15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Evelyn

R ain poured outside in unrelenting sheets, wave after wave like beads of glass clattering against Evelyn’s window. Her afternoon walks had become her only reprieve out of the tower. Every trip outside her circular stone prison cell soothed her restlessness, but by the looks of the raging rainstorm outside, today she wouldn’t get that opportunity.

Evelyn tapped her foot against the cold stone floor. Despite the lively large fire at the hearth and access to her magic, Evelyn couldn’t escape the chill of Drystan. It clung like some hungry, angry invisible pest, an otherness settling over her like dew she couldn’t brush away. It reminded her of the presence of the White Lady, the darkness in the air oozy and wicked.

She slumped into the sofa, Tala paid her no mind across the way, reading a series of parchments and letters. Her golden eyes skittered across the words, fully immersed. Evelyn peered down at her own reading, an abandoned encyclopedia by Matilda Moore. She’d succumbed to such boredom, reverting to rereading the works of a witch she’d studied during her tutelage. Matilda was an infamous scholar. The Nūa Library had an entire wing dedicated to her work. Infamous or not, why were her works in the vampyr castle?

It wasn’t one text, either—the bookshelf near her bedpost had an entire anthology, the leather and gold font in pristine condition, one Evelyn recognized as originals her sister had coveted and paid a hefty price to find and keep as collectables. The mystery was much like the scholar herself, who’d up and disappeared without a trace hundreds of years ago.

Before Evelyn could ask Tala about the books, a tentative knock resounded. The vampyr peered up from her papers, amusement shining in her eyes. She rose and sauntered towards the door, a bemused smile playing at the corner of her lips. Evelyn reached out with her magic, and a serene, calm, graceful magic, like that of a bending riverbed, tickled against hers.

Belle.

Her heart raced, and she ground her teeth together to fight a smile. On the other side of the door, Belle’s freckles dotted across flushed cheeks. Her blonde curls had been left free and wild, spilling over her shoulder like golden-spun threads of sunlight.

“I…” Belle swallowed, eyes darting to Evelyn. She raised a basket full of ointments and supplies. “I came to check on Evelyn’s wrists.”

Tala’s brows shot up, and she narrowed her gaze. “A day or two late, aren’t we?”

Belle cleared her throat, smiling with no teeth. “You know how my sister can be.”

Tala hummed. “Fair. Come in.”

Belle entered, slow and hesitant. Her mahogany heeled boots clapped against the cold stone of the tower floor. She stopped at the seating area, hovering at the edge of the intricately weaved carpet, eyes darting between which seat to choose. Tala’s papers messed up the left reading chair, and Evelyn’s pile of Matilda Moore’s books occupied the sofa.

Tala smoothed her hands down her quilted jacket. “I have some evening errands to attend to. Perhaps you can join Evelyn for dinner tonight instead of me?”

Belle nodded. “I’d be delighted. ”

“I trust neither of you will get any fine ideas that include Evelyn leaving this room?”

She raised a brow at Evelyn who bristled underneath her golden stare. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Tala’s tone suggested she was some young, naive schoolgirl in need of a rehashing of the rules. She didn’t appreciate the reminder she was a prisoner, but unwilling to jeopardize alone time with Belle, she nodded.

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning for our usual scheduled time.” She winked at Evelyn as she left.

Her nerves grated, Evelyn’s flame rose to the surface. But again, Evelyn did nothing—it was too great a risk to upset or aggravate Tala and earn back her bracelets, an unsaid threat that lay in the air.

Alone, awkwardness beat between Evelyn and Belle, vibrating in the circular room.

“I’m glad you came back,” Evelyn said.

Belle swallowed. She didn’t meet Evelyn’s gaze as she set her basket of supplies on Tala’s now empty chair. “How are your wrists?”

