temperature around them once more. Magic flowed through the spear as the fractures closed, and the weapon was made whole once more. Ice reclaimed the caved church floor and rose to form a frozen prison shell around them.
Ghost laughed even as frost wove vines across his mask and black-leather armor. “I’m feeling a bit underwhelmed, witch hunter,” he muttered with a twinge of disappointment. “Cinis Cinerem.”
The flame serpents shifted as they recoiled around Ghost’s extended arm and lunged into the witch hunter’s face. Nero retreated and smacked against the walls of the ice prison. He ducked below the demon’s deadly bite and thrust his spear beneath their glowing bodies up into the pure-blood’s exposed chest.
His pivotal moment of victory shattered as Ghost caught the spear in his bare hand and snapped the weapon in half.
‘Too strong—too fucking strong!’
“What kind of devil are you?” Nero growled as the remaining shaft in his hand crackled like dry paper and evaporated into thin air. The enchanted dagger fell to the floor beside him, dull and muted—stripped of its enchantment.
The blue ghoul’s mask tilted as the pure-blood stalked closer. “Ask the goddess of death when you meet her.”
The serpents swelled in size and merged into a demonic visage that made even Nero’s blood run cold. He rolled to the side as the hell beast bashed its skull through the already splintering ice walls.
Nero retreated as the ice prison evaporated behind him. He flinched when the Foxes resumed their ranged attacks on him from above. His weakened armor did little to protect him now as arrow after arrow bit into his backplate. At this rate, the scarlet armor barely had enough magic to hold itself together. Nero took cover behind the nearest column and attempted to locate the archers above.
Shadows shifted in the corner of his left eye. Nero hastily summoned an ice wall around him as the assassins danced closer. “Never underestimate how quickly a battle can turn against you.”
Nero growled as black needles struck the translucent shield and injected their deadly poison into the ice. ‘I can’t keep up against these numbers. Perhaps I should focus on clearing them out first.’
Determined to take out a few more pests before Ghost reached him, Nero summoned another ice spear, lowered his shield, and thrust his frozen weapon towards the nearest shadow guard. A bullet took out his knee and threw the witch hunter off balance against the chapel wall.
Nero barely registered the gray Fox Master, who dipped out of sight through a nearby window. The witch hunter swung his spear wildly at the three shadow guards that closed in. They danced back as he slid down to one knee and blasted them with a wave of ice daggers that managed to take down one of the shadows.
‘How many of these bastards are there?’
His chest constricted painfully as the Witch Star flashed a warning. The fight had already pushed him into the cursed gem’s magic reserve, and now even that was half-way drained.
Nero roared in frustration as he slammed his closed fist against the ground. A sheet of heavy ice coated the floor, carpet, and pews. The shadow guards who weren’t quick enough to escape fell as the ice imprisoned their arms and legs. But before Nero could pick them off, Ghost appeared.
The pure-blood’s footsteps melted the ice below as he swung his sword down and pierced the dense frozen stone. Fire consumed ice as Nero clambered gracelessly to his feet and retreated once more.
‘Fuck you, pure-blood!’ Nero panted with effort and swore as his scarf fell down his face. Shock registered as the first breath of air sank into his lungs—and no scorching pain or death followed. ‘He’s holding back—no, he has to hold back! Fuck, I can use that!’
While the Shadow Guard might have enchanted coverings to shield them from a pure-blood’s toxic magic, the Foxes did not. Even the flames that danced and writhed along the church pews were held carefully in check to avoid the corners of the chapel where the Foxes still lingered.
Nero’s enchanted armor also protected him to some degree from the witch’s flames, but the Foxes wouldn’t survive a direct hit, and even the shadows knew better than to get too close.
Bullets and cross-bolts nicked the witch hunter’s armor as he ran. Nero cursed as pieces of the scarlet plate armor fell away beneath the relentless attacks. ‘I can’t keep this up. At this rate, I’m just a moving target. One lucky shot and even the vermin can take me down.’
Nero took shelter behind another column and attempted to catch his breath. The choices before him were attempt to flee or— ‘Fuck, if those are my only options, I’m dead either way.’ The shadow guards swarmed upon him in an instant, and Nero blasted them with his ice magic once more.
Every time Nero barely managed to thin his opponents by one, Ghost would appear and force him to flee from cover into another fray of bullets and arrows.
