Bound Beauty

by Jennifer Silverwood

  EONS OF ENDLESS nights pervaded her memory. Eliajaqlyn could not remember the light. Eventually, she could not remember her name.

  She kept to the caves by day and dreamed of spring. She dreamed of a waterfall in a forest older than her, of a golden prince and endless summer nights. She dreamed she had been a princess.

  But her lover abandoned her body on a battlefield, and she spent the painful years afterward recovering in a dark hollow. Her people could not bear to remain in darkness and without hope for too long, or they would turn into drakkor. The change was so gradual she didn’t even notice it at first—until it was a living blackness writhing beneath her skin.

  The howling of wolves dragged her away from her memories.

  No. Not mine. The shadow’s.

  They were more like echoes than memories, hazy yet potent enough to draw tears from her eyes. She blinked as snow kissed her eyelids.

  Night had come again, and she wondered how long she had slept.

  Sitting up was difficult, punctuated by many fresh cuts and bruises. She looked down at her scarred hands and found claws in place of fingernails. Not the Changeling, then. She was half beast and half witch, once a human girl with majik in her veins. Now she was something more.

  Vynasha, that’s my name.

  “Wolfsbane?” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Howls danced upon the winds, so she couldn’t tell their source. Her eyes told her the truth she could not bear to accept. She was alone. The last person she had believed to care for her in some way, the last person she had allowed herself to rely upon, was gone.

  Are you so surprised?

  Vynasha bit her lip as she stood on shaking limbs and slowly turned in a circle. Spring had come to the Wylder Mountains, but here, on the old road… While the cobblestone road was not hidden by snowdrifts, piles of loose flakes rose on either side and hugged the trunks of silver birch trees. Clouds hung low over mountain peaks, masking the horizon, charged with the sickly-sweet scent of majik.

  Vynasha blinked and took another sharp breath, because she knew exactly where she was. Wolfsbane had led her here before what felt a lifetime ago. The first time she had been weak and still too human as she struggled to climb the mountain passes. Before the skies had been clear and the snows less harsh, almost welcoming. Now the path to the Lost City was dark, and the wind cut through her cloak and numbed her clawed hands.

  She looked down to the jeweled dagger and pack Wolfsbane had left with her. Her father’s old towsack. A strange rasping sound burst from her mouth that was both a laugh and sob.

  At least the old bastard gave me this much.

  Vynasha shouldered her pack, ignoring the pain in her marked skin, and took her blade in hand. She faced the path and, without thinking on it too much, began to climb.

  How could he just leave me here? Why would he take me so far only to leave me?

  She shook her head against the lump in her throat. It all made perfect sense, truly. Wolfsbane had never approved of the pack or her relationship with the village. He was one of the last humans of Mount Grimm alive. He must have always supported the Bitterhelm family’s plans to wipe out the mirror folk.

  She blinked back tears.

  Stop it. Focus on shelter.

  Beast’s blood would only carry her so far where winter reigned supreme. She needed a hollowed tree or rock outcropping to huddle into while she waited for morning. She needed shelter soon if the scent of reopened wounds told her anything.

  The path curled to the left, cutting between two near mountains. She remembered this, too; the cliff to one side, hugging the opposite edge of the road. The path broke through a gorge, only she didn’t remember it being so deep before, as if the people who had made it wanted to keep outsiders away. Knowing what she knew now of the Lost City, Vynasha wondered how many abandoned outposts were hidden in the clefts overhead. This was the perfect position for an ambush. The thought had her glancing up now and then, as if the ghosts of those long-dead soldiers still watched.

  The farther along she hiked, the darker the shadowed lands became. Her eyes adjusted as the world transformed into different shades. She paused to rest against a rocky outcropping and pulled free a hunk of dried meat to chew on. It wasn’t as fresh as she would have liked, but her stomach didn’t care at this point.

