Page 46 of Return of the Darkness
“Does it have anything to do with these?” Caellum asked, pulling the three pins from his jacket pocket, and dropping them in the table’s centre. Arabella’s eyes widened. Seeming to sense Arabella’s shift in demeanour, Darragh leant forward to trace each pin with his thumb.
“Where did you get these?” he asked, his tone far more urgent than before.
“I found them amongst my family’s belongings.”
“This is what you described in your dream.” Arabella clasped her grandfather’s hand. “These were the three symbols.”
“A dream?” Sadira asked. Darragh gripped his head in pain the same way Athena had. “Or a memory?”
Forcing his head up, Darragh trained his milky eyes on Sadira. “A memory,” he murmured. “It is how Bella knows of the incantation, a history shown to her you should not yet know.” Sadira remained quiet, hoping Darragh would elaborate. Arabellahad mentioned their history too. They needed more information to know how to move forward. “After the explosion, I had odd dreams about myself as a child, but only flashes of objects and places. It felt so real. I saw these symbols—these pins.”
“Why do you not wish for us to know this history? What are you keeping from us?” Sadira frowned. Osiris’s lands were cursed, preventing him from revealing more. However, Darragh and Arabella made a purposeful choice to stay on fate’s side.
“It’s not his fault. She told us we cannot tell you and that knowing could detour your path. You need to find the mirror first—the reflection—and then we may be permitted to tell you more.”
“Who?” Caellum asked.
“Our deity,” Arabella whispered as Darragh focused on one pin, the wolf's head, and turned it over in his fingers.
“You do not worship Garridon?” Sadira asked, having assumed these Wiccans had descended from the realm. She had never questioned that perhaps, back on Ithyion, they had travelled the other realms and populated multiple places.
“Different faces have come to me in visions,” Arabella began, but Darragh cut her off with a gasp.
“Shapeshifters,” he whispered, tracing the wolf’s head. Sadira’s eyes shot to his.
“What do you mean?” Caellum asked. Darragh became flushed, then, and pushed the three pins back towards the king.
“You must leave,” he said, pushing back from the table. “Night is creeping upon us, and you do not wish to be in the streets should the shadows from Antor venture to Albyn tonight.” Darragh strode towards the door, concealing the staircase and whoever resided on the floor above.Shapeshifters. Sadira turned the word over in her mind, having never heard it before. It related to the wolf’s head and Garridon.
“You cannot reveal everything you have and leave us with more questions! At least tell us what shapeshifters are or their importance in understanding our history? Or a way to defeat Calighshould he return! Is it linked to saving another land? Please, give us something!” Sadira begged.
“Go!” Darragh shouted. “Find the mirror, find the reflection, and then—then you will be on the right path to understand it all.” Darragh slammed the door to the staircase behind him, leaving a stunned silence to settle around the room. Arabella cleared her throat and gestured towards the door. Caellum huffed and rose, guiding Sadira to the exit and opening it to face a cool breeze.
“Sadira,” Arabella murmured, reaching for the princess’s hand. “Please know we are not trying to make things difficult for you.” Sadira opened her mouth to protest, but the Wiccan pressed something into her palm. “For your wedding. It’s a token of our family history. The deity will inform me when I can confide in you completely, but for now, please accept this as a promise I will be by your side one day.”
***
Sleeping alone, Sadira stared at the masterpiece of a painting above the bed. While her wedding to Caellum in the morning would be unconventional, they had kept to some traditions by sleeping separately the night before. Though she imagined he was likely lying awake, as she was now, turning over the jumble of information, or lack of, in his mind. They had debriefed over dinner and shared their theories, but their conclusions were always the same: they were clueless.Shapeshifter.That word rang through her mind most consistently as she examined the beautiful brushstrokes of the painting in Lord Gregor’s home. A depiction of rolling fields, towering trees, and wolves and deer running wild through golden wheat. Sadira lifted the brooch in her hand to examine it in the light emanating from the bedside lantern. Arabella had hurriedly pressed it into her hands with a promise.
A golden hawk glinted in the flame's light. It was small, no largerthan the top of her thumb. Despite its size, she could make out the grooves of its feathers on its sweeping wings. The emerald in its eye flashed. Sadira did not know what it meant or who Arabella’s ancestors had once been, yet. All she knew for certain, despite everything that had transpired so far, was to trust her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elisara
Elisara’s eyes snapped open when darkness claimed Hamzah in her dream. Threads of shadows twitched at her side, recognising she was awake and staring at the wall. As they moved to comfort her, tears fell from her eyes at yet another memory of loss. Tormented, yet again. Her eyes trailed to her arm stretched across the pillow. Beneath the scarred vines wrapping around her forearm was a raised, flaming dagger. A lump rose in Elisara’s throat. Now she would never know what happened before Kazaar found that scar on his skin. Elisara’s mind recalled the dagger Hamzah used to take his own life and frowned. Kazaar’s scars had emerged when using a new power, while Elisara’s emerged after these dreams. She had no answers. The ink on Kazaar’s scars had been beautiful. On Elisara, the scars made her look even more broken, mirroring her internal state.
“Can you recall the memories?” Sallos asked. Elisara closed her eyes and sighed. She was not yet awake.
“No,” she lied, staring at the wall again. She did not want to relive the pain of someone’s loss, nor did she trust Sallos.
“You are still mad at me,” Sallos said. Elisara blinked, ignoring him. “I apologise, your Majesty. It was too soon to mention Sitara’s plight.” One moment, Elisara lay limp on the bed; the next, darkness consumed her, bringing her before Sallos. The shadows fell away, except for those shielding Elisara’s naked body as she stood toe-to-toe with Sallos, looking up at him. He was at least two heads taller, and she felt far less like a queen in his presence. Sallos’s throat bobbed as he glanced down at the queen before staring over her head.
“I willgut you if you so much as mention her name again,” Elisara sneered. “I want nothing to do with her plight, her broken heart, or searching for her other half. It does not affect me or my people—” Sallos opened his mouth yet closed it at Elisara’s glare. Having abandoned her people to be here, she doubted they were pleased with her. Perhaps she should try to send a message to Vlad, relinquishing her throne to him. Elisara turned from Sallos and strode towards the bed.
“I have some clothes for you,” Sallos finally said. Elisara turned her head enough to see the fabrics on the chair by the desk. “I didn’t wash the ones you were wearing; they’re in the chest at the end of the bed.” When Sallos clasped his hands behind his back, Elisara almost felt bad. The wrinkles in his eyes were flat, and his expression serious; his regret bled between them. Elisara winced as she walked towards the chair, threads of darkness tugging at her skin. “I can teach you,” Sallos said. Elisara reached for the clothes and erected a wall of shadows between them.
“Teach me what?” she asked, unfolding the material of deep glittering bronze. Where had he managed to find this? Elisara draped the gown over her head as Sallos explained.
