Page 77 of Oath of War
‘If I can’t even deal with her tears, how can I protect her?’ I muttered, knowing that if my sister implanted Cahyon’s soul into my father’s body, the war would be much worse. Not even our combined forces would be able to defeat him if that happened.
Worse, as a living fae, he could Anchor Annika, and it was that thought that tipped the scales and pushed me towards the shimmering portal.
‘Dark Mother, protect my light, and if I don’t make it back, help her forget me,’ I whispered, muttering the prayer as my foot disappeared into the dark void that swirled beneath the arch.
Nothingness enveloped me. It wasn’t just the absence of light. It was the absence of everything. No touch, no smell, no sound permeated the space between realms.
For some reason, only fae were able to create portals, just as only humans gave birth to conduit mages and those able to bond with dragons. No one had ever discovered why, but many theories discussed our longevity and how our bodies wove and stored the aether.
It was interesting how academic research came to mind before I emerged into a twilight filled with gnarled branches, thorns, and the putrid scent of decay. The smell was so potent it made me gag, but I knew I couldn’t make a noise. I had to find a hidingplace—the sound of rustling and raised voices nearby alerting me that my arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed.
As quietly as I could, I moved through the undergrowth, wincing each time my foot crunched through a dry twig or bone. But a quick silencing spell did its job, and I crept past the guarding ghouls undetected.
I wasn’t sure where I was. It appeared to be a nobleman’s gardens, judging by the beautifully carved benches and cherry trees. From experience, I knew that the Moroi, as any other fae, loved to build lover’s alcoves, hidden spots on their estates where one could hide from prying eyes. So when I spotted a dark opening behind a rock, I didn’t hesitate.
I slipped into the darkness with a tracing spell and my dagger ready to lash out, only to exhale slowly when I encountered an empty space. Whispering a cantrip, I modified my spell to seal off the alcove’s entrance then risked summoning a fae light.
The niche turned out to be a cave cut from living rock, with such exquisite carvings that I could only marvel at the talent. The carvings depicting life in Ozar before the fall, almost seemed to move, the story they told flowing seamlessly from one image to the next. I felt an ache for the loss of a race that loved art more than war.
I tore my gaze from the scene, sitting down and wrapping my cloak tighter around me before closing my eyes. I couldn’t afford to fall asleep so close to roaming monsters, but I needed to wait until sunrise before I tried to figure out where I was.
If my assumptions were correct, life in Katrass still followed the nighttime routine that allowed the Moroi to thrive. Short, late autumn days didn’t give me much time to move, but with the first rays of the sun, both the monsters and corrupted Moroi would become less active and much less aware, giving me the best chance to travel unnoticed.
It would be a long night, but it gave me time to plan my next steps, and how to deal with my family. An image of Orm and Ani flashed before my eyes, bringing a smile to my face as I thought about how both tried to follow dark fae customs for my sake. About how Orm was dominant by nature, and how I never had a problem following his lead. About Ani ... and how amazing she was, embracing her new role so well that even Valaram was tempted.
The thought of the dark fae ambassador anywhere near my domina sent a low snarl rumbling in my throat, one I struggled to suppress. I couldn’t blame him, though—Ani’s strength and magical prowess were irresistible traits among the dark fae, practically an aphrodisiac. That she was the Dark Mother’s chosen only elevated her, placing her on par with the empress in the eyes of any dark fae male.
But Valaram’s interest made me uneasy. Among our kin, there was a whispered affliction—tal maladie, madness of the heart. It was a shameful secret, rarely spoken of, where a man became so consumed by desire for a woman that nothing short of possessing her could satisfy him. History was littered with both noble sacrifices and unspeakable crimes born from this obsession.
I hoped Valaram was too wise to succumb, for I was more my father’s son than I cared to admit. The thought of sharing Ani’s attention with anyone besides Orm was unbearable.
It wasn’t that I wanted him as an enemy—he was a valuable ally—but unless Ani herself desired it, I’d ensure he stayed far away from her. The mere idea of him sniffing around her made my blood boil.
Still, I couldn’t afford to dwell on such thoughts, not here, stranded in enemy territory. So instead, I forced myself to focus, channelling the rising fury into planning my escape once I found Rowena.
The night passed by uneventfully, and I ventured outside once the sun was high enough to chase the shadows away. In the daylight, the former splendour of the gardens was even more apparent.
Annika would love seeing this when the flowers are blooming, I thought, looking at the tangled branches of oromea, a healing plant with bright yellow petals that gleamed like liquid gold.
I drew on my stores of aether, using a drop of my blood to craft a simple spell that could detect blood relations to locate my sister.
As I drew the sigil on my wrist, I felt a pull directing me to the north. The sensation was weak, which usually meant significant distance, but with my bag of supplies and a cloaking spell, I was ready. And unless I was very unlucky, whatever enemies I might encounter would be undead and, therefore, susceptible to my will.
I walked along the path, the wind blowing dry leaves into my face. Except for the overgrown gardens, nothing confronted me, and I slowly continued, trying to blend in whilst still following the magical tether.
Initially, everything went well, but my journey was not without obstacles. On the first day, I stumbled on a revenant sentinel. The creature was so still, its skin resembling dry tree bark, that I almost stepped on it.
It noticed me before I could change directions, and as the undead opened its mouth to raise the alert, I thrust my hand into its chest, absorbing the magic that gave it life. For a moment, I looked at the rapidly decomposing body before I resumed my journey, the pull growing stronger the farther I walked.
I was forced to make more frequent stops, spending nights in abandoned houses or other small alcoves. I had to strengthen my cloaking spell as more remnants appeared on my path, along with several corrupted Moroi, who, despite their sensitivity to light, still roamed the streets. What concerned me more was how many golems there were.
Those creatures were resistant to magic, and no illusion could deceive them. Sneaking by became painfully slow. I had to trust more in my own abilities than my cloaking spell to keep me undetected.
Finally, five days later, I arrived at the palace.
It was well past midday when I reached its white walls, stopping to catch my breath under a mass of climbing roses. I sent a silent prayer to the Dark Mother, blessing the evening fae for their love of flowers and beauty.
The roses, overgrown as they were, made the perfect climbing frame and hid me from prying eyes. I placed my dagger in my mouth and climbed the thorny branches as swiftly as I could until I found a darkened window and slid inside.