Evelyn overturned her hands in her lap. Green bruises outlined where the bracelets had once been but were no longer sore to the touch. Evelyn hadn’t bruised for this long since she was a child. After maturity, a witch’s magic expedited the natural healing for simple wounds like bruises and cuts, which meant the bracelets’ magic had been darker than she’d thought. Bouts of drowsiness still hit her from time to time, and she blamed her drained energy for being unable to reach Kade again through their bond.

Sighing, she dismissed any thoughts of him. He was coming, risking his life, and she had her own task at hand.

“They’re getting better.”

Belle approached, lifting Evelyn’s wrists with a tentative touch. “The scabs are closed over. That’s good.”

“Yes. ”

It occurred to Evelyn that this witch’s sister had created the bracelets, and their stark difference was as blinding as the sun after days of rain. Even if Belle hadn’t mastered her brotannas, her fluid, dancing magic was there, alive and vibrant. Not a lick of darkness bubbling in the current of it.

The fire popped as Belle returned to her basket, rummaging for something. She walked back to Evelyn, handing her a pamphlet.

“I brought you this. Something to reassure you I hadn’t lied about Nūa. I know both your sisters live there, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

Last week’s date had been printed in the right-hand corner above the newspaper’s title, The Magic . Evelyn steeled her hand from shaking as she read over it. Things were much the same since she’d read the one Tovi had given her weeks ago—fashion experts writing about transitional pieces needed in one’s closet, the trendy dinner spot serving Old-World-meets-New-World flavors, and the latest efforts at the Void. There was no mention of any unrest, and it reassured Evelyn nothing had gone awry since leaving Callum.

She swallowed, words thick. “Thank you for showing me this.”

Belle nodded. “Of course.”

Evelyn tilted her head, studying the witch. “If Nūa is much the same, why are you and Ingrid here?”

“My sister met Visha, her fated. Seeing as she resided in court, we moved to Drystan.”

“Your sister’s fated is a vampyr?” Evelyn asked slowly. It wasn’t necessarily disbelief—Kade was her fated and a werewolf, so she understood the possibility one’s fated might not be a witch, but the fact it was a vampyr still surprised her.

“Yes, a vampyr.” Belle twisted her hands as she swallowed. “Does your offer still stand? To teach me magic?”

“Are you agreeing to help?” Evelyn asked.

Belle’s blue-green eyes widened, and she set her shoulders an inch straighter. “Let’s see how helpful you are first. ”

Evelyn scoffed, but she enjoyed the young witch’s sass. A spark, a hint of that powerful water brotannas hovered at the surface like a wave ready to crash down. A heaviness clung to Evelyn’s limbs. Her magic had been like that once, a whoosh of flame roaring to life before reverting in on itself, a dying ember she could not feed. Evelyn sank deeper into the cushions. Purpose settled over her, like a gentle Callum mist. She wanted to help Belle as much as she wanted to learn more about the vampyr.

Evelyn sighed. “Well, here’s to hoping I prove to be a good teacher.”

She rose out of her chair and walked to the bathing chamber. She returned with a small bowl, burgundy clay whitening her pale fingers further. Evelyn placed it on the woven carpet, her determined stare reflecting in the fresh, stone-cold water.

“Sit with me.” She beckoned Belle to join her, outstretching her hand.

Belle, nervously, twisted a finger around one of her honey curls. After a beat, she released a heavy breath and took Evelyn’s hand. Together, they sat on the carpet. Belle’s flowy, powder-blue dress ballooned and settled around her like delicate petals. It looked wrong against the maroon, woven carpet and onyx stone walls.

Evelyn fidgeted in her own skirts, detesting every layer. Goddess, she hated dresses. Her bare legs felt exposed, prone to the terrible Drystan chill. Outside, the rain continued, the constant patter against her window calming, while the fire crackled and popped with no rhythm or reason. Its wild and unpredictable power reached Evelyn’s in a familiar greeting, giving her the courage to try and help this witch.

“Where does our magic live?” Evelyn asked.

