"Thank you, Terrin. Perhaps someday you can teach me how to communicate with these magnificent creatures the way you can…if I'm ever able to return here."
Terrin flashed a genuine smile. With that, she stepped forward into the shadows of the dripping tunnel, where a cold air enveloped her, chilling her skin all over again.
15
Meant to Be
Caramyn
Caramyn walked along the corridor for what felt like hours, looking ahead for any sign of an end to the tunnel. Before long, she found herself facing a dead end.
"Great, Nocthar, now what?" She uttered to the bird on her arm in frustration.
Surveying the walls, she noticed a small latch peeking out from between two stone bricks in the wall. Fearful that there may be guards on the other side, she held her breath as she carefully lifted the latch. The door swung toward her just barely, only an inch or two. Catching it with her hand, she stopped it and held the torch away, so as not to draw any attention to the firelight.She peeked through the opening. It was the castle kitchen, and it seemed empty.
She pushed the door open further and slipped through to the other side. Awaiting her was a wooden table that extended the length of the wall, with pots, cauldrons and pans hanging overhead. Herbs hung drying on a line in the corner. On a large table next to a cutting block, a loaf of bread lay half-wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth, flanked by a small dish of apples.
Caramyn imagined how sweet those autumn apples must taste. After all, she was quite hungry after her encounter with the monster outside, so she plucked up a ripe red apple from the bowl and took a ravenous bite, offering some to Nocthar as well.
Apple and torch in hand, she made her way out of the kitchen and readied herself for a maze through the castle. She kept a watchful eye out for guards, often sending her raven ahead to scope things out before her. There were a handful of moments where she had to tiptoe around, but so far, she found the castle an easy place to sneak through, due to the lack of sentries. It was understandable, since Asterious only had those few at his service who had chosen to follow him. They could only be spread so thin, Caramyn thought.
As she followed the winding corridors through the castle, trying to find her way back to her chambers, she stumbled upon a structure that halted her breath. Two arched towering doors inlaid with pearl and silver beckoned, stretching to the ceiling, intricate symbols of vines, roses, and celestial patterns etched into their surface. She couldn't quell the curiosity that begged to know what grandeur lay on the other side. She pulled the heavy silver handles of one of the doors, only to open to a darkened ballroom. The floor was white marble, with an inlay of a silver crescent moon, and twisting thorns and roses snaking around it, still vibrant through the dust that had settled over it, marking the passage of time. The ivy beginning to overtake thecracks in the walls only added some natural, earthen beauty. The ceiling peaked into an arched dome of glass, open to the night sky above. At the opposite end of the room, a grand staircase carpeted in midnight blue, splitting at the top platform into two balconies held up by opal pillars that wrapped around the great hall. Hovering just above lining the glass roof were glittering diamond chandeliers that might has well have been clusters of starlight.
“Beautiful,” she whispered to herself. It was most certainly Lightborn design. No human could have crafted something so enchanted. Her heart beat fast as she drank in the details and thought of how unfitting it was for her to be standing amongst such grandeur. She was born poor, in a village of such insignificance it rarely even appeared on maps. A place full of people so focused on surviving they hardly had time to notice the crystal white and icy blue eyes of the pregnant half-Lightborn woman who fled there alone to raise her child. A place hidden in the mires along the river separating the Bleak Wilderness from the human lands. A safe place, until it wasn’t—Dawnmire.
Yet now she stood in this ballroom like something pulled from a dream, where once Lightborn nobility and their guests had once filled the air with their laughter, music, and magic. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself the simple indulgence of imagining what it might have been like to steal a glimpse of such a world.
The sound of rhythmic footsteps yanked her from her reverie. She snuffed out her torch and darted to the corner of the grand room, where she hid and waited for the steps to pass.
When the footsteps faded, she sent Nocthar out to ensure it was safe to continue. He was gone for a worrying amount of time, but he finally swooped by with a reassuring croak and tilt of his wing, then disappeared into the darkness of the castle, and where he’d gone, she did not know.
She tiptoed out, back into the main hallway, and slowly recognized the entrance of the castle. She remembered passing the same elaborate opal lined hallways when Asterious and Wryan had first led her to the tower. She knew she was getting close. But how would she get past the guard Asterious had surely placed at her door?
For the first time, she second guessed her immediate instinct to kill. She had felt threatened by each man who crossed into the Shadow Woods, but the thought of a posted guard just following orders didn't make her feel the same way. Plus, it wouldn't be a good look to leave a dead man at her door either. That certainly wouldn't go over well with the prince in the morning.
She crept up the stairs, peering around the rounded corners to catch a glimpse of the guard and make her plan. But to her surprise, there was no one there. Had Asterious lied about the guard to discourage her trying to escape? Or was he yet again just toying with her? Or perhaps Nocthar was keeping the guard busy, which would explain his absence.
Whatever the reason, she didn't care, only counted it a blessing for the moment. As long as she could pick the lock, she'd be fine. She'd done it a handful of times during her trips to Havenswood, when she was desperate enough for food or supplies—mostly in the early months of surviving in the Woods, before she’d learned to acquire coin by looting trespassers. She also worked open small locks on chests or boxes that thieves left behind on occasion, but it had been well over a year since she had to do that.
She took out the bone-shard blade she'd made earlier from where she’d secured it to her thigh beneath her dress. It was a crude tool, but sharp enough to puncture flesh, and thin enough to poke around a keyhole. She worked for a while, growing frustrated as she felt the minutes passed the hour mark. It was imperative to get back into the room before dawn.
Finally, when her fingers were cramping and her neck stiff from glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, the lock clicked, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Proud of herself, she opened the door and entered quietly, her bird suddenly reappearing to join her. Now to clean up all the evidence of her late-night outing and get some rest.
As she closed the door behind her and prayed the lock would reset, she couldn't help but wonder why every step she tried to take away only seemed to draw her back to this castle, to this prince's world, as if maybe even the Shadows wanted her to stay…as if maybe she was meant to be here.
16
Make Her Want to Stay
Asterious
Asterious woke with a thrashing headache that threatened to split him in two. But he swallowed down the pain with disregard, as he was so used to doing. There was work to be done today.
The previous night's rain had left a rolling mist that welcomed that rose to greet the morning as he gazed out his window. The fog climbed so high it swallowed the view, leaving only the faint orange glow of dawn to hint at a new day. He dressed in a charcoal gray undershirt, black jacket and pants, and set out to meet Wryan in the dining hall.
Wyran could be harsh and rigid, but for all his severity, he’s still given Asterious something his father never had—direction. It was Wyran who’d convinced the king to let him train in swordsmanship during all those years he was imprisoned beneath his father’s castle—to ensure he was lethal in every form. And through each scar Wyran had given him, he’d learned control—and that had been the ticket to his freedom. He was a good nineteen years his elder, and Asterious valued his counsel, from the dark depths of his cell in the Blackwynd dungeons to the gilded halls of this Lightborn palace.
He carried on, making his way to the dining hall, where Crisyn, the cook, and her assistant scurried to and fro as they prepared breakfast for the castle. When Crisyn brought him a plate of powdered pancakes with apricot preserves before he'd taken ten steps into the room, he shook his head. "It's really not necessary for you to make all this for us. My men and I would do well to prepare our own plates."
