Heir to the Underworld (Suffer a Witch to Reign Book 1)

by D. H. Dawson

  What confuses me is what the thief is after. Aside from all the other concerns, like how they entered my brother and sister’s chambers undetected, that’s what really doesn’t make sense to me. Why bother stealing meaningless Spirit witch items? To what end?

  ‘I sense your mind turning. Would you like to talk?’ Cristian says.

  I glance around. We can scarcely move without brushing strangers’ shoulders. If anyone were to overhear any of the words I would speak, we would be discovered. ‘Not here. Too busy.’

  Cristian drops his head in a nod and makes sure to keep right beside me. Ares and Matthew are only two paces ahead of us. As someone bumps into Ares, he turns and growls something at them, and as the human turns, I bite my lip. Oh, no. It’s someone of importance—I can tell by their appearance, their clean, rich robes, the rings on the man’s fingers. I march ahead and grab Ares by the arm and turn to the man.

  ‘Please forgive him. My friend is quick to anger, but he means no harm.’

  The man glowers down at us. He’s tall, with neat, white hair smoothed back. ‘He should mind his tongue, lest I cut it out for him.’

  My grip on Ares’s arm tightens, and I lower my head. ‘We’re very sorry.’

  The man puckers his lip, then something catches his eye. ‘You’re lucky they have the good wine today.’ He walks away to drink his fill, leaving me breathless with relief.

  I turn to Ares. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  Matthew reaches over and brushes my sleeve. ‘This way. Quickly.’ They avoid using my name or title here, I’ve already noticed, so as not to draw attention. I nod and follow as we pass a smithy. The heat and flames catch my eye, and something inside me squirms, burying my secret. I think of the dark figure’s warning. Why would he bother to warn me?

  As we pass, the smithy pauses his work to speak with a customer, a tall figure in a blue cloak. I catch her long, dark hair. She picks up a short blade, and in the moment the smithy’s back is turned, she almost drops it. Anyone would expect that to leave a cut down her palm. I slow my pace as I stare. There is no mark on her skin, no blood drawn. I stop fully in my tracks, and her gaze catches mine. A smile graces her lips and she—she bows to me. My mouth falls open as Cristian takes my hand and tugs me along.

  ‘Who were you staring at?’ Cristian hisses.

  No human is impervious to steel. Only a witch, either Spirit or non-Spirit. But here, the realm of only humans, where, if my dark figure is to be believed, having magic could be a death sentence. As it turns out, aside from my friends, I am not the only witch hiding in this Mortal Realm.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Matthew whispers. He sounds dubious. ‘Another witch, here?’

  ‘Why would she be here?’ Ares says.

  We huddle a little distance away from the marketplace, against the flow of the crowd. ‘I don’t know,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I’ve lost our thief anyway.’ Matthew’s gaze lowers. ‘I’m sorry, princ—sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ I look out at the crowd, wondering if more witches walk among them without the human’s knowing. But indeed, why would they?

  ‘What if we follow that witch?’ Ares says. ‘One of the theories is that the thief works for a witch, right? That he stole these things for them. What if it’s the one you saw?’

  ‘Better than nothing,’ Cristian says.

  ‘What did she look like?’ Ares asks me.

  ‘Blue cloak, long dark hair,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think she’s working against me or my Crown.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Cristian asks.

  It’s not something I can explain to those who aren’t royal, but it was the way she bowed. There was no malice there. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘One way to find out.’ Ares leads the way this time, drawn up to his full, admittedly imposing, height, though he’s hardly being inconspicuous; we’re trying to investigate unseen here. He melds into the crowd, now moving with the flow.

  I see the witch, just leaving the smithy. Ares sees her too and follows.

  Matthew tugs on my sleeve, and I turn to see his wide eyes. ‘That’s the thief.’ He points at the man handing the witch a bag. She hands him something in return, and they part seamlessly. They were right. The thief works for this witch. Why?

  ‘I don’t like this.’ I follow Ares, keeping a few paces back from the witch, and we stop and wait as she pauses, waiting for a break in the crowd to get to another store. I can’t see what she’s doing. She leaves after a moment, and approaches a guard, leaning forward to talk to him. The guard’s gaze searches the crowd. Oh, no. The guard spots us.

