Page 90 of Through the Wicked Wood

Chapter 45

Elora

“What are you doing?” My mind won’t accept what I believe to be true. Galen’s expression doesn’t falter. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t show a single sign of remorse. Surely, he’s here to help me. Surely… As he says nothing, reality settles into my stomach. He is not here to help me.

Crossing his arms over his chest my eyes lock onto the silver arrow stitched on his cloak he has the nerve to still wear. Grinding my teeth, the voices inside my head roar loudly. Good. Let them be angry.

Taking a step forward he presses himself up against the iron bars of my cell. “King Silas was a coward,” he says, his eyes trailing past me momentarily. “He let Enchantresses walk all over him. Use their magick freely without thinking twice about the dangers it might cause for the rest of us. The dangers it had already caused. The uprising alone yielded many human casualties.” His eyes snap back to me. Swallowing down my anger, I take a step back from the bars.

“You and I both know, there was no uprising,” I whisper, my head dizzying again as I brace my hand against a wall. When was the last time I ate? Drank water? I need to lie down or I fear I’ll be sick. But I can't move.

Galen smirks, unblinking, his icy stares bores into me. “Of course not, Enchantress. But you and your people played the part so well before, it was easy to convince the rest of the world that you rebelled first. So locking you up was seen as the justified thing to do. You Enchantresses have always been so entitled. So enamored with yourselves you could care less about the fate of the rest of us.”

“All we do is care for you!” I shout, my knee throbbing from the pain. Galen smirks, running a hand through his perfectly combed hair. “We heal you, work for you, work for your kings. It’s all we’ve ever done, and yet it isn’t enough?” It’s never enough though, is it? We break ourselves for the comfort of men, and are immediately seen as a threat when we collectively say “we’ve had enough”.

“It wasn’t enough,” Galen says quietly. His narrowed eyes shift, his brows softening for a moment before the hardened exterior snaps back into place. “Enchantresses have had their free rein since Silas’ rule, I’m simply restoring the order as it was before his time. As it always should have been.”

I suck in a sharp breath as I remember the book Galen gave me in the woods. How he knew right away that I was a Dyrsjel. How he helped me take control of my power with the wolves. “Why help me understand what I am if you only wanted to bring me to Roman anyway?”

His serpentine laugh curls up my spine. Stepping back, he leans against the wall opposite the cell. The stance, so casual and relaxed, as if he didn’t just betray all his friends. His family.

“If I must spell it out for you…” he draws the words out in annoyance. “Without control of your magick, it’s basically useless to whomever harvests it. You had to know of your history, of who you are, how to control the wolves and the elements, otherwise it would be much more difficult for Roman and I to take what we need from you. And the wolves would have been much more difficult to control.”

“You and Roman…” My voice trails off. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

Galen shrugs, his lips turning upward. “It looks as though we share an affinity for the Rudhek brothers,” he says with a laugh. He and Roman are together. And all this time Sorin trusted him. I trusted him.

“Though, to be fair,” Galen continues, “when I went looking for the last Dyrsjel, I never expected you to show up on my best friend's doorstep. A complicated addition to my plan involving Sorin. You can blame yourself for that.” He smirks and my heart sinks while my head spins. I really need to lie down.

“And so what?” I ask, taking a step forward, fighting off the drowsiness that threatens to throw me to the ground. “What is in this for you Galen? Power? Control?” That slithering laughter curls around me again and I all but shudder to get it out of my ears.

“You know,” he says, gripping his hands around the bars, leaning close. “Sorin was fine to let his vendetta go. He was happy in Loxley before he met you.”

“I trusted you,” I grit through my teeth, tears running down either side of my face. Choosing to not focus on the fact that Galen is right. Sorin is likely in this mess because of me. “I thought you were my friend, Galen.”

“Wrong bet.”

“You are a coward,” I whisper, bracing myself against the bars, wishing so deeply I could reach right through and wrap my hand around his throat.

“And you, Elora Leigh, are the last known Dyrsjel. The last Enchantress of your kind that can wield the Stones.”

Ignoring him, I stand on my toes, pushing past the pain in my knee to meet him at eye level. “Let the Stones remain hidden. Use me as you wish. Take my Elemental magick and leave the Stones. Let the other Enchantresses go. What need could you still have for them?”

“Wrong bet, again.” He bends down, pushing his face against the bars so all that separates us is the thick iron. “With your magick, we will achieve greatness, but with the Stones, we will achieve everything. We’ll take back control of Teravie, just as King Bastian and Queen Solei intended. Mother Gaia gave you magick to aid us, not to control us.”

Baffled, I stumble back a step. Hardly registering what the original king and queen have to do with this. “Mother Gaia?” I whisper, stretching my hands again against the iron shackles. “It isn’t possible. No one has harnessed magick through the Mother without an Enchantress before.”

Galen’s grin reveals the sharp points of his teeth. “No one, until now. I’ve been mocked as a scholar, made fun of for always having my nose in a book. And when my sister was killed because of your supposed Healers, it was the moment I knew there had to be a change. It’s all led me here. To unlocking the very root of all magick.”

My heart stumbles, thinking of a sister Galen’s lost. One I didn’t know he had. But I reground myself.

“Sorin is your family, Galen,” I say again. “What about him?”

“I’ve lived a long time chasing Sorin’s dream,” he says quickly, covering the wince I swear I see flash across his features. Placing his hands in his pockets, he glances at the stairs as if he has somewhere better to be. “Avenge his mother, take the throne. But when I met Roman in Valebridge all those years ago, I decided right then that I wouldn’t be a shadow in someone else’s story. I would pave my own way. Seek my own revenge.”

A strangled laugh creeps up my throat, the exhaustion of the last few days making my mind delusional.

“Some history you’re making. Using the magick of others because you possess none of your own. Whatever happened with your sister, I’m sorry for it. But this isn’t the way.” He frowns, his mouth tight as he watches me struggle to find my balance. “And Sorin isn’t perfect, none of us are. He may have visions of revenge and justice, but at least he isn’t hurting anybody to do so.”

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