Nessa wanted to rewind time to when she didn’t know about the Atheals, summoning, and mental blocks. Nessa just wanted to wake up and forget about everything magic related.
She just wanted it to be a bad dream.
But it wasn’t a dream.
She couldn’t wake up from it.
The fevered mumblings jumbled together in a chaotic mess, and the wind blew with fierce gusts. Nessa decided that if she had died, then this was surely the Void, the place akin to a Hell for magic users.
Dead…?
Terror swept through her like a tsunami. Nessa’s mind turned to Aoife. Could she tell that something had happened to Nessa? That something was happening? Was she okay?
Dead… It can’t be true… If Nessa was dead, then that would mean Aoife…
A silence settled over the abyss.
The winds stopped blowing. The voices stopped speaking. It was like everything had taken a deep breath and a step back. The beings no longer touched her, caressed her, toyed with her. They abandoned her, leaving her where she lay, watching from afar as light slowly bloomed, forming a ring around her, soft and gentle like starlight, a bubble of hazy illumination. Nessa felt as if she had been swallowed by a moon.
She blinked and frowned, bringing a hand up to rub her bewildered eyes. With a gasp, she sat up like shot. Oh, blessed movement! She was no longer trapped in her own body.
The relief was short lived.
“Oh no,” Nessa whispered as she looked all around the alien landscape, her voice faint, overwhelmed by the roar of blood in her ears, the panicked thud of her heartbeat. “I really am dead. I messed up that spell. I’ve messed up something fierce.”
Nessa’s shoulders sagged, and she slumped, sad. Defeated. She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead on them, the fabric of her skirt warm and soft on her skin. Her face was streaked with tears, and she sniffled, a sob rising into her throat.
It’s strange, Nessa mused, her brows pulling together, her tears ticklish on her cheeks and jaw. I’m pretty sure I’m dead, and yet…and yet my chest hurts… Was it possible to still be in pain when you weren’t alive? Nessa thought that it was very unfair if that was so. Very, very unfair.
Shifting, Nessa peered down at herself.
In the ghostly light, she could just about see the ever-growing bib of blood on her chest, the red coloured almost back by the hazy illumination. Keeping one arm wrapped around her knees, Nessa plucked at her dress with the other, grimacing as the fine, woollen cloth peeled away from her skin unpleasantly, the cooling blood sticky and repulsive. Her dress was ruined, and not just by the blood. A long slash cut clean through the spot over her heart, the fabric parting to frame the mess that was her chest.
The wound wasn't big, only a couple of inches, but it was deep, opening flesh and scraping bone. It was nauseating to look at. Nessa couldn’t withstand more than a quick glance. Is it possible to faint in the afterlife? Judging by the dizziness that washed over her, Nessa was willing to go with a yes—yes, it was possible to faint in the afterlife. How bloody unfair is that?
Nessa released the front of her dress, groaning in disgust as cooled blood and tacky fabric slapped against her skin, unpleasant and making the wound sing with dull pain.
“I wonder where Aoife is,” Nessa wondered aloud, her voice whispery and faint, smothered by the mist that crawled around her. “She must be here…unless…unless dragons go somewhere else…”
Sat on the ground, on a bed of silvery roots, Nessa looked around her, searching for a hint of purple amongst the pale light. If Aoife was near, it would be easy to spot her. After all, everything around Nessa was colourless. A purple dragon would stick out like a sore thumb. That didn’t stop Nessa from gazing at the forest of trees, though, their trunks slim and tall, their bare branches graceful and far-reaching, making a perfect canopy. They formed a web above Nessa, just as their roots did beneath her. She couldn’t help but feel like she was sat in a great hall with vaulted ceilings and high columns. A cathedral.
The trees shone just like the mushrooms that illuminated the High Quarter during the dark hours and those that brightened the front room of Pharawynn’s shop. They were filled with ethereal light, making the world around Nessa glow with soft luminance. It was a calm light, gentle. Something about it eased a part of Nessa, soothing something within her. The clawing beneath her skin was gone, replaced by a flood of peaceful warmth. It felt as if a part of her was being welcomed home.