Belle nibbled her lip then tapped over her heart. “Here. It’s a kernel of power in our soul.”

“Yes, exactly. Our brotannases are there, too, woven into our magic, but we have to train them differently. Like a muscle, we have to work them and make them stronger. Use it too much, we tire it out. Use it too little, it grows weak. ”

Evelyn reached out and grabbed Belle’s hands. She gave them an encouraging squeeze and brought it against the witch’s chest, placing it over her heart.

“Alright, I want you to close your eyes.”

Belle’s cerulean eyes studied Evelyn, dripping with apprehension. Finally, she closed them, her lids twitching.

“Take a deep breath for me, Belle.”

The witch listened, her chest rising and falling as her nostrils flared. Her shoulders eased, and the flush on her cheeks faded, her bridge of freckles more prominent.

“Can you feel your water?”

“Yes,” she said.

Evelyn nodded. “The first step is to recognize your brotannas, your magic is you . It’s not separate, it’s not its own. You are one and the same.”

Belle’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

Evelyn’s heart skipped. For a brief moment, the youngness and innocence in Belle’s expression brought back the memories of her dear, bubbly friend.

Aster.

Such wonder, hope. All of it swam in Belle’s clash of green and blue, too familiar and recent. Aster’s death was still an open wound on Evelyn’s heart. It didn’t matter she’d succeeded in killing the White Lady. Grief had planted its thorny root and from time to time slithered like an invasive vine closer to the surface.

Yet, that was what fueled her, right? She’d made mistakes. She’d failed. She’d run, risked the safety of her homeland, and brought a darkness to Callum they’d never deserved. She wouldn’t let that darkness continue. Not Riven or the spell. Evelyn didn’t let doubt—or grief, even—hold her back. She faced her fears, no matter how ugly or risky.

“Yes,” Evelyn said with a shaky breath. Out of sight, a loud pop in the fire echoed in the room. “Your water and you are the same. Our magic is tethered to our souls, but our brotannas are unique to us, weaved into who we are. It is us, as we are it. One and the same. When you reach for it, what’s it like? How does it greet you?”

Belle closed her eyes again, inhaling as she fell into herself. “It’s calming, serene, and… gentle.” Her mouth opened and closed. “Am I allowed to say it’s beautiful?”

Evelyn laughed. “Of course.”

Belle laughed with her, a gentle kind of sound, like her brotannas. “It’s blue.”

“Like the sea?”

“No. A glacier blue.”

Belle’s brotannas rose to the surface, her magic twisting and turning in the air around them. Evelyn’s flame wavered in greeting, excited and warm, but Evelyn pulled it back, letting Belle feel her magic only.

“It’s like the lakes at the bottom of a mountain. I don’t smell or taste salt, but the forest and life. Rain, dew, and creek beds.” Her eyes popped open, and Evelyn swore the blue against the green bent and turned like the surge of a river. “Now what?”

Evelyn pushed the bowl of water in between them. “I want you to start with ripples. No droplets or trying to grasp the water. Make movement in it, connect your power to it. That’s all.”

Side to side, Belle leaned as if warming herself up. One hand remained over her heart, and she placed the other on top of it, exhaling as she closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with no rhythm, frantic against the sound of rain outside. Evelyn’s attention jumped between the bowl and Belle. Goddess, the young witch’s magic was present, certainly not lost like hers had been, but the young witch’s breath hitched and wheezed.

Her brows pinched together, and she sighed. Her stare met Evelyn’s. “I can feel it. It does feel a part of me, but grasping it is… difficult.”

Evelyn nodded. “That’s alright. It might take practice. Have you wielded it before? ”

“When I was younger.” Belle placed her hands on her knees. “We had a well outside our manor. We hardly used it, more for decorative purposes, but one day I was playing with Ingrid. We used to shout into the never-ending tunnel in the earth, giggling as our words echoed to meaningless sounds of nothing. And then it erupted, water shooting to the sky. It felt like I’d found something of my own, something that was mine. Ingrid had her wind brotannas, and now I had mine.” She shrugged. “Our parents and older brother died three weeks later. Scáths—well, I mean—never mind. Vampyrs attacked, yet we lived. Our uncle in Nūa took us in after that.”

