Page 48 of Enthralled

“Remember, Darling, you are more powerful than you know.”

I close my eyes and see Castien’s face again as he stands there with his mother’s quill in his hand. His eyes, bright with the renewed force of his own magic, glowed with such love, such trust. I never deserved it. I still don’t. But he entrusted me with this mission, and I must keep fighting. For him, for the children. For all of Vespre.

Dragging in a harsh breath, I straighten and dash the tears from my cheeks with both hands. The wyvern dropped me in the west wing of the palace unless I’m much mistaken, not far from where Vervain is housed. There’s little light to be had in this echoing chamber, but at least the shadows don’t writhe with nightmare energy. That’s got to count for something.

I hasten from the chamber and out into a long hall with floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s no glass to shield me from the outside elements, butenormousgubdagogsfill each empty frame, many of them twisting with captured wraiths. I step out into the passage and all but run to the door at the far end, wrench it open, and peer up the spiral stair. It's been some time since I last visited Vervain. She was such a sorry, haunted creature then. Her own Noswraith had nearly overcome her, and her mind had broken doing battle against it. The Prince, in his mercy, had given her safe haven in her little tower cell, keeping her far from all books, pens, and writing implements. But that was seven years ago. What has become of her since then?

I take a step into the stairwell. In that same moment, all thegubdagogsin the windows behind me tense suddenly. I feel the tightening of their strings, the sudden vibration of magic in the air. A frisson ripples up the back of my neck. Heart in my throat, I whirl on heel and stare back into the hall. There’s nothing there. Not even in the deepest shadows. No sign of the Nightmare Realm closing in. No sign of an approaching wraith.

I remain frozen for a count of five. Then, with a firm push, I force myself to face the stairway again, to begin that climb. I’ve got to get to Vervain. I’ve got to get out of this palace. I can’t just stand around waiting for some monster to get around to gulping me down. Taking the stairs two at a time, I pause only to peer through barred windows into the little cell rooms on my way up. Each chamber is darker and more forlorn than the last. “Vervain?” I try to call, unable to push more than a breath of sound between my lips. “Vervain, are you there?”

A patch of warm light gleams up ahead, just around a bend in the stairs. Not pale moonfire light, but a warm, reddish glow, shocking in the perpetual gloom of this unbound island. Heart leaping with hope, I hasten around the last turn and see the final cell door at the very top of the tower. Light streams through the window bars.

My footsteps slow. I press a hand against the stone wall and lean heavily, my breath tight in my lungs. The last time I saw Vervain, she was a ruined version of herself, halfway succumbed to madness. Our interaction was terrible, and I’d fled her presence, fled her manic laughter, and vowed never to return. Memories of that encounter return in a rush—the bony woman in her bloodstained and torn nightgown, sitting on the cold floor. The wildness of her hair, the lunatic burn in her eyes.

“What is your betrayal, little girl?”she’d asked me, spitting the words through her teeth.“From whence does your darkness flow?”

I shudder. My feet seem to fasten to the stone floor. Now that I’m here, I’m of half a mind to turn back, to make my escape from the palace and return to the temple alone.

A soft hum reaches my ear: low, rich, and warm as the firelight flickering through those bars. It’s a lullaby, one I recognize from my own childhood. Mama used to sing it to me long ago. I stare at the door and draw a steadying breath. Then I creep forward and peer through the window into the cell.

It’s not at all what I expected to find.

A cheerful fire burns on the grate and casts a cozy glow across the little space. A neat bed piled with quilts and pillows stands against the wall, and an upholstered chair sits close to the hearth. These are all the same furnishings I’d seen last time I was here, but the tapestries that once lined the cold walls are gone. Instead every inch of wall space is covered in intricate patterns. Handprints, I realize on close inspection, creating exquisite mandalas, so complex and interwoven with one another, it dazzles the mind. They seem to move and turn gently in the firelight, a riot of dancing colors, a visual harmony to that gentle, hummed song.

I swivel my gaze, searching. There, in the corner of the room where I’d last seen her is Vervain. But this is not the hunched, bony creature I remember. Her hair is pulled back and tied with a neat ribbon. Rather than a nightgown, she wears a simple gray dress, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She perches on a stool, pots of paint surrounding her. Even as I watch, she wipes blue pigment from her hand onto a much-stained apron, picks up a pot of orange, dips two fingers. Then she bends forward and, with careful precision, begins to add to an already intricate pattern, two dots of color at a time.

I watch in silence, captivated. Is it not a risk to let Vervain have paints in her cell? She might just as easily choose to scrawl out the name of her Noswraith and free it from its bonds. Someone—Mixael perhaps, as head librarian—must have decided it was worth the risk, decided it was time to allow the latent genius of Vervain Keldi some means of expression once more. From this angle she does not look wasted and frail as she once did. Still thin, yes, but possessed of a certain energy which harmonizes with the delicate patterns surrounding her.

“Vervain?” I call softly.

She doesn’t startle. She merely draws her hands back from the wall, conscientious not to mar her work. Slowly she turns on her stool, lifting her gaze to the cell window. Her eyes widen slightly. “I know you,” she says after a long silence.

“I am Clara Darlington. I am . . . I was a librarian. Along with you.”

“Ah, yes.” Vervain blinks once. “The Prince’s little poppet.”

Though there’s no malice in her tone, my stomach clenches. I lift my chin. “The Prince’s wife.”

“Indeed?” Vervain picks at a fold of her apron, carefully wiping the orange from her fingertips. “Things have progressed these last few turns of the cycle.”

I grip the cell window bars tightly. “Do you know what’s happened here in the palace?”

“You mean the breakout?” A soft chuckle vibrates her throat. “I am aware.”

A swift glance back around her cell reveals no visiblegubdagogs. Which doesn’t make sense. A determined Noswraith seeking prey could have easily found a point of access to this cell, yet Vervain seems unscathed. “Have you seen any sign of nightmare activity?” I ask.

“No,” she admits. “My guardian has driven away all who might have tried to reach me.”

“Your guardian?”

A small smile twists Vervain’s lips.“Madjra.”

I shudder and draw back from the window. I remember that name—the true name of the Hungry Mother, the Greater Noswraith who escaped her vault soon after my initial arrival in Vespre. I participated in her re-capture and was horrified to discover the fiend was Vervain’s own creation. It had hardly seemed possible at the time. Since then I’ve learned a thing or two about Noswraiths. And their creators.

“Madjrawants me for herself,” Vervain continues, turning in her stool to face the wall once more. She tilts her head, contemplating her complex array of patterns, and I’m obliged to strain my ears to hear her next words. “When we go back down that winding stair, she will come for me.”

A pit seems to open in my gut. I remember how vicious the Hungry Mother is, how terrified and small I felt in her presence. My career as a Vespre librarian was nearly cut short the night she got loose. If she is truly stalking Vervain, it would be better to leave her here. But I can’t abandon her. She is alone up here, with no one left to help her, no one even to bring her fresh food and water. To turn away now would mean to leave her to a slow death by starvation. Better to take our chances against the wraith.

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