What a disparaging thought, to belong in the Void…
The trees were beautiful, Nessa had to admit, but in a strange, haunting way. They were ghostly, their inner light making them take on a slight translucency. Nessa wanted to have a closer look at them, wondering if their smooth bark was soft like the mushrooms they reminded her of, or if they were rough, real and made from living wood. Despite her curiosity, Nessa didn’t move from where she sat. Getting closer to a tree meant getting closer to the beings that lurked behind the trunks.
Silent but curious, they peered around tree limbs when they thought Nessa wasn't looking. There was no way for her to tell how many of them there were, nor exactly what they were. Though humanoid, they weren’t human. The antlers and wings she saw from the corner of her eye bore testament to that. What they were exactly, she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t see more of them than the barest of glimpses; she wasn’t permitted to see any more of them than that. As soon as Nessa lifted her head or turned to look, they would vanish in a puff of silver smoke, reappearing somewhere else at the edge of her vision. It was like a mystical game of cat and mouse, and Nessa couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the mouse.
Nessa wondered if they were lost souls like her, dead souls who were left to wander the Void, or if they were something else entirely.
Are they creatures born of the Void sent to punish and torment me?
Nessa’s bottom lip quivered, and she pressed her head against her knees, her dark hair falling around her in a tangled mess, a curtain that offered her the illusion of privacy.
“It’s okay,” she told herself. “It will be okay.”
She almost believed herself.
Almost.
There was a rush of wind, a whisper of movement, and the hum of awed whispers from the spectral spectators filled the air. Nessa could only presume that Aoife had finally found her, joining her there in that ghostly world. Instead of joy at their reunion, all Nessa could feel was shame and sadness. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, to face her bonded partner, and admit to her terrible, terrible mistake.
There was a sigh, soft, quiet. It was the sound of resignation, of contemplation. A gentle ring of golden light enveloped Nessa as something moved to stand over her. A weight settled on her shoulder.
A hand.
It wasn’t Aoife.
Nessa stilled, hardly able to breathe as an energy, ancient and powerful, washed over her. Tranquillity flooded her veins, a peace so deep and profound that she had surely only ever lived half a life filled with illogical longing and misplaced fears until then.
She lifted her head slowly.
Her gaze met with that of another’s.
Nessa blinked.
She stared.
A man of golden beauty leaned over her, tall and graceful, hair long and flowing, held back by a glimmering circlet. Tresses as pale as the fluff of dandelion seeds drifted around sharp cheekbones and a fine jaw, stirred up by a light breeze that seemed to only reach him. Light spilled like rays of springtime sun from his skin, subdued enough for Nessa to look at him, but bright enough that she was only able to make out all but the barest of details. Were his eyes amber or bronze? His complexion honey or ivory? His hair white or silver? It was like she forgot him even as she drank in the sight of him and his aureate robes.
His hand left Nessa’s shoulder, and gentle fingers twined around hers, pulling her hand free from its death grip around her knees. She was coaxed up, his touch giving her legs the strength they needed t
o stand. Nessa knew that if it were anyone else, somewhere else, she would be demanding answers, asking the millions of questions that bogged her mind. With him, though, she was tongue-tied, unable to do anything more than gaze up at him, transfixed. Bespelled.
Nessa felt the weight of his eyes on her, brushing over her features like a caress of a butterfly's wings. He smiled, and Nessa found herself searching for a hint of fangs or something like that. She was sure that he was an Old Blood. What else would explain the golden light and the unearthly beauty? He was no mortal man. He was something else.
Thoughts, speculations, fled as his hand rose, the back of his fingers soft and warm as they trailed over the line of her jaw, the edge of her cheekbone. His eyes locked with hers, searching inside her, learning all that there was to her. His hand drifted down, settling on the lamen that rested beside the bloody wound on her chest.