Nearly every inch of the church was burning. The smoke that pooled up towards the rafters offered the witch hunter some respite from the archers above, but the flames below severely limited his movements. Nero blasted a path clear with his ice and almost doubled over in pain as the Witch Star flared another warning.
His magic and the passive enchantments holding the scarlet armor together had drained the gem to one-third of its reserves.
‘If this goes on, these bastards will bleed even the Witch Star dry.’
A cross-bolt danced past his nose, and Nero managed to pin another pesky vermin against the wall with an ice dagger. The numbers were finally thinning. Only three foxes remained in the loft above. The Fox Master himself still roamed the floor, guarding the windows below. Five or six shadows also remained, though it was hard to get an accurate count of their numbers. Either way, without magic, Nero couldn’t hope to beat the pure-blood.
‘It was foolish to think I even stood a chance.’
He slid behind the alter of Harmonia and pulled the Witch Star free from his armor. The once blue gem now tinged with red as it drained away at the witch hunter’s life to replace its depleted magic.
‘If you’re going to be that greedy than I’ll make you turn the tide for me with a little bit of chaos.’
-
♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
[Rough Draft] Chapter 29: Those Who Slumber Beneath
“Welcome back, Cousin!” Bromwell greeted leisurely as he waved at Carina from where he lay stretched across a circle of blankets and pillows that had been laid out for a picnic-like lunch. Marco glanced up from his cushioned seat, pillowed against a birch tree. The young Viscount said nothing as he focused on the long-curled smoke pipe in his hand upon which he inhaled deeply, then blew out tendrils of brown smoke into the breeze.
“You look comfortable, Cousin,” Carina murmured as she loosened the buttons of her jacket. The mid-day sun had long smothered away any lingering coolness, even in the shade, which left only the occasional warm breeze to tease the sweat already collecting along her hair, neck, and beneath the uncomfortable fabric of her riding gown.
“Good thing we refilled our canteens,” Hana murmured as she opened hers for a quick drink. “Are we waiting to prepare some sort of lunch, or should we just eat the provisions we prepared?”
“I believe his Majesty said to eat what we brought and prepare to head out soon,” Bromwell answered with a wave towards a grove of trees where Nicholas and the Prime Minister conversed in the shade with Beaumont close at hand. “The crown prince said he wanted to ensure the Duchess started with an impressive number of kills for our first day. Then some missive arrived from the palace.”
Carina raised a hand to shield her eyes as she curiously studied the monarch and Prime Minister. “I see.” She lowered her hand and surveyed the blankets. “Well, we should eat first, then.”
A quick meal of dried sweet fruit, salty nuts, and crunchy bread that needed a bit of water to chew comfortably, soon filled Carina’s stomach. The heat seemed to melt everything in sight. Hana retrieved the umbrella strapped to her saddle, and soon the three of them, Hana, Carina, and Ivy, were curled up against warm silk pillows, sheltered by the waving branches and Hana’s blue, laced parasol.
The smell of grass, flowers, and pine needles mingled with the warm harmony of birds, crickets, and the chatter of the nearby camp site. Carina laced her fingers across her chest and watched as Hana readjusted a few pins that had fallen loose with Ivy’s blonde hair.
“This heat makes me want to sleep,” Carina grumbled. “Or swim in a river.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Nicholas chuckled as he approached their tree. “Sorry to intrude, but Attwood needed to send off a reply for me, so while we’re waiting on his return, I thought Lady Kirsi might like to take advantage of Captain Beaumont’s offer to teach her the crossbow.”
‘Oh, right,’ Carina thought lazily as she sat up.
Beaumont stepped forward and offered his hand, which Carina took after a moment’s hesitation. He pulled the Duchess to her feet easily as a knight brought over Iker’s crossbow.
“Thank you,” Carina murmured as she pulled her hand free from the Captain’s grasp and took knocked the crossbow to the leather strap across her chest. She paused as she became aware of Hana and Ivy studying her curiously. “If either of you would like to come and watch—”
“No,” Hana said far too quickly as she rose to her feet. “I think Ivy and I shall fetch flowers to make a crown for our Goddess of the Hunt.”
“What—flowers?” A baffled Carina stared after the pair as Ivy clasped Hana’s hand willing, and they took off towards the nearest patch of wildflowers. “Hana—”
“If you want us to get any decent amount of practice in, we should head out now,” Beaumont said causally as he adjusted the crossbow strap on Carina’s shoulder.
