A sorrow he hadn’t expected, but had desperately hoped to find.
It is said that during the Great War, a common practice when capturing witches and warlocks was to sever their hands. Without them, we are rendered powerless, unable to summon, to shape, to wield our magic.
When a witch city fell, it is said the victors would line the entrance with those severed hands, a grotesque warning to any who survived, a declaration of conquest carved in flesh.
They did unspeakable things to my kin.
But history is always written by the victors.
And we are only ever given their version of the truth.
Tabitha Wysteria
It had taken Elric and Nymeria the better part of the night to finally surrender to sleep. At first, Elric had insisted on taking the first watch, his suspicion of both Kage and Arden evident in the stiff line of his shoulders. The wyverian and the Fae had feigned slumber beneath the dark canopy, exchanging the occasional sideways glance until, at last, the moment came.
Arden shook Kage’s shoulder with a little too much enthusiasm, his eyes alight with mischief. Kage grumbled something inaudible, decidedly unimpressed by the unfolding folly, but refrained from protest. He watched as Elric and Nymeria slept in utter stillness, oblivious to the whisperingscheme. The rainforest was alive with its own music, birds trilling from distant branches, the soft crackle of underbrush disturbed by unseen creatures.
From the shadows, Arden returned clutching a strange, charcoal-coloured leaf, its texture dull and waxy. With careful precision, he held it beneath their companions’ noses for a breath or two. ‘It’ll keep them under for nearly a day,’ he explained, green eyes glinting with the kind of delight that always made Kage uneasy. ‘Long enough for us to slip away unnoticed.’
‘They’ll come after us,’ Kage hissed under his breath.
Arden merely waved the concern aside as one might swat away a fly, then knelt where their bedrolls had once been. Threads of golden magic coiled around his fingers like serpents, and in the blink of an eye, two slumbering figures appeared in their place, mirror images, down to the rise and fall of their chests.
‘An illusion,’ Arden said with a smirk, brushing imaginary dust from his palms. ‘It’ll buy us a little more time.’
Kage grunted his assent, unwilling to waste breath on protest. Instead, his eyes followed Arden’s hand as the strange black leaf vanished into the folds of his green jacket, quietly wondering just how much trouble he’d invited into his path.
‘Ring a bell?’ Arden asked, flashing a mischievous smile. ‘In your lands, it's known as Nightrose. Legend has it the flower first bloomed in the Underworld, a gift of sorrow and memory brought back by the goddess Persephone. She planted it here, in her own domain, as a token to remember the shadows she'd once ruled.’ He chuckled lightly, the sound almost too carefree. ‘We call it something else here. If you breathe in its scent, it lulls you into unconsciousness for hours. Swallow it, though…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You die.’ He crouched to gather their belongings, his movements swift and practised. ‘Except wyverians, of course. Immune to it entirely. I suppose being cursed to stomach rotting food has its uses, however foul it sounds.’
Kage’s jaw tightened. ‘That’s not how it works.’ He ignored the twitch in his muscles, the way his entire body went rigid at the mention of Persephone, a name the world knew, though he had once known her as Freya. The absence of her presence had grown heavier with each passing day. No news. No sign. No summons.
And yet, a quiet part of him was relieved. Because when she did come, it would be with expectations, expectations that he would go to Mal, and persuade her to end Hades' reign with her own hands.
He hadn’t yet worked out how he intended to untangle himself from that fate. He had made a promise, sealed with desperation, to spare Wren's life. But even so, he knew with unshakable certainty that he would never betray his sister. He would lay down his life for her. And if it came to it, if the time arrived and Freya stood in his path with divine wrath, then so be it.
He would fight her.
‘Let’s be off,’ Arden said, slinging his satchel over one shoulder with a casual flourish.
‘Where to?’ Kage asked, brow furrowing. ‘If we keep heading towards Velunthar, they’ll catch up sooner or later.’
Arden tapped his temple with a glint in his eye. ‘Which is precisely why we’re not going to Velunthar.’
Kage’s eyes narrowed as he ignored the sharp peck at his ankle from Spirox, who had swooped down in disapproval or impatience. It was always difficult to tell with the crow. ‘Thenwhere?’
Arden’s mischievous smile curved like a blade. That smile alone told Kage he wasn’t going to like the answer.
‘To Floridia.’
Kage’s frown deepened. ‘The king is in Floridia.’
‘Exactly,’ Arden said with a tilt of his head. ‘Which is why it’s the very last place anyone would expect to find me. We slip into Floridia, and from there, straight on to Wren’s lands.’
Kage glanced back at the slumbering forms of Elric and Nymeria, their breathing deep and undisturbed beneath the spell. Doubt crawled along his spine like frost. Was following Arden truly the wisest path?
As if reading his thoughts, Arden added, ‘Don’t waste sympathy on them. Here’s a lesson you’d do well to remember: never trust a Black Lotus.’
Kage’s frown tightened. ‘What about you?’