  As she chewed, Vynasha lifted her hand and studied the almost gray pallor of her skin. Black runes curled over her exposed wrists, dancing across her fingertips, and a white streak of fear pushed her back onto the path. Anything but to see those strange markings and wonder how long she had left to live with two curses affecting her soul. Or how long she wanted to live should she succumb to either.

  The road opened once she had left the gorge behind, and around another bend, the first stone houses appeared. She had been too starved and exhausted to pay close attention to the homes beyond the castle before. Now Vynasha could make out the detail of latticework and carved posts before doors. Stone demons watched her progress from the rooftops. But it was the watchful emptiness of black windows that made her clutch her dagger until the rubies cut into her palm.

  We are close, the Changeling’s shadow happily whispered to her.

  Wrathful clouds swirled overhead, split by angry tendrils of majik. At least the majikal storm kept the castle from view. She did not want to see the castle at all.

  I barely escaped the last time.

  Only now, was there anything for her to escape to? Wyll was safe with Ceddrych and Resha. Baalor and Ilya would keep Erythea and the village safe. And Wolfsbane had abandoned her…

  Her steps faltered, and she froze at the memory of her last friend ignoring her pleas.

  Vynasha squeezed her dagger until her hand stung. She lifted her hand to find it seeping silvery violet blood. This was the very last thing to do near a castle full of rabid beasts. Cursing, Vynasha turned to face the building nearest her and realized she stood almost directly before its front door. A sudden wind pushed the door open so roughly that it slammed against the inner wall.

  Vynasha bared her teeth and took in her surroundings with a predator’s eye. The wind tugged her curls from her hood as if pushing her closer, and the door whacked against the stone house, dragging back her gaze.

  A halting laugh bubbled past her fear.

  “Stop being ridiculous, Ashes,” she could almost hear Ceddrych say.

  Vynasha lowered her blade and climbed the steps to cross the threshold. After a quick glance past the entry, she pulled the heavy door shut behind her. Empty silence welcomed her. The wind howled beyond, and Vynasha pressed her cheek to the door a moment. She missed the sound of the pack. She missed home.

  I should have stayed.

  A sob hitched in her throat, too loud for the restful peace of the house. Vynasha pressed a fist to her mouth then reached into the pocket of her tunic for the metal pendant Vedmak had returned to her. She bit her lip, then whispered, “Help me to find a way back, Mother. Please don’t let me die, not before I can finish this.” She squeezed the talisman one last time before pushing away from the door.

  The inside of the house was stale and stagnant from disuse, yet everything, from its grand hearth and velvet furniture to gold and silver accents, hinted at the family’s wealth. Her footsteps were quiet over the carpeted stone floor. Vynasha sank onto a cushion so soft it offered rest and comfort like she hadn’t seen since escaping the castle. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep, not without checking the rest of the house. Yet she was weak, so much more than she should have been. As she stared into the hearth, wishing for a fire at her front and Wolfsbane’s warmth at her back, her eyes drooped shut.

  No sooner had she started to dream than a piercing wail overpowered the howling winds.

  Vynasha jolted awake, slashing at invisible foes, to an empty room in an abandoned house. Her heart raced as she crouched and gripped the couch to hold onto something tangible.

  Only a nightmare, she thought when a shadow passed the corner of her eye.
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  Vynasha relaxed as her gaze settled on a darkened stairwell instead. She almost convinced herself the shriek had been some vestige of the Changeling’s curse until another moaning wail sang through the night.

  Vynasha lifted her dagger higher and struggled to maintain her stance as another shriek, shriller than the others, answered the last.

  “Stay and you die,” Wolfsbane had once taught her. Vynasha wasn’t strong enough to fight, and something or a group of somethings were converging outside this building. Just because she had four walls and a roof over her head didn’t mean she wasn’t vulnerable. Death knew no such boundaries.

  She counted three more breaths before abandoning her pack and moving as quickly and silently as she could toward the staircase. Her free hand touched the banister as another scream sounded directly ahead of her, in line with the closed door.