The Duchess frowned as she turned to face the knight captain and then noticed the crown prince had already moved off to where Marco sat beneath a haze of smoke. “Are we going somewhere?”
“There is a practice field further north,” Beaumont explained as he walked past her. “We can take the horses or walk—”
“If it’s not too far, I’d prefer to stretch my legs,” Carina replied. “But we should bring the horses all the same in case the Prime Minister returns earlier than expected.”
Beaumont nodded his agreement and headed towards the line of tethered horses to retrieve their mounts.
***
“What news did his Majesty receive?” Carina asked curiously after they had walked a fair distance from the rest of the hunting party. Gilwren Manor and the surrounding campsite lay to their left, with only a few servants visible moving from tent to tent as they prepared or served the nobles who had returned from the forest.
“It’s not my place to say,” Beaumont deflected as he nodded towards a path in the trees ahead. “The target field is just up this way.”
“It must have been important if the Prime Minister had to write an immediate reply,” Carina pressed. “Would it—have anything to do with the sickness in the slums—of which I am already aware.”
Beaumont sighed as he unclasped his cloak and tossed the heavy fabric over his horse’s saddle. “The information did relate to the sickness the Duchess discovered in the slums, but—” his violet eyes glanced back at her for a moment before he added, “—that is something you should probably ask his Majesty about.”
A clearing appeared ahead of them, filled with tall golden, green grass. From the branches of two giant oak trees, four target boards tied to a rope swayed lazily in the breeze.
“Here we are,” Beaumont said, already tying his horse to a low-hanging branch.
“Enough of the half-truths and vague helpfulness, Captain!” Carina snapped as she tied off her white stallion and followed after him. “What harm could possibly come from telling me about a sickness that I already know about? And what did you mean earlier about the Marquess not being the only enemy I have in the forest?”
A strong breeze seemed to explode through the trees around them as the targets spun and danced above the wild grass that tangled around carina’s dress and riding boots. The Duchess stopped to shield her eyes from the flurry of pollen, dirt, pine needles, and leaves that pelted her face, neck, and dress mercilessly. Her left eye twitched uncomfortably, and her vision quickly blurred as tears swelled beneath her trembling lashes, forcing Carina to blink rapidly.
“Your Grace?” Beaumont’s voice sounded worried even as he moved to shelter her from the petulant wind.
“I’m fine—I just—the wind blew something into my eye.”
A sigh greeted her ear before Beaumont’s, much closer this time, muttered in a tone of amusement, “You make it impossible not to worry, Kirsi.”
Carina blinked as Beaumont’s arms suddenly lifted her above the grass, and they continued towards the swaying targets. “Why are you—I am perfectly capable of walking, Captain!” she snapped, then hastily adjusted the crossbow so that it pointed away from Beaumont’s left shoulder. Through the annoying tears that still flowed down her left cheek, Carina cast a worried glance over the knight’s shoulder and sighed in relief to find the clearing free from any observers. ‘Perhaps I should have brought Captain Isaac along—he certainly would have given you an earful.’
A few feet later, Carina’s discomfort and embarrassment shifted back to annoyance as she focused her suspicious gaze on the Captain’s face. “Don’t think you can dodge my questions that easily either!”
A smile played across Beaumont’s lips. Then his grip relaxed, and he lowered Carina back down. “Of course not, your Grace. How is your eye?”
Carina blinked cautiously and, finding the discomfort had finally abated, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to dry her cheek. “It’s fine now.”
“Good,” Beaumont murmured.
Carina blinked cautiously as she tested her vision, then started when Beaumont brushed the loose strands of hair away from her eyes. His thumb grazed down her cheek, and a strange pulse seems to quicken inside Carina’s chest and the very earth beneath her feet.
‘He’s too close.’ Carina took a step back, her mind drawn inadvertently to a similar scene where Beaumont knelt in a pile of crumbling earth, fighting off the Death Mark he had taken for her. Carina’s gaze moved from his steady violet eyes to the lips that she had kissed when she infused him with ice magic to cool down the destructive flames burning within him.
A jolt surged through Carina’s chest as she took two hasty steps back, then gasped as Beaumont caught her shoulders and pulled her suddenly against his chest. “What are you—” Her words trail off as a branch snapped loudly in the suddenly quiet forest behind her. Beaumont’s grip tightened, and though Carina can barely move, she could sense that his attention was focused on whatever had made that sound.
