by Emma Hamm
“A spell for clarity,” she read aloud. “Why do I need something for clarity? I remember what he said. He didn’t want me to stay. That’s why I left. I need not understand what happened. I need to know what to do moving forward.”
The hand nudged her hard in the middle of the back. It apparently wanted her to perform a spell which felt rather strange.
But what did she have to lose? After everything, the Dread, her family, even running across the frozen lake that had cracked in the middle of winter but not spring… All these details were things she couldn’t logically explain.
Besides, she was too tired to argue with someone who was already dead. She’d rather try a little magic and see how it changed her life.
“Rosemary, ginseng, and turmeric,” she read. “Ground in a mortar and pestle, then boil above an open flame. Drink until memory returns.”
She shifted the vials around on the table until she found what she needed, although she didn’t know what ginseng was. A mortar and pestle rested on the table as though it were waiting for her. Only moments ago it had been filled with dust, but when she turned back to it, the dust was gone and it appeared almost as new.
“Thank you for the help,” she murmured, then started grinding her ingredients. “This is just a tea, you know. It’s not magic.”
This time, she didn’t feel a hand, but she heard a strange voice, one she had heard before, reply, “It’s magic if you believe it is.”
Well, now she was talking to the dead. Amicia had led a strange life, but even her father wouldn’t have believed this if he was still alive to hear her story.
The question now was whether or not she believed in magic. Amicia didn’t think she did, and yet, the past few months had proven her wrong. Even the Dread were not an infection. No human could grow wings, and she had just been denying herself the truth this entire time.
Maybe magic was real. Maybe she had denied it her entire life because she didn’t want to believe in it. Because it was different, and different was scary.
She carried the mortar and pestle to the fireplace, a hearty flame now burning in its depths. She hadn’t lit the fire, had she? Every movement seemed a little slower in this place, as though she were running through water.
Lighting a fire was a rather strange thing to forget. Perhaps the ghosts had done it. Could they do something like that? Something so powerful when they were already dead?
She poured the powder of herbs into the pot hanging over the fire. Boiling water enveloped what she’d created.
Was magic real? It could be if she wanted it to be. What would her father have said?
As if she had conjured him up, she saw his image seated beside the fire on the cot. He stretched one of his legs out, the other bent at the knee. He’d injured it when he was younger, and the bone had never been quite the same.
“Ami,” he said. She hadn’t remembered the wrinkles at his eyes being so prominent, but perhaps he aged in the afterlife as well. “You’ve done well, daughter of mine.”
“Apparently, I’ve forgotten something.” She took the small stool from the worktable and dragged it in front of the fire. Amicia stretched her hands out, her fingers icy. “And I am to believe magic is real.”
“How else would I be here?”
She glanced up in surprise. The laugh lines on his face deepened, and he grinned at her with so much mirth, she almost believed he wasn’t dead. “You’re just a figment of my imagination.”
“Am I? What are spirits then? Magic or mud?”
Amicia touched a hesitant hand to her head. The mud was drying, cracking where she touched it and raining down upon her shoulders. “I suppose the right answer is a little of both.”
“I never left, you know.” He leaned forward and grasped her hands. She could feel his fingers, strong and confident in hers. “I’ve always been here, helping to guide you, and I always will be.”
Tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. “I killed you, Papa. Why would you ever stay with someone who did that?”
“Because you’re my little girl, and you always will be. I love you more than life itself, mon cherie. You are not alone, even in the darkest of times.”
Letting out a long, low breath, she nodded. “I suppose I’ve always known it was you.”
“Drink your tea, darling.”
Amicia hardly realized her movements were slow and wooden. She poured the water from the kettle over the flames into a mug at her elbow, although she didn’t know where it came from. She sipped. Hot water burned the roof of her mouth, and flavors burst on her tongue.
Her father leaned forward. “When you were speaking with the King of the Dread, what did he say?”
She swallowed. “He said I didn’t belong there. That I couldn’t make the right choice for our people, and I must leave for forsaking them.”
“Think harder. The alchemists are tricksters. There must have been something they used to warp your mind.”
“I don’t think so.” Amicia had to make him understand. She didn’t know why it was so important her father saw the world the way she did, but it was. “The book Alexandre gave me has all the secrets. The book was the one that gave me the blade.”
“Was it?”
Heat bloomed again. She’d sipped the tea without realizing it, and with the second swallow, her memory shifted. The book hadn’t given her the blade at all. The alchemist hadn’t left yet, and he was the one who set the blade atop the book. His sunken, flat eyes had stared at her in the mockery of a smile before he left.
“No,” Amicia gasped. “The blade was left by the alchemist.”
“Take another sip, daughter. Focus on the words the King of the Dread told you. What did he say?”
She drank deeply, two, three more sips until the cup was empty in her palms. She forced herself to remember those hated words, the ones that still stung her soul to think of.
