Page 33 of Unraveled
“I want to leave this room,” I whisper.
The leaves move with a breeze I can’t feel, then the first threads of power emerge from the stems and reach for me. It tells me it’s dangerous, but slowly, it reveals the spell to me.
The bubble that keeps me inside is no longer invisible to my eyes.
I draw back, wheezing with the effort of unmaking the enchantment from where I stand in the corner, still holding the leaf between my fingers.
Free of the room and rushing down the halls, I keep my feet light over the rugs. My breathing is loud—too loud. I’ll call all the slumbering beasts to me if I can’t calm down.
I tighten my hold on the rose vine that guides me through the never-ending maze. The stems are at least an inch thick, and the thorns shift away from my touch, leaving behind small traces of magic. There is no time to obsess over something I can’t understand. But the questions still swirl in my head.
Why?
Why could I escape my prison by asking this plant to help me?
Why are the roses turning red with my touch?
Why would an ancient spirit let me out when the result would weaken the wards around the castle?
The delicate petals of the rose shift from black to a bright crimson. The transition is smooth, leaving behind gentle trails of magic that appear light blue and yellow.
Closing my eyes, I force my thoughts back to my mother’s pendant and focus on the safety it provides me, the familiarity of its weight, the power it allows me to wield.
The rose cane drums under my fingertips, guiding me forward. Through the web of tightly wound magical threads that wrap around the castle walls and the roses, I can feel the familiar beating of my artifact.
I’m getting closer.
And Morgana was right, the beasts are slumbering. This almost feels too easy.
I don’t let go of the plant until the stems thin out and stop near the familiar study’s door, where Finley stitched my wounds.
That night I didn’t notice roses growing outside, which could mean they’re expanding—or that I was too traumatized to notice them.
As I push the door open, and I expect something to pop out of the shadows to snatch me.
After making sure the room is truly empty, I step into its darkness, closing the door behind me. The sun is peeking out, and I have fifteen minutes at most. I rush to the desk. It’s the most logical place to hide a magical necklace away and out of sight.
I fumble through the drawers, sifting through quill tips, old ink pots, and disheveled plumes. The amulet isn’t here.
My heart hammers in my throat as I pull a new drawer open, my eyes flashing to the door, expecting the beast to come barreling in at any moment.
My mother’s necklace hums at me—a warm energy in clear contrast to the chill of the morning. It’s close, but I’m not used to tracking magic across a room in this way and can’t place it clearly.
Shadows stretch through every inch of the study, and it looks so much darker than earlier in the week. I try to ignore the phantom ache in my ribs.
The air is heavy with the musk of old books and the distinct scent of pine that reminds me of Ash.
I yank open a second drawer and move its contents aside. Scrolls, leather ribbons, and a letter opener. My hand shakes as it hovers over the blade. I pick it up and slide it under the layers of my slip, right between my breasts.
The edges of my new weapon aren’t sharp, but it’s pointy.
I move to the other side of the desk and pause when the distinct sound of rock scraping rock pierces the dreary, silent space.
Jerking up, I inspect the study. It’s empty.
Everything appears the same as when I entered... right?
“Naheli?” My voice trembles as I glance at the shadowed corners, expecting the ancient spirit to morph out of one. Nothing happens. She’s not here.
