Page 45 of Return of the Darkness
Caellum cleared his throat and nodded at passersby as people slowed when realising their King was present. Sir Cain strolled several steps ahead, clearing a path to assess for danger. Taryn strolled close to Sadira’s right, while four guards patrolled the rear.
“We could always greet Lord Gregor and wait in the tavern like last time.” Sadira blushed at Caellum’s smile, recalling the night they shared in the inn attached to the tavern.
“He’s expecting us. I sent our belongings to his lodge with the request to stay with him this evening, but we could head there now.” Caellum agreed, just as a flash of red hair blew out from beneath a deep-purple hooded cloak. Sadira tapped Caellum’s arm discretely, inclining her head towards the woman weaving amongst the throngs of people, crossing towards an alleyway nestledbetween a blacksmiths and a confectionary store. The woman paused to glance over her shoulder. Sadira murmured to Taryn, requesting he catch up with Sir Cain and alert him to the change in direction while the remaining guards sealed the alleyway. Sadira trailed behind Caellum towards the woman, who stilled as she approached the alleyway and turned her head to glance at the king and future queen, ensuring they followed. Darkness closed around them when they entered the narrow alley, with the height of the guards preventing more light from filtering through. Despite the clear blue skies and sunlight bathing Albyn’s fields, the closely packed buildings, and thick, overhanging thatched roofs created a sense of foreboding.
Three sets of footsteps were all that could be heard along the cobbled stones as Sadira and Caellum rushed to keep up. The redhead raised a hand when she reached a dead end, signalling for them to wait. They did. She knocked on a door in a practiced pattern, and a creak followed as it opened. Sadira and Caellum exchanged a look before the woman’s hand peeked from within the doorway to beckon them inside.
“What if this is a bad idea?” Caellum murmured, and Sadira glanced behind to where the guards sealed the alleyway. Sir Cain and Taryn waited at the halfway point, close enough to hear the king or Sadira should they need aid.
“We have one another,” Sadira reassured him. Flourishing her fingers, she willed vines to twist along the walls and stop before the door, close enough for her to beckon them inside if they needed assistance. Caellum tapped the pommel of his sword before they approached the door together.
The room was how Sadira would have pictured Athena’s home based on the apothecary’s decor. Only a single window on the opposite wall lit the room, looking out onto another wall in a different alleyway. The thatched roof cast shadows on the window in place of sunlight. From the right, a fireplace warmed the room, crafted from many different stones, likely forged from whatevermaterials they could find. An iron-made fire guard, mimicking the shape of ivy, guarded the fire, though sparks still spat free, burning into a worn yellow rug that filled the entire space, speckled with soot the nearer it was to the flames. A large greyhound lifted its head lazily from the cushions piled against the side of the chimney. It seemed uninterested in the visitors, as it slowly lowered its head onto its paws and closed its eyes.
“Take a seat wherever you prefer,” said the woman, removing her cloak and shaking free her waist-length red curls, which fell around the shoulders of her white blouse and ended at the leather band of her trousers. Her voice was calm—welcoming, even. She had clearly expected their arrival. Sadira stepped towards the two-seater sofa, its colour concealed by several multicoloured, woven blankets. Before she sat, a ginger tabby cat leapt into the spot, stretching across most of the sofa. “Sorry. She is rather particular about things belonging to her.” The woman pulled china cups from a long wooden shelf filled with misshaped crockery, while Caellum inched away from the cat, stealing glances at it. Sadira suppressed a laugh.
“Aren’t we all?” Sadira gave what she hoped seemed like a genuine smile as Caellum pulled a wooden chair from beneath the slanted round table behind the sofa. Sadira sat down, assessing the rest of the room, while Caellum lowered himself onto the chair beside her, shifting it close enough toward her that their knees touched. On the left-hand side of the room, opposite the window, was a small kitchen and worktop, where dried herbs hung from a long wooden shelf above the open stove. Years of condensation had peeled the sage-coloured paint on the wall, revealing blue paint beneath, likely from the previous owners. Sadira clasped her trembling hands as worry rose within her about these people and their intentions.
