Page 56 of Red Queen

He chuckles and ignores me.

Our measured steps draw us closer to the cave, to the place where power and peril stroll hand in hand. This is the crucible that will forge our fate or shatter it entirely. And as the banshee’s presence lingers just on the edge of perception, my heart races—not with fear, but with the thrill of the hunt, the sweet anticipation of triumph.

Yet, I temper that. Triumph beckons me to rush in, but that’s the trap. The fear of a banshee is something real, and it thrums hard in my veins. The banshee’s true wail will cause bleeding from the ears and deafness, even deaf if we don’t proceed with the utmost caution.

“Stay close,” Alexandru commands in a low murmur. “The banshee’s cry doesn’t discriminate between ally and adversary.”

I nod, finding his eyes for an instant, and his steady gaze calms the scrabble of panic that’s taken root. The calmness spreads and I nod again. “I’m ready.”

With torches held high, we step into the inky depths of the cavern. The air tastes of ancient earth and sorrow. Our flames flutter against the jagged walls. The banshee’s lamentation carves through the cold, a haunting melody that wraps around my spine. It’s a sound of mourning, of rage trapped within stone.

And I understand her wail because it matches my own. All my mistakes, the mess of my relationship with my realm,Alexandru. My abject cruelty. Everything comes at me, crushing down until I can barely breathe.

“Eleanna?”

“Her grief is fathomable,” I whisper, the echo of my voice alien to me in this place.

“Focus, Eleanna. The mirror must be here.”

Alexandru’s hand brushes against mine, a fleeting contact that warms my body. It’s all it takes to ground me, at least enough to focus on the task, to pull myself from the well of despair opening in me, most of which is the work of her song of grief and loss and all the dark, lonely things left behind.

We search, moving deeper into the twisty passages, guided by the laments that weave a tapestry of torment. Somewhere in this cave lies the key to our victory, the banshee’s whisper sealed in silver.

The chamber Alexandru and I stumble upon is a trove of the mysterious and the mystical. Everywhere, the glint of our torchlight catches on myriad surfaces—crystals that hum with latent energy, dusty tomes whose spines whisper tales of forgotten lore, and strands of herbs that dangle from the ceiling, their scents mingling to create a potent aroma that permeates the air.

On one side, a collection of bones, arranged with unsettling precision, tell a story of life and death, a reminder of the banshee’s connection to the ethereal realm. Closer to the chamber’s heart lies a table with a series of small, hand-carved figurines standing guard around a delicate silver mirror, its surface clouded as if veiling secrets from the uninitiated.

“Here!” I graze my fingers over the object at the center of the table within the shadowed alcove, the unmistakable chill of pure silver painful on my flesh. Ornate and ancient, the mirror reflects nothing, not even our images.

“Quickly,” Alexandru whispers, “before she realizes what we’re taking.”

I wrap the mirror carefully and slip it into my pouch.

As if the banshee senses her whisper trinket being stolen, a scream pierces the air, a sound so harrowing my vision blurs.

“Eleanna!” Alexandru shields me with his body and places his hands over my ears, his presence a stronghold against the supernatural wails.

“Let’s go now.” My voice is steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

We turn back the way we came and hastily retreat.

The banshee’s cries fade as we emerge from the depths, back into the realm of the living. The cave mouth releases us like a final breath. The bleak winter landscape greets us with its frigid embrace, the moonlight splaying over snow-dusted earth like a celestial blessing.

“Are you unharmed?” Alexandru searches my gaze, but I barely register the question.

I focus on the bloody trails seeping from his ears, an alarming contrast to the pallor of his skin. The banshee’s wail has left its mark, the cost of our intrusion into her domain etched in the lines of pain on his face.

Instinctively, I reach out, fingertips lightly brushing against the side of his head, tracing the path of his discomfort with tender caution. His flinch is slight, but it speaks volumes, confirming the agony he tries to mask under the guise of concern for me.

“Let me see,” I whisper, fighting back the tremor from the turmoil twisting inside me.

The sight of him in pain, weak yet standing strong before me, stirs a fierce protectiveness I’ve seldom felt. With gentle persuasion, I guide him to sit, our torch hurling light across his features, highlighting the grit of his endurance.

I tear a piece of my cloak and carefully dab at the blood, the fabric coming away stained. “This will pass,” I murmur.

Each touch is infused with my apology for the pain he endures, for the journey that has brought us to this moment of shared vulnerability.

Alexandru meets my gaze, a tender moment passing between us. Our roles are momentarily reversed, and there’s strength in the act of caring for him, a kindness I rarely show woven through each gesture. The pain he suffers makes my heart clench and ache.

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