With long fingers, he turned it this way and that, the raised edges of the protection sigil catching in the golden light, catching in his light. The lamen was coated in her blood, the sticky substance slowly drying and turning almost black. His thumb brushed over the lamen’s surface, and with a flare of light, the sigil changed before Nessa’s very eyes. The surface shifted like water, like liquid mercury. The sigil morphed into another, one that was growing ever more familiar to her…
Warm metal settled back against her chest as the man vanquished his hold, his work done. The side caught on the edge of the wound, rekindling the forgotten burn of pain. Nessa hissed reflectively, unable to stop herself. The man’s gaze latched onto the line of slashed fabric and gaping flesh. Nessa couldn’t tell what emotion shone in the man’s bright eyes. Was it confusion? Bewilderment? Disbelief?
He frowned, pale golden eyebrows pulling neatly together. His gaze became intense.
Angry.
Displeased.
Nessa’s heart missed a beat. She became scared. She feared him. She was frightened of what he might do, what he was capable of doing. Not to her, necessarily. There was something about him, something which told Nessa that she was safe from the darker side of him. No, Nessa feared the revenge he would wage against others, on the ones who had harmed her.
And what a terrible revenge it could be…would be…
“It’s fine,” Nessa lied, her words quiet, unsure, little more than the faintest of whispers. “It doesn’t hurt. Not even a little bit.”
His frown smoothed as one eyebrow quirked upwards. He saw through her as clearly as glass. Anger turned to amusement.
“I wasn’t even aware that it was there until—”
With his golden gaze fixed upon Nessa’s wound, skin glowing with godly light, it began to itch and tingle. Nessa could feel her flesh knitting together, healing with incredible speed. In a blink of an eye, the pain was gone. The wound was gone. Nessa knew that there would be no scar, no mark. Still, it came as a surprise when she looked down and found her skin unblemished. There wasn’t even a bruise, not the slightest of flaws. If not for the bib of congealed blood and the slashed fabric, Nessa would have said that it had never been.
Awed, Nessa rested a hand on the spot, blinking rapidly in astonishment and wonder.
“Th—thank you.”
The man’s eyes were kind, and a small, perfect smile graced his features. His hands rose and cupped Nessa’s face gently as he leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead in the softest of kisses.
Nessa’s eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the feeling of him being so close. The feel of his hands. The lightness of his lips. She drank in the intoxicating power as it wrapped around her.
She felt so warm and safe with him.
So loved and cherished.
A sudden wave of dizziness made all of that flee. The warmth, the golden light, abandoned her. Darkness rolled in, bringing with it a chill that seeped deep into Nessa’s bones. The man’s lips left her forehead. His hands fell from her face.
Nessa was suddenly alone. Lost.
She spun in the darkness, searching. Confused. Gone were the man and his light. Gone were the glowing trees and the spectral spectators.
Nessa tripped.
Nessa fell.
∞∞∞
She was in her room, sprawled on her back on the floor. She stared up at the moonlit ceiling, blinking slowly, confused. Why am I down here? She wondered. Her mind was empty of answers, void of everything but the heavy pounding of a thunderous headache. She reached up to rub her eyes, but something on her fingers made her pause. They were peppered with a dark, sticky substance.
“Is that…” Nessa frowned. “Is this blood?”
Hers?
Was she bleeding?
The spell. The wound. In a rush, it all came flooding back. The place of glowing trees and…and…and someone golden. Someone beautiful. She tried to conjure the image of his face, but all she could find was…
Nessa shot upright with a gasp, her hands going to her chest, to the ripped fabric of her dress, to the bib of cold blood that no longer had a source.
“Impossible,” she whispered, looking around herself for an explanation. A dream surely? That place, the man her mind refused to remember in full, the details were vague, hazy. It had to have been a very real, very strange dream. What happened shouldn’t have.
The summoning circle surrounding her was unchanged, a ring of dim chalk lines, of glyphs and seals. They hadn’t been smudged or marred, not even when she had fallen back. Nessa shifted into a more comfortable position in its centre, drawing her knees up to her chest. All was as it had been before she had started her spellcasting, all except for the candles. They were evidence that something had happened, that time had come and gone. Now reduced to little more than puddles of hardened wax, the wicks had long since burned out.
How long have I been unconscious? Nessa questioned. How long was I there, in the land of spectral beings and light?