“Come in,” the woman called, exactly three seconds before Sadira heard approaching footsteps. The owner did not knock. Sadira looked around the room then, confused as to who had let thewoman in when she knocked. After scanning the room several times, Sadira finally noticed what she had initially thought was a wardrobe door swing open. Another cat skulked through, prowling towards the fireplace. She glimpsed the top of a staircase before the door closed.
“Sorry I’m late.” The gruff voice belonged to the old man they had last met in Albyn. Caellum glanced at Sadira. They had expected them. Sadira shrugged. She was learning that the Wiccan on the mainland had a far greater sense of foresight, perhaps even more so than those on Doltas. She wondered why. The old man reached for the counter ledge to guide himself towards the table. His milky eyes moved to Sadira, who glanced away, a chill running up her spine, even though he could not see.
“Do you have a preference when it comes to tea?” asked the woman.
“Any is fine,” Sadira replied curtly, growing impatient. The Wiccans acted like nothing had happened, as if they were oblivious to the true purpose of the incantation. Neither Sadira, Caellum, nor the old man spoke. The only sounds were the clinking spoons as the woman stirred herbs in cups, the cats’ purrs, and the crackling fireplace. Finally, she sat down and placed a tray of four cups in the table’s centre. Sadira reached for one, but waited with Caellum for the hosts to drink before sipping their own. A floral, honey-sweetened taste washed over Sadira’s tongue. In normal circumstances, she would have asked politely for the recipe, but she did not wish to break the tension first. Athena had guided her here, but the hosts should provide insight into the reasons why.
“Arabella,” the redhead finally said, crossing her legs. “My name is Arabella. Forgive me, but I won’t provide my surname. While I hold no debt over you, you have since witnessed what knowing someone’s name can do in the right circumstances, under the right spells, and with the way your king is glaring at me, I would not be surprised if you were to weave my name within a curse.” Arabella smiled and sipped her tea.
“Darragh,” the old man grunted. The ginger tabby cat jumped onto his lap and curled with a purr.
“I imagine you have a lot of questions.” Arabella smiled, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Sadira and Caellum remained silent. “Frosty,” she murmured. “I understand why.”
“Do you?” Caellum snapped. She looked Caellum up and down.
“I told you we were sent to set you on a path. I did not reveal what that path entailed or where it would take you.”
“So, you knew,” Sadira said. “You knew the imbuement would not create a weapon to kill Caligh’s men.” Arabella flinched at his name. “Instead, you knew it would link them to the Sword of Souls.”
“It still killed them, did it not? You still won the war and now have an even larger army at your disposal.” Arabella pursed her lips. Sadira’s vines crept under the table and climbed around her ankles. Anger threatened to consume her. Yet she was reminded of Elisara and how willing she had been to manipulate the souls for their bidding. How did that make them any better than Caligh?
“We have an out-of-control army because the queen who wields them is grieving. Did you know the commander would die? Did you foresee that?” Caellum kept his voice firm, challenging the Wiccan. Arabella glanced at her hands.
“Sometimes, the paths we are destined for are not what we always like or will survive.” Sadira shook her head. How could Sadira sit across from Arabella, a woman who knowingly put Elisara in this position, knowing Kazaar would die?
“Why did my grandmother possess such an imbuement?” Sadira asked coldly.
“The book is old,” Darragh finally contributed to the conversation. “She did not know what it was or what it did.”
“That book is sacred, Sadira. It was a history of all that is right with the Wiccan race, all we have built and held dear. However, that one imbuement, those words and power…” Arabella cleared her throat, though her emotions were unclear. “That is the reason the divide among our people is so severe it may never be mended. The consequences of that imbuement stretch far beyond the souls and Caligh, it—”
“Too much, Bella. Too much,” Darragh said. Arabella sighed and bit her lip, averting her eyes. Sadira sensed her regret, though she still distrusted the woman.
“If she wants to tell us, she should tell us,” Caellum said, his voice harsh yet strong.
“We cannot alter destinies; we cannot reveal anything that could affect fate’s plans,” Darragh countered. Hoping to learn more, Sadira referred to something else Arabella said.
“You said there is a severe divide among our people. Can you at least explain that? Is it a divide in Garridon? Novisia? Is there something else we should know?” Sadira asked. Arabella shook her head, darting her eyes to Darragh before continuing.
“Amongst the Wiccans. But it is that divide in history that affects your paths today.”