  Closer now.

  Vynasha climbed up the stairs faster than she had thought capable. The tattered runner softened her fumbling steps. At the top of the landing, she found a short hall leading to other rooms and a parlor like her sisters once dreamed of. Threadbare tapestries and abandoned instruments framed a small, empty hearth. Vynasha took all this in at a glance moments before the door downstairs banged open with a crash.

  Placing the flat side of her blade in her mouth, Vynasha crept back on hands and knees until she had her back to another wall. She could still taste the faint tang of Baalor’s blood on her tongue and shuddered.

  I never should have left.

  No moonlight filtered through the single narrow window to her right, farther down that same wall. All was deepening shadow and cold. It was colder than before now that the door was open.

  A pair of twin shrieking things spoke in grating pitches on the floor below.

  Vynasha replaced her hold on the blade and resisted the urge to cover her sensitive ears.

  Don’t be stupid. You don’t know what they are.

  Vedmak’s warning haunted her. “You should remember, nothing in the borderlands is what it seems.” If only the seer was with her now, he might know these creatures, speaking in rasping shrieks, bringing the winter chill to her bones. Though her heart raced, Vynasha focused on breathing slowly through her nose.

  Not today, she vowed. I won’t die today.

  A pale light rose from the bottom of the stairwell, accompanying a shrieking whisper, as if the creature asked a question. The light was both dark and light, emanating an innate smoky glow and reeking of death. Creaking footsteps followed the light up the stairs, and Vynasha knew her time was running out.

  She held her dagger level with her chin and peered through the railing separating her from the staircase. The first figure paused on the landing, and Vynasha swallowed back how wrong the creature felt, both corporeal and spectral. Its tattered robes, though faded, looked finely made as they floated about its body. A cold feeling spread from the specter’s body across the floor and seeped into Vynasha’s bones.

  How do you fight a ghost?

  Just as it floated down the empty hall, two more specters followed, hissing and chattering at one another. It was impossible to tell if they were male or female, young or old, and she should not have found compassion for such dangerous creatures. They moved with predatory purpose, sniffing the air, searching. Perhaps they weren’t looking for her, merely inspecting this intruder to their territory. Or so she hoped, until the first specter took notice of her.

  For a moment, they simply stared at one another, the being cocking its head at an awkward angle before releasing a shrill cry.

  Vynasha clenched her muscles to pump life back into her limbs.

  Her instincts kicked in just before the specter rushed for her with outstretched arms and a pained screech.

  Vynasha shifted to the left just before its bony hands could claim her, slicing at its midsection with her dagger. The creature twisted to catch her, but Vynasha darted forward and cut at one of the other specters.

  The other two attempted to rush her at once as their leader shrieked with fury and warning.

  A deep snarl escaped her throat as Vynasha feigned another jump. As she hoped, both specters attacked the space she had been aiming for. At the last minute, she whirled, claws and knife bared, and caught barely-there tatters and rotten flesh. Not pausing to face them again, Vynasha ran for the banister. Her clawed hand caught it, and she threw her legs over the side just as the lead specter renewed its attack. Their gazes locked briefly as she jumped over the edge and landed on the bottom stair.

  Pain shot through her legs, but Vynasha knew her limits. She had been testing them these past two moons and knew she could take much more. Her effort to make space between herself and the specters caused her to miss a step as she darted for the open door. This mistake cost her.

  A cold hand clutched her shoulder, bony fingers digging hard into her furs and pricking flesh.

  Vynasha roared as she twisted and raked a clawed hand over its rotted face. The creature’s black eyes narrowed with intelligence and fury. Though the damage she wrought was plain to see, no blood poured from the specter’s face. There was none left to spill.

  Vynasha sucked in a sharp breath, and the specter’s lipless mouth twisted into a garish smile as it leaned in for an open-mouthed kiss.