Nessa’s hand drifted to the lamen, holding it up to the moonlight, marvelling at how it had been changed, at how one sigil had been transformed into another that was more runic and familiar to her.
But why? Why was it familiar? Where had she seen it before? A headache had started a constant pounding in her head, strong enough to make her eyes water. It was like someone was banging on a wall.
Nessa swore.
The lamen slipped from her numb fingers, abruptly forgotten. It felt like someone was banging on a wall because, well, someone was. That someone was a large, purple dragon, and the wall was one built from willpower and amethyst, a wall that Nessa had constructed before starting the spellcasting that night. She hadn’t wanted Aoife to sense what she was up to. So far, all the other times she had built a barrier to keep Aoife out of her mind, she had been met with success and no suspicion. This time, though, she had been found out.
Nessa didn’t know what to do.
Aoife was going to be angry. Very, very angry.
Nessa’s indecision, her uncertainty, gave Aoife the foothold she needed to break through Nessa’s amethyst wall, and a tide of inhuman rage coursed through Nessa.
Chapter 38
WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?! Aoife roared, her presence swamping Nessa’s mind, filling it with a dragon’s worth of rage and distress. If Nessa hadn’t been so overwhelmed, she might have laughed at the notion of a dragon being used as a measurement in such a way. As it was, Nessa felt no urge to laugh or even giggle. There wasn’t even a hint of a giggle. It was probably for the best, because if Aoife sensed that Nessa was feeling anything other than absolute terror at being screamed at telepathically by a dragon… Well, Nessa dreaded to think of how Aoife might react. There was no telling what an enraged dragon might do.
And Aoife was pretty damn enraged, if Nessa did say so herself.
DO YOU HAVE ANY BLOODY IDEA OF HOW LONG I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU, ONLY TO FIND THAT YOU HAD WALLED ME OUT?! YOU, MY OWN DAMN RIDER, HAD BLOCKED ME OUT!
EXPLAIN YOURSELF!
Nessa knew that Aoife wasn’t there physica
lly, but she still couldn’t hold back a flinch. A part of her half-expected a blow, a slap or something else equally unpleasant. Never before had Nessa felt such boiling emotions pouring from Aoife. Sure, they had bickered and argued, such as anyone bound together would. This, though, was something new. Something Nessa wasn’t prepared for in the slightest.
Uh—
I WAS BEGINNING TO WORRY! DID YOU KNOW THAT? OR DO YOU NOT CARE?
I… Nessa couldn’t form a coherent response quick enough.
A BIT OF PRIVACY EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, I CAN UNDERSTAND, Aoife bellowed. BUT TO LOCK ME OUT COMPLETELY, IGNORING MY CALLS FOR SO LONG, THAT’S NOT RIGHT! NOR IS IT NECESSARY! UNLESS…UNLESS YOU WERE DOING SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T WANT ME TO KNOW ABOUT!
That’s not true. Nessa winced, knowing that her words were weak and lacked any conviction. I just needed a bit of time to myself.
WHILST YOU DID SOMETHING YOU KNEW I WOULDN’T APPROVE OF!
Please stop yelling, Nessa begged. You’re giving me a migraine.
Aoife growled. Tell me what you were doing.
Nothing.
You can’t lie to me, not when our minds are connected. I can sense everything you’re feeling. I know that your heart is beating a million miles an hour, that you’re panicked and not just a little scared. I also know that none of this is caused by me catching you out, so why don’t you save us a lot of time and effort in trying to circle the issue and just tell me.
Nessa hesitated, torn between telling the truth, even though she knew it would only anger Aoife further, and trying to concoct a believable lie. She had told so many by now that it was faintly surprising she wasn’t a professional yet.
Come on, Aoife urged, tone sickly sweet. Tell me.
Nessa should have seen the warning in those four words, but she was too engrossed in thinking up a cover story. She didn’t want to lie, not really, and certainly not to Aoife. Not anymore. A half-lie would have to do, at least for the time being. Nessa told herself that once she made sense of what had happened with the summoning, she would come clean to Aoife.
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