The snap of roots, creak of branches, and groans that filtered across the clearing sent a sudden chill down Carina’s spine as she tried, unsuccessfully, to turn her head and look. Beaumont’s right hand pressed against her back while his left moved to blindfold Carina’s eyes.
‘What is it? Why is he—Lumi!’
The Duchess’s eyes shifted white beneath the knight’s hand. Her darkened vision collided with that of five other pairs of eyes. Carina blinked and focused her attention until she found a scriva near their hunting party. With a single nudge, the wolf rose from its watchful guard over Hana and Ivy and raced in the Duchess’s direction.
“Revertere,” Beaumont growled harshly. His tone brittle and hard as his grip tightened around Carina, his arm now folded protectively over her face. “Hoc regnum est!”
Through the wolf’s eyes Carina could see nothing but trees as the wolf raced closer. The scriva fur translucent fur made it so that even if a human glanced in its direction, they would only be temporarily blinded by the light reflecting off the wolf’s body.
‘Hurry!’ Carina urged frantically. Beaumont’s armor pressed against her cheek seemed to resound with her own racing heartbeat as the snaps and groans grew closer and seemed to grow in number. Her hands pressed against Beaumont’s chest plate as the Duchess tried to turn towards the hostile eyes she could feel digging into her back.
The scriva’s vision found them, and Carina stiffened as the wolf skid to a halt. Between the Duchess, knight captain, and the scriva stood three towering tree-like figures. At least, if trees were the color of tar, with monstrous faces carved into their trunk and baren branches that resembled limbs with claw-like fingers.
Unlike the birch, pine, and oak trees around them that all seemed to relish the sunlight, these figures seemed cautious of the light—or rather, they appeared to emanate darkness. The foul stench of rot, decay, and mold perforated the breeze while their gnarled roots slithered and hissed with black smoke whenever a ray of sunlight found its way through the leaves above them.
The arm wrapped around Carina’s face lowered around her shoulders as Beaumont removed his right hand and reached for the long sword at his back. “Revertere!” The threat beneath the knight captain’s commands made Carina tremble.
Through the scriva’s eyes, the Duchess watched as the dark, nightmarish figures dug their way back into the earth. Soon enough, only their black roots remained to swept leaves, dirt, and pine needles overhead to hide any trace of their appearance.
“What-what were they?” Carina asked breathlessly as she pulled away from Lumi’s vision. Beaumont slowly relaxed his grip and stepped back. The Duchess quickly turned but found only a silent field and empty shadows beneath the swaying branches of withered leaves that fell towards the moss-covered forest.
‘Danger,’ Lumi’s voice cautioned with an ominous hint of dread.
“They are called—Darklings,” Beaumont answered grimly, finally breaking the tense silence. “Once—they were witches. But they sacrificed their mind, body, and soul to find immortality. Now nothing of their human form remains except malice, greed, and endless suffering.”
Carina swallowed as she turned back to study the knight curiously. “What did they—”
“The heart of an ice-witch—” Beaumont replied as his violet eyes focused on her, “—is temptation enough to wake even those who slumber deep within the earth.”
The Duchess shivered as she turned back to the shadows, then raised her crossbow and pulled a bolt from her quiver.
“Ax and arrow can’t hurt them,” Beaumont said bluntly as he observed her movements. “Only fire.”
“Haa—” Carina let out a shaky sigh as she snapped the bolt in place. “Then why—did they listen to you?” She turned back towards the knight captain, determined to get an answer this time. “And that language you spoke—you’re a witch, aren’t you?”
“I do not have to be a witch to speak their language,” Beaumont replied with a dismissive shrug of his left shoulder.
“You’re dodging my question again!”
Beaumont met her gaze and then looked away with a sigh. “I’m not a witch or a half-witch.”
Carina blinked, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. “Then—what are you?”
Warm sunlight flooded the clearing once more. Carina welcomed its embrace as it chased away the chill left in the Darkling’s wake. The strong breeze returned to tease Beaumont’s silver-blonde hair as his violet eyes danced towards her and then away.
“Are you—” the knight captain began hesitantly, “—still afraid of me?”
“What?” Carina blinked back at him and scowled in confusion. “No. Should I be?”
A smile of relief overtook Beaumont’s worried expression. The knight captain shook his head quickly and then turned back in the direction they came. “We should head back. It would not be wise to linger here.”
