Whispers and Shadows

Chapter 8

Blue

It was a soul-sucking existence being back on Demonia. I already missed the sewage-riddled streets of the Middle Realm; I could only smile when I was with Erene. Here in Demonia, I had to be—

“Blue!” A soldier cried for me. “Message from the master.” He ran up to me, holding a wax-sealed letter in his hand.

“Thank you,” I said coldly, taking the letter before swiftly reading it. I looked up at the soldier, and allowed my blue fire to turn the missive to dust. His eyes widened and a vein throbbed at his temple.

The soldier was not a pureblood, though his sclera was black. He could pass as one, but in reality he was a half-blood. Father enjoyed retaining the services of bastards like me. We came from nothing and were less than the lowest in Demonia, which meant we remained loyal no matter how badly he treated us. At least here we had a proper place to rest our heads at night.

“Prepare my carriage and tell the Lieutenant to come see me. I’ll be in my study.” Then I turned on my heel and marched for my room.

Only once in the privacy of my room did I allow myself to sit. My head hurt.

With a groan I rubbed my temple, feeling the full weight of my exhaustion crushing down on me.

Even now, two years after casting the spell, I couldn’t understand why I’d been sent back. Initially, I’d believed the Goddess had given me a second chance in order to use me, perhaps, for her own means. But in two years I’d never once been contacted by the goddess.

So if she’d not sent me back, why was I here?

The rapping of knuckles on the door broke through my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, and I stood and quickly called forth transformation magic once again. When Lieutenant Raydos entered, he found me in the armor I wore during that night’s ambush; he gave me a nod.

By many estimations Raydos’ ascension to Lieutenant was a disgrace, especially amongst Father’s royal knights. He was a weakling by pureblood standards.

His face was long and delicate, almost feminine in its softness. He had dark brown eyes, black sclera, and tiny horns that looked more like reindeer antlers than the proud spines of the most powerful knights. He had shoulder-length hair that was as red as freshly shed blood, which he’d tied back with a simple black ribbon.

In all ways he was unassuming, just a titled noble who kept mostly to himself and was dreadful with a sword.

But what he was good at, he was very, very good at.

“Come,” I ordered.

His front teeth clenched tight, and I didn’t try to hide my smirk. Even he, who was looked down upon by almost every one of rank in this castle, rankled at taking orders from a half-blood like me.

But Raydos would never betray me, because I knew the truth of him. I was the only one in this castle who did.

I lifted a brow. Finally he moved forward, taking a seat on the very edge of the red velvet-draped chair opposite me. He dropped his hands into his laps, and his posture was rigid and guarded. The polar opposite of how Prince Mikael had been when we’d first met.

Would he have acted differently toward me if he knew I’d had an audience with his Prince? Probably not.

Raydos was Mikael’s hidden man amongst us. In the other timeline I’d corrupted Raydos by reminding him I need only expose him to father and it would have all been over for him. I’d forced him to betray his true prince and divulge all of Mikael’s strategies to me first. It was how we’d managed to always keep ahead of “The Wise” Prince Mikael.

But having met the enigmatic Prince for myself, I was coming to realize that he must have known Raydos had been turned. Which begged the question: why hadn’t Prince Mikael had him killed? Why had he allowed Raydos to continue feeding us information as he had? Why was the prince so hard for me to get a read on? If his actions made even the slightest bit of sense maybe I’d have a chance, but he acted in ways that I couldn’t account for.

I stared at the effeminate man.

He looked at me unflinchingly, not bothering to hide his disdain for me. I grinned.

“Tonight I received this missive.” With a flick of my fingers I brought up a mystical image of the note I’d been handed just moments ago; it flickered a brilliant icy blue.

“This is Tarsish,” he said, leaning forward excitedly as he stared, awed, at the strange markings. Then he glanced at me. “It’s a dead language.”

I nodded. “I knew that the moment I spied it. My question to you is, ‘what does it say, and who sent this?’”

Raydos excelled at tongues. He knew every language of the lower realm, and even those no longer spoken. “There aren’t many linguists around who would have a grasp of even the most basic words, let alone possess the fluency exhibited here.”

The only kind of person who could have sent this was a scholar mage from the arcane tower, or someone of such rare and inexplicable knowledge as Prince Mikael.

“What does it say?”

“It says,” he said slowly, “that your presence is requested tonight at the Witching Hour in Bishop’s Square.”

I lifted a brow.