  Ares freezes, and turns to us, alarm on his face. ‘I think we should leave.’

  ‘You, there! Stop!’ The guard tries to approach us, but the thronging crowd is thick and unyielding.

  ‘I agree.’ We all head for the border back to our realm. Matthew glances at me, then veers off to the side and I watch in horror as he confronts the thief.

  Ares shoves past two guards that attempt to block our way, his hulking figure no match for their slim bodies. I hear their helmets crack together and hope they’re okay. Cristian takes my hand again—even in the midst of the chase—and my heart beats faster at his touch. His deep blue gaze meets mine, steady and reassuring, and we run as fast as we can to the border. Ares breaks through first.

  Cristian grabs Matthew and hauls him with us as we run after Ares and break through the boundary again. Once again, in the moment, as I cross through, the dark figure visits me.

  He smiles this time, relaxed. ‘Don’t fear. You are safe now.’

  I blink and he disappears, my home grounds sprawl before my eyes. As if anticipating trouble, my entire Royal Guard—trained witches—are waiting for us on the other side, and raise their swords as Cristian, Ares and Matthew stand in front of me protectively.

  We wait with bated breath for the human guards to follow us through, but no one does. I sigh. Of course they won’t come to a witch’s realm, seeking vengeance.

  ‘What happened, Your Highness?’ Patrick glances at the border, still waiting for an invasion. I don’t know if the humans of our neighbouring realm have ever invaded—certainly not something that would end well for them.

  ‘I’m more confused now than when we left.’ I turn, ignoring the questions in Patrick’s eyes, and head for the castle. The guys loiter behind me. I can feel Cristian’s worry as I march away, but I need somewhere quiet and private so that I may concentrate on a vision. It’s not something I want to do; I’d rather pretend I wasn’t seeing this dark figure at all, but he knows much more than he’s telling me—why did he worry when I left the realm, but not upon my return? This time, I’m going to get some answers.

  Chapter Nine

  Carmen

  It’s hard, being afraid of what I might do all the time. Even as a stalk away from those tasked with protecting me, I turn my back and hope they don’t follow, because I could not explain the haste with which I walk. I hope they don’t think I am afraid of what happened in the other realm.

  I must speak to the dark figure who haunts my dreams, who has taken it upon himself, for some reason, to warn me of the other realm. More specifically, not to do magic there. I march along the grounds, and realise that, under my brown hood, even in my home realm, I am—now unintentionally—disguised.

  It will be easier to enter the castle through a side door—less guards to ask fewer questions of me. I make my way toward the villages, intent on skirting around. A gathering catches my eye, so I walk a little nearer. What are these people—I pause, arrested mid-step at their clothes. There are only two reasons to wear white in the Gaia Realm: one, for a healer, two, for a mourner.

  The people in white gather, their cloaks and dresses flapping lazily in the breeze, giving the illusion the group looks like a soft, drifting cloud. But no, the stark whiteness against the greenery of the ground and the darkening sky is stark and unsettling. I creep closer
to the group of a dozen or so people gathered, some crouching, others wailing into the otherwise still evening air. A child, in a swath of white cloth, reaches out toward freshly turned dirt, her hand small and chubby, and bawls. Her voice is harsh and shrill, and it pierces my heart.

  Two Coven Paladins, dressed in their usual Gaia-green, stand by as quiet comfort for the mourners. One holds out a hand and squeezes a woman dressed in white.

  My gaze slides over the mourners to the nearby cottage, it’s wall finally thawing from the attack of the Knights. There are four more frozen bodies behind the one newly buried, still to be seen to. How many of this household died? All of them? Guilt and sadness swirl in my chest. These poor people. My people. I make my way around the edge of the cottage and overhear two people talking.

  ‘We can’t,’ snaps an older man. ‘They’re still frozen to the wall, Maize, we mustn’t risk—’

  ‘What, breaking them apart?’ A younger girl’s voice. ‘They’re my parents. I need to put them to rest. How long could it take for them to thaw properly so we can move them?’

  The older man gives an awkward hum, unsure. ‘Days, maybe weeks. I’m sorry, Maize. I’m—I’m sure you don’t want them in pieces, do you?’