“Haa—” Carina shook her head as she glanced towards the shadows once more uneasily. “Is anywhere in this forest safe?”
“From Darklings?” Beaumont drew in a deep breath. “As long as you stay in the sunlight.”
‘Why do I feel like he’s not telling me everything.’
“We still have three more days to practice your shooting,” Beaumont called over his shoulder as he headed towards their horses. “Besides, Kirsi already knows how to shoot a crossbow.”
“Kirsi?” Carina hissed out sharply. “How do you—Wait!” She trudged through the tall grass that battled against her skirt once more and quickly hopped onto the path left behind the knight captain. “Wait!”
Beaumont drank from his canteen as he waited for her beside the speckled gray warhorse called Titan.
“How do you—know about, Kirsi?” Carina hissed as she caught up to him.
Beaumont let out a dry laugh as he sealed his canteen. “You really aren’t the same as before,” he muttered as he hooked the drink back over his saddle. “And here I thought you choose that name because you wanted to provoke old enemies.”
“What?”
Beaumont leaned against the warhorse with a sigh. “It should be my turn to ask a question.” The knight captain’s violet eyes snapped towards her as he turned and crossed his arms. “How can you be the same person—and yet completely different?”
“I don’t know what you—”
“I know Kirsi, the Scarlet Witch whose name you choose. I know—you!” Beaumont growled as he gestured towards her. “Your soul is unmistakable, Kirsi. But either your memories have been severely altered or—”
Carina’s grip on the crossbow tightened beneath his conflicted stare. “I’m not Kirsi. I’m not—the Scarlet Witch.”
Beaumont’s gaze narrowed, then he sighed and turned back towards Titan. “You are—and you are not. I can see that you are just as confused as I am.”
“How do you—know Kirsi?” Carina asked hesitantly.
“Like you, I also have memories of—other lives,” Beaumont answered quietly as he untied Titan’s reins. “In them, I have either met or at least heard of the Isbrand Witch.” Beaumont pulled his cape from the saddle and adjusted it around his shoulders once more. “Every time I wake up in the past, my memories are submerged—until I meet you again.” He turned, and his violet eyes focused on Carina once more. “You are Kirsi—but this time, you are different. I don’t understand why but—perhaps it has something to do with Maura’s memories?”
Carina shook her head quickly, then looked away. “No, it’s—a bit more complicated than that.”
“Yes. The gods are fond of complicating things,” Beaumont muttered and then let out a heavy sigh. “In any case—I am sorry for my part—in Maura’s death. I wish you did not have to live with that memory.”
Carina stared back at him; guilt and something like relief seemed to ease the tension in her shoulders as she studied Maura’s executioner. “Do you know why—Maura had to die?”
Beaumont sighed and shook his head. “The weeks leading up to her death are still a blur of memories for me—I assume Veles locked them away to prevent me from interfering in this timeline.”
“Veles? The god of wind?”
“Yes. Veles controls the reversal of time.” Beaumont glowered at the breeze that still stirred the forest around them. “Always meddling—trying to alter the past and future.”
“Why?” When Beaumont raised a brow, Carina quickly clarified. “Why does he keep turning back time?”
“Because the gods want—No, they need you to make a choice, Kirsi.”
“What choice?”
A strong rush of wind nearly knocked Carina off her feet as the trees swayed and creaked beneath the furry. Once more, Beaumont pulled Carina towards him, but this time she reacted on instinct and turned to look behind her. The Duchess stared in confusion at the old man standing in the middle of the clearing in dark, worn robes, then started as two blood-red eyes stared from beneath the man’s shroud back at her. From over the specter’s shoulders, two impossibly massive, raven-black wings rose towards the forest’s crown to block out the sun.
“You are breaking the rules!” A ghoulish, vicious voice echoed across the clearing towards them. Behind Beaumont, Titan balked. The warhorse’s body slammed into the tree and jostled against Carina’s white stallion, which yanked frantically against its tether. She barely heard their terrified cries beneath the hurricane of wind that swirled around them with threatening intensity. “You cannot have it both ways. If you want to protect her, then you must choose a side.”
The malicious, powerful gaze shifted from the defiant, unmoving knight captain over to Carina as the sharp cry of a wailing baby filled her ears. “You are running out of time, Kirsi—we are all running out of time. Return your heart to Viktor—or suffer the consequences!”