Bishop’s Square was just on the outskirts of father’s domain, in a small village of not much significance. It was a good place to rendezvous if one did not wish to be caught.

Prince Mikael, while brilliant, would not have the means to travel such a great distance in such a short amount of time. Which meant this letter did come from the Arcana.

I’d already begun to alter the past through my actions. I’d never met with a member of the Tower in my past time, as they despised the use of magic from any god other than the Darkness.

My heels clacked rhythmically on the stone floor as I went to reach for my blood-red cloak. I wrapped it around my shoulder, tying the ends together.

I looked at Raydos; he wore a curious look. But I knew he would not ask me why Arcana was contacting me. He knew full-well the mages were loyal to the Emperor—the emperor my father was desperate to overthrow.

My going, therefore, could be considered treason. Unless, of course, I’d corrupted one of the mages, which had never been done in the history of Demonia before.

Raydos was brilliant, but I did not trust him. I did not trust anyone in my circle. They would all betray me in the end, and I could never afford to forget that.

Whistling beneath my breath, I called a sheaf of parchment and a quill dipped in dragon’s blood to me. With just a thought I wrote out an encrypted note. The quill turned toward me, and I pricked my pointer finger with it. Then I sealed the letter with my blood.

I looked at Raydos. “Get this to your prince.”

He took the note, turning toward the door that would lead him out to Father’s study.

“Your real prince,” I said, before rolling my fingers through the air and opening a portal to Bishop’s Square.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

I turned and gave him my haughtiest sneer. I knew the thoughts hammering through his head: were Prince Mikael and I in cahoots? Did the prince have a mole in the Tower? I would answer none of his unspoken thoughts.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Raydos startled, and I enjoyed the sight more than I should. He often considered himself the smartest in the room, so I’m sure he was at a loss for words. But I didn’t engage in further conversation; he was smart enough to know what I meant. Once he’d left, I went to where the soldier had readied my carriage. I gave the driver a location to a local bar, but in reality that was a mere cover. I’d opened a portal inside my carriage. This was the easiest way to escape the spies all around me from reporting my movements back to my father.

I stepped through the portal, the blue light of my fire embracing me in its warmth. I blinked and I was in an abandoned town square.

Light from the twin moons illuminated the cobbled pathway. Beside me stood the statue of the Great Bishop who’d saved the kingdom with the sacrifice of his own life, staving off the attack of the armies of the north and west.

I studied the statue; its presence at this meeting felt significant, as his story connected to my own. The Great Bishop Enollo’s victory had preserved the throne’s bloodline and weakened the west, creating the vacuum which eventually allowed Mikael to claim the title of Prince of the West. The Emperor’s family flourished to this day, including the descendent prince who now ruled in the south: my father.

Truthfully, Enollo had been a hero to some and a traitor to others. The Emperor Claude that he defended was also known as The Blood-Red King,so named because of the sea of blood shed to secure his victories. I could not say he was wicked, but nor was he great. I thought of Prince Mikael; there were others much better suited to wear the crown.

“You are not what I expected.”

I turned at the sound of the elder male voice. Black robes almost completely enshrouded the mage who slipped out from the shadows. But I could see red eyes that burned with dark flame staring back at me.

A good five yards stood between us. The mage neither approached nor retreated, and I suspected he was taking my measure. I thought that wise, so I reached out with just a brush of my power to take his measure.

The amount of darkness I felt in him was overwhelming; I instinctively flinched back. I had never felt such an immense power in any life, and I knew beyond a doubt that he could kill me if he wished. My blood felt like ice.

If he had so much as ruffled his robes I would have fled, but the mage remained perfectly still. In the few breaths of silence I gathered my thoughts, and quickly arrived at an inevitable conclusion. That level of power, coupled with his unfamiliarity, only left one candidate for the man’s identity: he was the most high mage of the lower realms, Elder Acornus. It was said no mage before him had ever been blessed with so much raw power. Even standing beside him I could feel the intense wave of his energy.

He held up a hand, and I noticed a white gleam. But what I’d expected to be polished noonstone wasn’t, in fact, it was his hand. His very bony hand. “Elder” wasn’t merely a title; anyone who ascended to that title gained their exceptionally-long lives through temple sacrifices. It was much like how I absorbed souls for power, but with a key difference that made them far more threatening than even me.

Elders not only took souls, but they actually consumed them. And Elder Acornus was the most powerful of them all. I tried to steady my breathing; I would cast an escape portal at the first sign of aggression. If Acornus took my soul, there would be no surviving the experience.