  Vynasha screamed and continued to rake and stab until two more sets of bony hands grabbed and extended her arms out on either side. Together they circled her and leaned forward with gaping mouths and desperation in their lidless eyes. Vynasha’s skin flickered and then brightened from dull gray to blinding purple, the shade of violets and the shades between pink and blue in a golden sunrise. She cried out as her light continued to build, and the creatures paused just shy of her skin. Rather than bite down as she had expected, they breathed her in, as if to suck the breath from her lungs.

  Her light began to seep past her skin like liquid majik and trickle down their throats. They hissed sighs of pleasure as they drained her.

  If she had felt weak before, now she knew she was dying.

  She should have fought harder. She had defeated the Changeling with a name and calmed her beasts with a touch. Yet this was an enemy she didn’t know how to fight. Her wounds, barely healed, reopened against the strain. Her bones shifted as if to push through her skin, while her blood sang like fire and ice. She cried purple tears and silently begged the specters to let it be over.

  Please, just let me die!

  A swift wind slammed the door against the wall with a crash, blowing snow over her and the specters. A deep humming filled the air, like she imagined the sun or an ocean storm. She couldn’t move to look at the source of the sound but found she didn’t have long to wait.

  A winged being of golden light grabbed the lead specter blocking her vision by the throat and squeezed.

  The specter’s eyes rolled back as the golden hand tightened its grip, strangling the specter’s scream. The moment it released Vynasha, the golden being slammed the specter to the floor then turned to catch the other two.

  Shrieks of pain and violence echoed all around her, but Vynasha couldn’t look away from the dying specter shuddering at her feet. It heaved great sobbing gasps and lifted its head one last time to meet her gaze before its body began to flake and crumble to ashes like snow.

  All was suddenly silent save the cold winds and the dim hum of majik at her back.

  Vynasha turned to face her savior, only to stumble and catch her fall against the golden being’s waiting arms. Her forehead pressed against a very solid and warm chest. A faintly familiar scent washed over her, and she smiled as the shadow in her mind returned and whispered, Come and rest. “Please,” she begged as she gripped at her savior’s chest and took hold of a worn coat.

  The golden light obscuring her savior’s visage began to fade. Vynasha thought the shadow in her mind had come to claim her at last. But the light merely shifted from the brilliance of the sun to a rich golden-brown-skinned face framed by thick black hair. Pale silvery eyes looked do
wn on her with relief and fear.

  Her hand shook as she touched his face in wonder…and fear. “Grendall?”

  He grimaced and then bent to lift her fully into his arms. Vynasha clung to him and buried her face into his neck with a sigh. Grendall’s chest heaved as he carried her back onto the streets of his ruined city.

  “Rest now.” His words washed over her. “We are going home.”

  IN THE VOID, there was nothing but silence and the shadow in her mind. It was peaceful. There had not been a time in her short life when Vynasha had not felt pain of some kind, whether it was from Old Ced’s backhand, her sisters’ words, or the endless struggle after the fire that claimed them. After she brought Wyll to a land that should not have existed, once she had not only proved majik existed but claimed it as her own, the pain had only festered inside her. Pain of secrets and hidden half truths, her brother’s fear of her, and Grendall’s betrayal. She’d had a chance at a new life in the Forgotten Village, a chance for belonging, before she had thrown it away.

  They could not have known until it was too late.

  Yet Vynasha did not allow her mind to linger on the past, not here in the safe place, with the Changeling’s silent shadow watching over her. To be roused by distant, albeit familiar, voices was painful.

  “What have you done, boy?” A familiar, quavering voice tugged her consciousness from dreamless sleep. She remembered wrinkles over a kind, transparent face, her first friend in the castle. What was his name?

  “How could you have brought her back now?” her friend continued. “Now, when it is most dangerous?”

  “You think I am not aware of the risks? I tried to push her away, to abandon the bond…”

  Awareness crept in, lying thick over skin with memories from the night before, of the specters’ hungry lipless mouths and of her golden savior. Grendall.