Page 28 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
My father told old stories of the winged creatures in the north. Great powerful beasts who grew greedy with their conquest.
Gluttony led them to an endless sleep. Bested by their own mistakes. That tale now taunted me that I’d rested long enough. Allowed my fears to consume me. Weaken me. A truth that chased me from my slumber just before dawn. Waking confused as I found myself still in the study, curled up on the chaise. Emrys slumped in the chair next to me as rain pounded against the stained-glass ceiling from a storm that rumbled above.
My heart stuttered at the sight of the dishevelled lord sleeping before me. His head held up by his fist, dark hairfalling across his brow, which furrowed even in sleep as if troubled in his dreams too.
Troubles I’d caused. I rolled onto my back, watching the streaks of rain slip across the glass above as the weak morning light seeped through the dark clouds.
Too late,came another dark reminder. All I’d uncovered against my will. How close that darkness was. How awfully the fey had suffered and how little the Council had done.
All my studies. The Institute. How it led nowhere.
I let my eyes close only to see jaw bones and teeth scattered in cursed soil, the glisten of magic still trapped in their marrow. Fey bones. Just how many there had been in that pit. How many the Council had let them kill.
Anger rolled through my limbs, heating my skin. The blanket suddenly oppressive as I pushed it away and sat up. Thankfully not feeling any discomfort as I turned my attention to the large bay windows that had appeared – the study had rearranged itself, bookcases moved aside so we could look upon the blackthorn wood. A cushioned bench beneath waiting with a steaming cup of tea on a small tray as if wishing to lure me closer. I managed to get myself up without waking Emrys, moving to the window, relieved that most of the aching in my legs had abated.
I picked up the cup, letting my fingers curl around the warm porcelain. Watching the rising sun cut through the rain, making the grass glisten.
Tauria.How vividly I’d heard my name in that wilderness. Guided by nothing but madness and memory. I let my fingers drag over the mark at my throat where the coldness from the galmoth’s bite lingered.
Too late.The demonic memory of that voice mocked. A sadness clung to my throat and I downed the tea in the cup to chase it away. Even if it burnt on the way down.
Putting the cup back on the tray and pushing the window open, I was thankful for the frigid morning as it brushed against my skin. Ignoring the wariness in my bones, how unlike myself I felt.
One recovery spell could have altered it. Made me believe it hadn’t been so bad but I recoiled from the thought. I needed to remember. Remember I was strong enough to heal, bold enough to wander the wilderness of this world. Resilient enough to survive my own mistakes.
Only … as I stood in the study’s silence, I couldn’t find her. The girl that had taken the next step. Who had been driven by curiosity. Who had led me here. Wanting to solve this agony.
All that dwelled in me was sorrow and a bone-weary tiredness.
I waited for the visions to return, the briny taste of the sea and the distant shape of my father walking through the waves. Waited for the echo of my mother’s voice to come. But there was nothing. Nothing but the distant chatter of birds, the patter of the dissipating rain and the ruthlessness of the wind.
It hadn’t been real. None of it. Not my father’s sacrifice or the stories he kept so sacredly close to his heart.
How had that darkness remained and yet he was gone? In the absence of fear, and the anguish of my grief, a simmering rage consumed me. One that used to linger in the tips of my fingers, the burning promise of my magic and the chaos it brought. An ancient anger that seared itself into my very bones.
Quiet, demure and still. The words Master Hale had given me. The instructions for survival. How pitiful. Nothing but another lie I’d gorged myself on.
I looked down at my trembling fingers only for my eyes to catch on the small table at my side. A stack of papersbaring Emrys’s messy handwriting. Seeing the words he’d written, Kysillian letters in a wobbly hand, unfamiliar as he was with them.
Simple sentences. As if he was trying to learn.
Then I felt it. The soft brush down my arms, cautious and seeking. His magic. I turned into it, letting it guide me as the draft from the window stirred my loose hair. Seeing him watching me from his chair.
‘I should know better than to expect you to be where I left you,’ he sighed with soft reprimand. A caution in him as he rose, as if I was nothing but a creature formed of morning mist. Able to disperse at the barest of movements. A witch of the wildwood from the fairy tales.
His white shirtsleeves were rolled up, his shirt half unbuttoned to show the strong column of his throat and the expanse of his chest. Scars appearing silver in the morning light.
My heartbeat grew unsteady remembering all the things left unsaid.
Serus. The word taunted from the back of my mind. And just like a maiden from a dark tale about ancient folk and the temptation of demons, I waited, meeting his cautious gaze as he came closer, that forbidden scent calming my thunderous heart.
‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ I curled my hands at my elbows where his magic lingered. Comforted by the sensation of it against my skin. The cool inquisitive nature of it as it slipped through my fingers.
‘Remind me to have a word with the bloody house. Especially for it leading you outside.’
I wanted to smile, only for those storm-filled eyes to trace every line of my features. His brow furrowing with concentration as if trying to work out the thoughts plaguing me. Cautious and quiet.
His gloved hands curled into tighter fists at his sides. Too still with a tension as if it took everything in him not to move.
