Page 38 of Sugar & Sorcery
It wasn’t my memory.
His coat floated around him like a shroud. Arawn. But not the Arawn I knew. He was younger. His hair spilled down his back in a cascade of black silk. His feverish eyes burned a yellow fire, no trace of humanity left in them. No glimmer of life—only an unfathomable void, a pain carved out of exhaustion. His face was sharp, drawn with fatigue and bitterness, dark circles gouging his gaze as if he hadn’t slept in a century.
In front of him, a woman with silver hair waited, draped in a brilliant red gown. A witch. No, the Wish Witch. One elegant hand lifted a cigar to her lips, tendrils of ash drifting around her like a halo.
She was smiling at him. A proud smile. A smile I would have given anything to see once on Nyla’s face.
“What mastery, Arawn. Truly, you’ve outdone yourself,” murmured the witch, letting a few ashes fall onto the remains of the corpses. “Did you count the dead this time, or have you given up on keeping score?”
“I stopped after the screaming ended,” Arawn rasped. “Would you like me to go back and tally them?”
“Unnecessary.” She gave a vague flick of her hand, utterly indifferent. “But whatever would I do without you? Did you know the mere sight of blood once repulsed me? No one handles execution with such… precision.”
He turned to her slowly. His eyes darkened, the sharp line of his mouth curving downward. “Precision. Is that what you call it? Those sorcerers were mediocre. I imagine they’ll appreciate the compliment in the afterlife.”
“If they get there.” She laughed. “So? Did you learn anything useful, my apprentice?”
“Of course,” he said, laced with biting sarcasm. “For example, the way they begged for their lives. A real lesson in humility.”
“Enough!” she roared. “If you have nothing useful to say, I suggest you swallow your tongue. A tongue may be sharp, but even the finest blade dulls in time.”
Arawn knelt before her, his hands stained red. He lowered his head.
“In that case, I’ll have to survive on my charm.” A mocking smile spread across his lips. Then, a small chuckle, before his eyes met the Wish Witch’s in a narrowing glare most menacing. “Oh, but I forgot. You need your guard dog. You need me.”
“And you need me. You want to silence those voices, don’t you? That weakness that calls to you. I’m the only one who can end your torment. The more powerful you become, the further they’ll drift away.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, the other sliding through his hair without the slightest gentleness. “Soon, you’ll be the most feared and powerful sorcerer of the realms. You are my weapon, Arawn. And your magic thrives under the weight of your vengeance.”
Vengeance?
The scene blurred. Arawn stood in the court of sorcerers, a cruel smile tugging at his lips, his teeth sharp as fangs. The guests stepped aside in his path. As if a single look from him were enough to condemn them to a slow, exquisite death. Everything looked from another time (the robes too ancient, the palaces polished with a new gleam). But what made me shiver, what froze me to the marrow, was when he saw me. His icy gaze locked onto mine. And he came toward me. With terrifying slowness. With unmistakable intent.
I screamed.
I ripped my hand out of the lake, breaking the contact with the spectral shape that had been holding me. I collapsed onto the damp grass. My breath was short. My heart was on the edge of bursting. My body shook. When I opened my eyes, the Spirit was gone.
All that remained was a translucent moth.
A fragile shard of light, fluttering around me in the newborn night. Glimmering and magnificent. I lowered my gaze to my wrist. A searing pain pulsed there. A burn crawling under my skin, violet and dark. A poison mark. And then, there was Yeun. In his human form, carrying the tray of rousquilles in his hands. I sprang to my feet.
“What was that? Why did I see Arawn? He…” My voice broke into ragged breaths as I tried to find the words. “The crimes he committed with the witch… He was her right hand!”
Yeun swallowed, lowering his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that. His relationship with the witch… was complicated and centuries old. Bound by a contract. And… let’s just say it wasn’t healthy. He is… better, now.”
“You’re just making excuses for him.”
Seeing Arawn so close to the Wish Witch in that vision twisted my stomach. I hated her. Just hearing her name made my blood boil. I had never hated anyone with such intensity, yet I refused to give the sorcerer the same fate as hers.
“I came to thank you for the pastries.” Yeun sighed, sitting down beside me.
He lowered his gaze to my bruised wrist, a troubled crease on his brow. Without a word, he slipped a hand beneath his cape and detached one of his wings. Its iridescent hues danced in the light, pastel gleams shifting between azure, gold, and pale pink, like a living opal.
“What are you doing, Yeun?”
“Please,” he pleaded softly yet firmly. “Our wings grow back… after many years. This will help you heal faster.”
He wrapped his wing around my burn, and at once, it seemed to fuse into my skin, melding into a translucent bandage with opalescent sheen. It looked alive, as if it recognized my body and adapted to me on its own.
Tears welled in my eyes. It reminded me of when Nyla tended to my wounds.
