Page 120 of Cursed Dreams
“What do we do ?” Marand asked.
“I could try again” Cellen suggested, the resounding “No” from Marand and Thalia echoed loudly down the corridor.
“We need to go.” Thalia told her friends, her heart sank at their failure. Cellen looked back at the door, “ I could try one more time Thal, I’m okay...” he wobbled as blood slowly trickled down his nose.
“No !” Thalia pulled her magic to her again concern etching her face as she once again sent pulses out to examine her friend, her heart racing with fear and guilt for putting him in this situation . He batted her hands away, “I’m fine stop it” “ I can..”
“Do that again Thalia,” Marand’s Shakey voice interrupted them.
“Do what ?” Thalia asked
“Your magic, use it again”
Confused Thalia gently pulled her magic into her hands; a glowing white orb appeared within her palms.
“Look at the ward” Marand exclaimed
Looking up Thalia inhaled sharply to see the ward shimmering like oil dancing across water. She could feel the magic reaching for her, calling to her own magic. She gasped, her own magic seemed to flair brighter, as though they both longed to merge. A wild idea raced through her mind, before she had the chance to talk herself out of it she walked forward and placed her hand on the handle. It was cool under her touch, the brass worn smooth, the ward seemed to dance through every fibre of her body leaving tiny goosebumps across her skin. She looked back at her friends. Marand nervously gave a tiny nod. Cellen looked like he was holding his breath. She turned the handle; the audible click was like a song in her ears.
The study was dark, lit only by moonlight spilling through tall arched windows. Shadows stretched across the room full of polished dark furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a large desk that sat like a beast in the centre. Her thoughts drifted back to the first time she had entered this room, it had felt warm and welcoming then, now however it was dark and foreboding. She pushed her feelings down; this was not the time. The air smelled of old paper and spiced ink, the faintest trace of something smokier, like fire dampened beneath the surface. Marand followed her in, eyes already scanning the shelves. Cellen eased the door shut behind them and began rifling through a side cabinet, with no obvious care to hide that anyone had been here.
“Cellen!” Thalia scolded, “We need to leave this place as we found it!”
Thalia moved toward the desk. It was littered with scrolls, wax-sealed documents, and notes written in a sharp, precise hand she recognized all too well. She carefully sifted through the papers, eyes searching for any trace of maps.
“Anything?” Marand whispered.
Thalia shook her head. “Just notes. Battle reports. Lists of magical containment materials—wait…”
She pulled out a thick, folded parchment from a lower drawer, bound in a cracked leather cover. Her breath hitched.
The parchment was heavy and old. And when she unrolled it across the desk, her heart nearly stopped. It was a map. An incredibly old map. She traced her fingers along the borders, noting cities and kingdoms that no longer existed, entire regions that had been swallowed by time or war. There, on the far northern edge of the fae lands, where no current maps dared tread, was a shaded outline of forest. There was no label. No name. For some unexplainable reason she knew, this was the Forest she was looking for. As if to reassure her, a small white beacon of light emanated from her chest. She gasped in shock, as quickly as it had appeared it faded again.
“I think this is it,” she whispered, afraid to breath
Marand came up beside her, eyes wide. “That…isn’ton any current maps.”
Cellen whistled low. “Gods below. You actually found it.”
Before Thalia could arrange her thoughts, a sound from the hallway made all three of them freeze. Slow, meticulous footsteps heading in their direction.
There was no time to argue. Cellen grabbed the map, rolled it tight, and shoved it under his cloak. Marand tugged Thalia toward a tall cabinet in the far corner, barely wide enough for two of them.
“Get in!” Cellen whispered urgently. “Hide!”
Thalia and Marand slipped inside, the wooden door closing with a softclickjust as the footsteps paused outside the study. The door creaked open. Footsteps padded softly across the floor. Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, the thought became a plea to any of the Gods who would listen. Thalia held her breath. Every inch of her body was tense. A soft female voice murmured,
“Lord Vaelith, Lord Vaelith, ?” a soft feminine voice echoed through the room.
Thalia recognised that voice, it was Miryanne. What was she doing here ? Peeking through the tiny crack in the door, Thalia clenched her jaw as Miryanne walked around the study, clearly looking for something. A breeze from the now open window rustled the papers strewn across the desk.
“Hmm,” the priestess muttered, she wandered towards the desk arranging papers and setting them aside before heading to the window and slamming it closed. She paused on her way back towards the door, picking up Vaelith’s discarded jacket and scenting it . Thalia tried not to snort. She had known the priestess was besotted with Vaelith from the first time she had saw them interact, but hadn’t quite realised just how besotted. Miryanne lingered for a few heartbeats longer, then finally, mercifully, left the room, closing the door behind her.
Inside the cabinet, Thalia and Marand exchanged a look, listening for any signs of the priestess returning. After a few moments, the opened the door fully and climbed out. Marand looked around the room, “Cellen” she whisper shouted. There was no answer. Suddenly Thalia remembered the open window, rushing over she threw it open and look out to find Cellen balancing rather precariously on the ledge to the side. Grabbing his arms the two women helped him climb back inside.
“I think I just lost ten years of my life.” he held his hand over his heart, breathing heavy.
“Do you still have it ?” Thalia asked
