Securing her hood, Helene found herself traveling through the same road she had bolted through the night before.
After she was escorted to her decorated chambers, Wendy had relayed a message from her father, stating they would speak about her behavior the following morning. Already aware she was bound to face an unpleasant conversation, she was simply grateful for a moment of solitude — all of which was spent anticipating the opportune moment to slip away from the Palace.
With her aides and the unfamiliar setting, Helene found it difficult to even leave her room. It had taken a feigned interest in the layout of the Palace for her to swipe a spare maid’s outfit and sneak out in a disguise once night fell deeper. One hired carriage ride later, she was here.
Retrieving a metal pin and silver tool from her pockets, she looked around in hesitation. This time, it was a small ornament boutique she was breaking into, and while her conscience still pricked from last night, she inserted the device into the key lock despite it and waited until the click of her entrance sounded.
From there, it was the same process. Undress, redress, undo her hair, raise the soles of her boots, fasten her cloth mask. In a few short minutes, Princess Helene was nowhere to be found, and she was Ani again — her mother’s daughter in a foreign empire, looking for a cure.
Too many things had happened. The abyss. The vision. The sickness. This time, she vowed to find the answers she came here for. No more running. No more fear of the darkness within. She would invite it if it meant her mother could live.
Thrown back into her purpose, Ani ventured to the Dreamer’s cave. Already memorized and carved into her head, she followed her steps from the night before and lurked through the dark streets, hooded and masked. When the familiar crowd of dull, brown buildings came into view, she spotted the old entryway blending in with the humble shops scattered throughout the road. From an outsider’s view, it was just an extra door embedded between a tavern and a pawnshop, but she knew, with just a few order of knocks, it would open to the dwelling of the Dreamers. Her heart pounded fiercely as she steeled her agitated nerves and walked towards the battered entrance.
She stopped when she reached it.
Where it was once shut tightly against its frame, there was now a gap. It was open.
Ani’s breaths heaved out unevenly. What did this mean?
Pushing it open with great caution and a hand placed on the dagger strapped to her hip, she peeked into the dark stairwell. The sconces that had flamed before were doused and the silence of the beckoning underground drew the hairs at her nape to stand on end. Something wasn’t right.
Looking back at the moon-lit street, the temptation to cease her endeavor and journey back to the safety of her guest chambers in the Palace coaxed her. But a voice in her head urged her on.
Go in, Ani, it whispered seductively. Take what you’re here for.
Clenching her fists and nodding to herself, she looked ahead and hiked down the steps, placing her gloved hand against the spiraling wall to guide her through the darkness. Her fingers tingled, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the suspense of the moment or the fading effects of the numbing cream she had applied to her burns. Whatever it was, it didn’t help the suffocation of being flooded in pure blackness.
Like before, the chill in the air frosted over as she drew nearer to the cavern entrance, but this time, there was no firelight. Swallowing the panic simmering on the surface, she kept her feet moving. When she walked through the threshold, a brief sense of relief washed over her as a glow from the hanging stalagmites and the waterfall faintly brightened the darkness she had been submerged in. But, her disappointment soon overwhelmed it, because it was empty.
Not a single soul, mask, or figure was present. No Dreamers. No bonfire. Nothing. The only thing that assured her it wasn’t all a dream were the remnants of the burned wood that had blazed the towering fire.
Taking herself further into the colossal space, she looked around, impatience and restless trepidation heating her face. What was she supposed to do with this? How was she ever to get the answers she so desperately needed when no one was here!?
She felt the impulse to break something. To throw it, crush it, destroy it. Anything to ease her outrage.
“I knew you’d come back.”
Ani stopped breathing.
Emerging from the same alcove she was pulled into, the masked man she had encountered that night stepped forward. Still the same towering height with his banded mask and a hood darkening his features, she tightened her hold on the dagger hidden by her cloak.
“Was this you?” she asked lowly, softening her throat to hide her Ravenian accent.
“What?” he rasped, stepping closer and closer to her.
Ani backed away. “Where are the Dreamers?”
He ignored her question. “Why are you here?”
She startled when her back hit a near wall. “I thought I told you last time. I’m here for a healer. Find one, and I’ll be on my way.”
His lips curled. “As stubborn as I thought,” he mused, just a few steps away from her now. “You asked for a healer with magic before. Tell me more about that.”
She narrowed her eyes. What was he trying to get at? “I’m sure we’re both familiar with the Dreamers of Theolos. And the rumors.”
“Tell it to me, anyways” he urged, tilting his head as if he were studying her.
“Dreamers practice magic in a world that denies it exists,” she recited. “They dream of a world ruled by it.”
He closed in on her now, pressing her against the wall. She internally cursed. She refused to be trapped in this position again.
“And, what about you?” he gritted out, placing his hand against the wall by her ear. “Do you dream the same thing? Are you magic?”
I’ve had enough, she thought in exasperation.
Whisking her dagger free, she grabbed his collar and used the force of her weight to turn their bodies until his back was the one pressed to the wall. Seeing how large of a man he was, she ignored the fact that she was solely successful because he allowed it.
Placing the tip of her knife at his throat, she glowered at him. “What are you playing at?”
“They say you brought it back,” he whispered darkly.
“What?”
“Magic,” he snarled, twisting her wrist and shifting his body until her front was slammed against the wall again. With the hand holding the dagger pinned behind her, her head spun from the blur of movements. She felt him pluck the knife from her grip. Feeling his chest at her back, her pulse jumped. When the span of his hand moved to her waist, she feared something tragic was about to happen. But, he only moved her cloak aside to insert the dagger into the sheath at her hip.
“Who are you?” he spoke into her ear. “What are you?”
She clenched her teeth, hating how helpless she was, bound like this. Perhaps she could kick her foot back into his groin. She would take great pleasure in it.
“Telling you who I am defeats the whole purpose of a mask, doesn’t it?” she replied in a haughty voice.
He scoffed, turning her to face him and letting her arm go. Before she could slip away, his arms caged her against the wall. “Give me a name,” he ordered.
It was light enough to see the outline of his sharp face. Her eyes narrowed. Something about him seemed familiar. “You first.”
“You can call me Rafe. Now you.”
“If it’s up to me, we’ll never cross paths again.”
“It’s not that simple, sweetheart.” He leaned in. “I have a proposition for you.”
She perked up. “What does that mean?”
“Name first,” he persisted.
She considered it. She already had two names — the name her mother gave her and the one her father forced upon her. Did she really have to take on a third?
“My name is Ani.”
He finally stepped away, but she was still savoring the taste of her name on her tongue. No one but her mother and the people of Haven City knew her by that name. When she was taken and presented to the King, he had simply proclaimed her as Helene Montfort, the bastard Princess of Ravenia. And now, under her mask and in a different empire, it felt like she reclaimed a part of her old identity.
Ani Belmont, daughter of Hanna Belmont of Haven.
Habitually, she brought a hand to the black stone necklace tucked under her tunic, but instead of the smooth outline of it, she felt the rough edges of her betrothal ring. Grasping both pendants through the fabric, she realized both her identities were entwined now.
Helene. Ani.
Montfort. Belmont.
Princess. Peasant.
She had two faces.
Frowning under his mask, Rafe extended a hand. “I need your help, Ani.”
Comments (0)
See all