Page 12 of What Blooms from Death

I’d been gone much of the past week while working on planning my theft from Lord Roderic’s manor, and the house had grown even messier than usual in my absence. If I disappeared for good, there was a very real chance Orin might lose himself entirely within the waves of clutter surrounding him.

How was he going to manage without me?

There were security concerns, as well; this house had no shortage of priceless artifacts, ancient tomes, and other specimens that would likely fetch a good price—assuming someone could pick their prize from among the mess.

Various wards surrounded the property, but it was typicallymewho chased away any threats.

I’d maimed an impressive number of would-be thieves, by this point.

And that was merely my work with a knife—to say nothing of the shapeshifting, spectral dog often seen hunting at my side; or my strange magic; or the outlaw reputation I’d carried since the night I fled from my old home.

Then again, Orin had managed to survive without me for years before taking me in. He’d be fine.

Wouldn’t he?

He was back to singing his tune from earlier, much louder than before, and likely so caught up in taking notes about his spell-making that he would never hear me leaving. Even if hedid, I doubted he would interfere; for better or worse, he’d always let me come and go as I pleased.

I just needed to breathe some fresh air. To clear my head. To return to the place where this all started so I could remind myself of where I was going next.

Where Ihadto go next.

Without making a sound, I pulled my boots back on, double-checked the knives still secured to my belt, and then crept to the other side of the loft. There, a narrow staircase led down into a nook that I often cozied up in to read. A window took up most of the back wall—one I could pass silently through, as it was already unlatched and partially open to allow the soothing sounds of the babbling creek to filter in.

Once outside, I followed the familiar path along Echoing Creek, jogging through the early-morning mists with only birdsong and the occasional bounding deer for company.

It was only twenty minutes or so to the edge of my family’s fallen estate, and a few minutes more before the shadows came into view.

For seven years, these shadows—the same kind that had chased me from my home on the night of my eighteenth birthday—had been colliding with a barrier of protective Light magic wrapped around the grounds of Rose Point. As a result, the air here had a beaten and battered, ragged and thin quality to it. Like it would never truly fill up my lungs, no matter how many deep breaths I took.

There were signs posted all around at the points of the colliding powers, all declaring essentially the same thing:

Off-limits, by order of His Majesty, Aleksander Caldor, King of Light and Fair Elarith; Elected Steward of the Eldrisan Throne.

That King of Light had erected the barrier of his magic to keep the curses in, and to prevent anyone from crossing over to get a better look at what lay on the other side. Protecting Eldris’s people, he claimed, from the rot their own royal family had unleashed upon them—which was how he’d ended up with the title ofstewardto the Eldrisan throne.

It was all a lie.

A giant, fucking lie.

Hewas the one who hadunleashed the very rot he claimed to be saving my kingdom from.

The night of my birthday celebration had been pure chaos, but in the seven years since, I’d untangled some events. Uncovered some truths. I’d ventured into the rotting lands multiple times, too, typically using my spirit-walking abilities to return to Rose Point.

So I’d seen for myself where the darkness flowed from: From the spot where Aleksander’s sword had stuck into the stone—a deep, supernatural wound cleaved open by his blade after he stained it with my father’s blood. A wound that still had not healed.

Luminorwas the blade’s name, I’d learned—the infamous, magical Sword of Light that had been passed down through the Elarithian royal family for generations. He’d never planned on gifting it to my parents, as I’d mistakenly believed; he’d always planned to wield it against them.

That sword had been swallowed up by the ground, along with my father, but dark energy still wept from the wound it created. Energy from the dead world below, Orin theorized. A world reserved for the deceased, but one that, centuries ago, was much more intimately connected—and accessible—to our living realm.

We’d studied the power enough to conclude it was separate from the magic that came from my own body. But for years, I hadn’t been able to tell—or believe in—the difference. I’dassumedIcaused the destruction and draining power. Because the shadows had chased me that night, driving me from my home and everything I’d ever known.

But now I understood they hadn’t truly beensummonedby me; the blade and the breaking world had let them in, and I had only channeled the darkness from underneath, briefly and inadvertently giving the dead energy a foothold. Orin had tried to convince me that I’d likelysavedlives that night, by drawing the shadows toward me and running away from the manor.

Even so, I wasn’t sure I could consider myself a savior of any kind. Not yet, anyway.

And the rumors perpetuated by the King of Light and his followers, of course, called me the exact opposite. They reminded my former subjects at every chance they could that I was the odd princess they had never fully trusted or embraced—the Shadow-marked woman who had allegedly cursed her entire home and everyone she loved.

Now, it was only a matter of time before Aleksander moved toofficiallyannex my small but prosperous kingdom—a move that would likely be met with little resistance, unless I could stop the cursed shadows bleeding out from Rose Point and find a way to reveal the truth about the Light King’s treacherous actions.

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