  The girl’s sniffling sob eats through me. She has lost her family, and still cannot bury them, give them the very least they deserve now they are passed: honour and peace. I watch as the old man and the girl leave the cottage. The girl pauses and looks back, her face scrunched up as she cries. She can’t be any older than fourteen. They join the other mourners, and the girl scoops the infant up into her arms to quiet her.

  I glance at the mourners, at all they have gone through. At the bodies lined up, still to be buried. All they have lost. I move around the hidden, shadowed side of the cottage and lean against it. I must help them. I set my hands on the cold stone, peering in the rear window. There are still two bodies, against the left wall, frozen solid to it, immoveable. They lean together, the ice melded them together, as though they were afraid, holding hands as they were attacked.

  As I concentrate, a little warmth emanates from my palms, flat against the stone. I look at my skin, but there’s no fire, only heat. The ice on the wall begins to melt, running down to the ground in a slowly-forming puddle. As I focus a little harder, the heat magnifies, and, through the window, I watch the ice on the walls within begin to melt. After a few moments, there’s a small crack as the bodies in the house thaw, the structure of the ice gives in, and I stare at the faces of two parents, loved and lost. As the ice melts away, I can see: they are still holding hands.

  Their bodies are rigid, they are long dead. They cannot be saved, no matter how much I wish it, but as I turn away from the cottage, there is a small semblance of pride in what I’ve done. Even with an evil power, I will help my people.

  I scurry away, hood pulled up to hide my face, and watch from a safer distance as the family continues to bury their dead. The girl goes back into the house and finds her parents, and shouts out to the old man, who comes hobbling quickly inside, and after much surprise and disbelief, they manage to bring the mother and father outside, and onto the ground, ready to find peace. The girl weeps over her mother and father’s bodies. What I did was a small blessing, a good thing, but they are still dead and gone from her.

  I notice the woman whose hands I healed, dressed in white. She puts a hand on the teenage girl’s shoulder, perhaps her niece or cousin.

  Numbness tingles my fingers as I make my way toward the castle. I stare down at my hands and am relieved when there’s no evidence of fire. The Helmets glance at me, but don’t stop me, and as I reach my chamber door I hold out a hand to open it, then stop.

  I do not look like myself, so why has no one barred my course to the Crown Princess’s rooms? I glance around. There are two sets of guards within sight, neither of whom looks at me. Are they not loyal, or are they simply tired or stupid? I could be anyone.

  I could… be a thief. I lower my hand and turn, keeping my face hidden, and head down the hall to my brother’s room, eager to see who will stand in my way. It does not bode well that, so far, none have. I am in the heart of the castle, and have passed many sets of guards. What is going on?

  The halls are quiet as I walk toward Tiberius’s rooms. I can’t hear anything, so he may be asleep already, or reading. As I reach out for the handle, someone presses something into my back.

  ‘Freeze. That is the prince’s room. Reveal yourself, or I’ll run you through.’

  A smile curls my lips. Well, that’s interesting. ‘I suggest you don’t.’ I raise my hands and turn slowly, shaking the hood off my head. ‘I don’t think even a hand-picked instructor would survive killing a princess.’ I smile at Cristian, who drops his sword as though it burned him.

  ‘Oh, Your Highness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognise you.’ Cristian stumbles and picks up the sword, blue eyes wide and apologetic, and a little terrified.

  ‘Don’t be. I’m glad someone stopped me. Begs the question, though, why only you did, and not my guards. I’ve come this far and only you have spoken to me.’

  Cristian’s gaze widens. ‘That—that cannot be. How—why—?’

  I lower my hands. ‘I think it’s time for a meeting. The King and Queen need to know of this experiment I’ve undertaken, and its outcome.’ I turn to my brother’s door and creak it open. He is on his bed, asleep, a book on his lap. Hara is cuddled up to him, her eyes closed. He was reading to her. ‘I need you to stay here and protect my siblings, please. Clearly my guards cannot be trusted.’

  The hint of a smile tugs Cristian’s upper lip. ‘And you trust me?’