“He said...” The world spun, as if something inside her was fighting against the tea. She swallowed hard, forcing the gorge in her throat back to her stomach. “He said, ‘You have no place here, Amicia.’ And then told me to go back to my barren city.”
“Good, Amicia. Now remember what he really said.”
Suddenly, she was seated in the chateau’s library once more. Alexandre was on his knees before her, grasping her hands within his.
She could hear the same words she remembered, but his mouth moved differently. His lips didn’t say that she had no place.
What was he saying?
Amicia leaned closer, focusing so hard a headache nearly split her head in two. The memory, warped and wrong, finally gave way until she could hear what Alexandre had really said.
“Please,” he begged. “Don’t leave. No matter how hard it is, or what we will become, stay. I need you, Amicia. All I have ever needed was you.”
Amicia pulled out of the memory with a gasp of pain and anguish. Breathing hard, she dropped the cup that shattered on the floor.
The ghost of her father leaned back, the outline of his body becoming foggy and transparent once more. “And now you know.”
“I remember.”
“What shall you do now, daughter of mine?”
Amicia met his gaze as it faded away and felt resolve settle hard on her shoulders. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and set her jaw. “I’m going back.”
Chapter 35
Alexandre didn’t know what had happened in the moments between the kiss and the library meeting. He had been trying to do the right thing. To put his own concerns and desires aside.
And then, when she couldn’t kill him, he had felt the most uplifting hope. Maybe she loved him. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted to stay here with him.
He knew what he looked like. There had been some pleasing changes. He was looking more and more like the man he used to be, but his hope could only stretch so far. Amicia must have known he would never be the Celestial he was before. A curse was a curse. And if she couldn’t break it, then
he would return to the monster she had once feared.
For a moment, he had hoped she could overlook his ugly visage. She had seen the man underneath the horrific skin and had kissed him. Then she wouldn’t kill him. That had to mean something.
And yet, when he had asked her to stay, she had left. Fled from the chateau.
He couldn’t stop her this time when she knew what he was. A monster. Real and true, the kind that she had always feared he would be.
Alexandre wandered through the halls in a daze after she had left. Unsure of where or what to do. She had been the light at the end of the tunnel for so long, the beacon in the darkness drawing him out of the shadows and fog of his own mind.
He remembered everything.
Days after she had left, he found his feet carrying him toward the crypt where his old body awaited. It was nothing more than a corpse now. He couldn’t return to that gilded form when he knew she wouldn’t break the curse.
He reached out a clawed hand and placed it on the wall to guide him deep into the belly of the chateau. Claws. He scraped the walls as he walked, digging into the soft stone because he was changing back into the monster. The longer she was gone, the farther he fell into despair.
The lights never went out in the crypt. At least, that’s what he remembered from the old times. This was supposed to be a place where he honored the most beloved of his people. It didn’t matter if they were noble or not. He had laid them to rest here because their hearts had deserved the greatest of honors.
Each slot in the wall held someone who had changed him. The first man who had stopped on the road when he had arrived with the other Celestials was in the grave to his right. The man had offered him water, said Alexandre had looked thirsty. It was the last bit of water the old man had, but he was happy to share.
Above that tomb was the woman who had named Alexandre. She had said he looked so handsome; he deserved a name just as beautiful as he was.
Countless people. Each more kind than the last, the ones who had been the real heroes of the kingdom and who had taught him so much about love.
And yet, he still couldn’t remember what had brought him to this moment. The moment where he stared at his own body laid out in a sarcophagus before him.
Alexandre stopped beside the body, staring down at it with a mixture of horror and sadness. “Who were you?” he murmured. “And why was I ever fool enough to think I could return to you?”
The corpse didn’t respond; of course, he didn’t. This was the husk of a Celestial, the last remaining piece of the man he should have been. Though it breathed, it was only because the body waited for the soul to return. And Alexandre feared he could never return to that state. No matter if the curse was broken.
She had changed him. Fundamentally, deep in his soul. The Celestials were supposed to help all humans, force them to see reason and punish them if it was required. They were not supposed to fall in love with them.
And yet, his soul was not his own any longer.
“And so the King falls,” a voice said from behind him. Considering it oozed from the shadows, Alexandre already knew to whom it belonged.
Sighing, he turned to stare at the alchemist who had followed him. This was the leader of their dark troops, the one man who had forced Alexandre to his knees and who could do it again.
Dark tattoos spread across the alchemists knuckles. Their black shapes warped as he pushed the hood back and revealed the mess of his face. Alexandre had forgotten how ugly the alchemists were.
“What do you want?” Alexandre growled, turning away from the disgusting sight of the alchemist’s face.
“We told you the girl should die or you should turn her into one of the Dread.”
“I could do neither.”
“And now, here you are. All we wanted was to prevent your suffering, King of the Dread. But you have never been talented at listening. Have you?”