  ‘Certainly. For if something happens to them, I will know for sure it was you who allowed it.’ I turn on my heel and march to my parents’ chambers. Perhaps it wasn’t the kindest thing to say, but I needed him to know I won’t hesitate to hold him accountable if they’re hurt.

  A few minutes later, my parents and Gilah gather in a small room. Mother draws on an overcoat, over her nightgown, and Father looks aggrieved to have been woken. Only Gilah looks undisturbed to have been summoned and gathered so urgently. I relay what happened, how no guards stopped me, a disguised stranger, even in the heart of our beloved castle, and everything that transpired today, in regard to the thief in the Mortal Realm.

  They all listen aptly, gazes locked on mine. There’s a heavy silence in the air as Gilah lights a few more candles to better illuminate the cramped and shadowy room. We thought it best to talk somewhere private.

  It’s Gilah who first finds her words. ‘I am glad you left the trusted human at the door, but he won’t be much match for whomever is behind this.’

  ‘No,’ I agree reluctantly, ‘he won’t. But I couldn’t leave their door unguarded.’

  Father shakes his head. ‘I don’t believe this. Every one of our guards, I’ve known them since they were adolescents. I trained them all myself.’

  Mother is white as the mourner’s cloaks. Only her dark hair and slightly pink lips give her any colour. ‘This woman you saw at the market, in the blue cloak. You say she was a witch? Are you certain?’

  I finally sit and lower my head into my hands. ‘I saw the way she dropped the blade. She was no human. She did not bleed. What else could she be?’

  ‘What did she look like?’ Mother asks. There’s an urgency to her voice I don’t understand.

  ‘I didn’t get a good look. Taller than I. Dark hair, brown eyes, maybe.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Mother presses.

  I shake my head. ‘No. Why, Mother?’

  ‘She’s obviously working with this thief,’ Mother says. ‘I want to know what she wants with our Spirit trinkets. What she hopes to gain from acquiring our possessions. There is magic darker than you know out there, Carmen.’

  I frown and look between them. ‘What do you mean? What danger could a few possessions be?’

  ‘If she’s a Summoner, she could use those pos
sessions to connect with the person they belong to,’ Gilah says quietly. ‘It’s possible she could spell Tiberius, or Hara, or whomever’s things she now has.’

  ‘What’s a Summoner?’ I ask, though the question feels heavy on my lips. It’s a bad thing, I can tell, and part of me doesn’t want to know.

  ‘Someone who calls on dark magic for their own uses,’ Gilah says. ‘The blackest magic there is. Underworld magic.’

  A chill runs through my veins. My magic. ‘Who… what kind of person could do that?’

  ‘Any witch, Spirit or no, has the potential, but it takes blood and sacrifices to do so.’ Gilah’s gaze is on me, and it’s more scrutinising than I can bear.

  ‘Enough,’ Father says. ‘I will question all my guards this night, then—’

  ‘No,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘If they’re working with someone else, or being paid to allow strangers in, why can’t we use one of them? To lead us to this witch, or Summoner, or whomever.’

  Father’s fingers tap restlessly on his round belly. Even his nightclothes are a royal, rich blue. His belt is gold, adorned with small, precious stones. I don’t often see him without his crown. His dark head looks bare without it. ‘And who would do this?’

  ‘Me. And the best strategist I know, plus a witch handy in Spirit tracking.’

  Gilah smiles. ‘Your instructors are becoming trusted allies, Carmen? These are unusual times. Be vigilant with who you place your trust in. There are a few handpicked guards I trust more than others. I will test them to be certain of their loyalty, then have them rotate shifts in protection of Tiberius and Hara.’

  Father nods and waves a dismissive hand at Gilah. She gets to her feet and takes her leave. ‘Carmen,’ Father says. ‘Are you certain of this? We do not know who this treacherous enemy is, or what she seeks from our realm and these belongings. The guards checked, the vaults have not been disturbed, so that is a relief.’

  ‘Even so, I think we can be sure she seeks someone in this castle.’ I stand, hands on the table. ‘Father, it is my job to help and protect every person in this realm. We have a new enemy, someone who has influence within these walls, people who clearly work for her. I will do what I can to learn more about these plans, and who is aiding her.’