Alexandre wasn’t here to be scolded. He rounded the other end of the tomb, staring up at the numbered graves where all the people he had once loved were put to rest. “I see no reason for you or your people to remain here. You gave her the knife to kill me. She refused. Now, you may return to whatever darkened hole you crawled out of.”
“No, Alexandre.” It was the first time the alchemist had ever used his name. “If the curse will not be broken, then you must uphold your end of the bargain.”
“What bargain?” He remembered nothing of what the alchemist was talking about. Alexandre turned back to his own grave and clutched the edges of the coffin. His nails made the stone screech as he shifted. “There was no bargain between us.”
“Of course, there was. We allowed for one attempt to break the curse, but if it failed, you were to become the King we always wanted for this land.” The alchemist stepped forward, blood oozing from his robes. “Now, you will fulfill that position.”
“I will not.”
“You have no choice, King of the Dread. You signed a bargain with us a long time ago, and now your little shield is gone. Forever.”
Alexandre didn’t remember this. With all the memories swirling around in his head, he had thought this would be something that would appear once he focused. However, he could remember nothing. “What does this bargain entail?”
“Forsaking all from whence you came and accepting your place as King of the Dread.” The alchemist spread his hands wide. “That is all.”
It didn’t sound like a small feat, and yet, Alexandre saw no reason why he shouldn’t. Amicia was gone. His people were already the Dread.
Becoming King for all eternity didn’t sound like a change of his fate in the slightest.
Bowing his head, he nodded. “If that was the bargain, then I will uphold what I said all those years ago.”
A cold blast of wind rocked through the chateau. His breath fogged before him as the winter returned in full force to his land. Pain skittered along his spine, and he felt his wings moving of their own accord. Felt his body changing once more.
Alexandre looked up and saw the alchemist’s wide grin. A pit formed in his stomach and he had a mere moment to think, “What have I done?” before all the lights went out.
Chapter 36
Amicia burst out of the hut, only one thing on her mind. She would save the Dread and the man she loved, no matter what the cost.
The door slammed against the wooden side, rocking the structure behind her. She paused only for the briefest of moments to stare in shock around her. She was no longer in the deep gully. Instead, she was right back at the edge of the frozen lake, staring at the chateau encased in ice.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I believe in magic now.”
The echo of a chuckle ghosted through the surrounding air, then a hand pushed against her back. She was supposed to be running, after all. Or had she forgotten?
Amicia burst into movement once more. She slogged through the knee deep snow that clung to her ankles and threatened to pull her deep and deeper. She wouldn’t let it, however. She would make it to the chateau. No one, not even the alchemists’ magic, would stop her.
The lake had broken, shattered the last time she had seen it. And yet, now it was frozen solid, the ice so thick it felt like a marble floor underneath her feet. She had never seen it like this before.
Even more concerning was the layer of ice coating the chateau. The entire building looked as though it had been blown out of glass, or perhaps as though someone had draped a sheet of glass over the top and let it melt down upon it.
Why was it covered in ice? Amicia shook her head and continued on, focusing on the first task before she let herself worry over another.
The snow gave way and allowed her to stumble onto land at the foot of the chateau. She paused for a moment, her breathing ragged and her body aching. The dress provided little warmth, but she felt strangely fine. Even her fingertips were not aching with the bitter cold.
Amicia stood and stared up at the chateau as though it were another enemy for her to des
troy. And destroy she would. Nothing would stop her, not in this moment and never again.
She stalked to the front door of the chateau. Ice covered it in a thick shield. She wouldn’t be able to reach the door through the thick mass of glittering ice.
“That will not stop me,” she growled. “You must do better than that.”
The statue next to the door had once been a man holding a shield. The other side was a man holding a spear. Both had been destroyed by the Dread, but there were shards of stone on the ground.
Amicia bent and picked up the largest one she could lift. She was stronger than she ever had been, hard work and labor had turned her into a woman of means. She hefted the marble over her head and, with a great cry, sent it flying toward the ice.
Though it didn’t break immediately, she had left a chunk in the chateau’s icy armor. A large chip spider-webbed away from the door and gave her the only thing she needed to continue.
Hope.
She picked up the stone again and lifted it above her head. “This is for my father,” she snarled, heaving it against the ice again. “This is for my family and friends.” Another crack fissured out from the others, and the ice groaned. “And this for Alexandre.”
The final strike shattered the glass just enough for her to slip through. Amicia dropped the stone. Her lungs ached from gasping in the cold air, but she couldn’t stop to rest now. Not when there was so much more to do.
She reached through the hole in the ice, turned the knob of the front door, and pushed it open. It swung on silent hinges and revealed a silent hall beyond.
The hall had never been hushed before. There were always the Dread watching each entrance. At least a few of them milling around, on their way to another room or to start their watch.
Where had everyone gone?
Amicia crawled through the ice and landed on hands and knees in the entrance hall. Her hands sank into the sticky carpet soaked with… She lifted a hand. Blood stained her fingers, thick and oozing. Not normal blood. But that of the alchemists.