“And he never had you tutored for your brotannas?”

Belle shook her head. “Our uncle wasn’t a kind man. He was rich and single and didn’t care for his snot-nosed nieces. He paid for private tutors, but my sister made me keep my water brotannas a secret. She didn’t want him to notice me more than he already did.”

Something flashed in Belle’s eyes, secrets or memories of the past, and Evelyn didn’t pry. She respected what Belle had told her. A trust was brewing between them she didn’t want to shatter.

“Can I try again?” Belle asked.

Evelyn smiled. “Go for it.”

Belle readied herself, same as before. Her breath steadied, her lids stilled, and a calmness washed through her. A beat passed and a surge of fluid power filled the air. The water in the bowl rippled—once, twice, a third time like the trembles after a quake.

“Did I do it?” Belle hunched closer to the bowl, and it rippled again, this time mightily enough to splash a wave over the clay bowl and seep into the rug. Belle erupted into gleeful giggles. She covered her wide, toothy smile with her hands, the water reflecting her overjoyed expression. “Goddess, I did it!”

Evelyn laughed, too, a feathery, warm lightness settling over her for the first time since Callum. For a moment, the stone walls of her tower prison crumbled to make way for a bright magic, eclipsing the rain and impending spell. She sat back, her own magic dancing with delight. The power of Belle’s successful attempt peppered the air with promise.

Belle relaxed, glancing at the bowl of water in wonder. The edge of her lips downturned. “I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

“What do you mean?” Evelyn moved towards the sofa, leaning upright against it, tucking her knees to her chest.

“I said you ran away and left us witches behind.”

Evelyn shrugged, picking at a loose strand on her skirts. “Nothing wrong with the truth.”

“But it wasn’t fair to throw it in your face. Being unable to master my brotannas has been frustrating, and I took that out on you, but I never considered what it must’ve been like. You’re Daughter of the Goddess, and witches and werewolves looked to you to defeat the darkness. I know how lousy and lonely it can be, but especially for you, it can’t have been easy.”

Evelyn forced a small smile. Her mouth felt thick, words too heavy. Belle was right. It had been lonely moving place to place, her secret growing heavier with each passing month. The more she’d tried to get her magic back, the farther out of reach it had become. She’d felt vacant. Hollow. Evelyn didn’t want to return to that place, not even in memory, and yet the what-ifs nagged at her. What if she’d never run? What if she’d never placed herself in Riven’s path? Would there even be a spell threatening her homeland?

Never mind all that. She had an opportunity to undo her mistake, and she would grasp it with both hands.

“Do you know how the king died?” Evelyn asked.

Belle shook her head. “I don’t know, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, vampyrs aren’t exactly what us witches believed.”

“That’s an understatement,” Evelyn scoffed.

Belle smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t give you answers. Ingrid cares for me in her own way, sheltering me, keeping me ignorant of Riven’s plans or her part in them, but I can tell you what I’ve observed during my time here.”

The witch’s account of her time in Drystan shattered more of Evelyn’s beliefs regarding the vampyrs. The king had been dead for five hundred years, and Drystan hadn’t had a ruler since. Scáths weren’t newly turned vampyrs, but caillte , vampyrs overtaken by bloodlust. The Void was as dangerous for vampyrs as it was for those in Sorin, and worse, they couldn’t cross it without a bloodstone.

The timing of the king’s death jarred Evelyn, her palms growing sweaty. Witches and werewolves had always believed vampyrs had emerged five centuries ago, and yet that was when the king had died, so they’d existed far longer than that. Was the timing a coincidence? Worse, the king was Tovi’s father, which meant, Evelyn’s friend was… ancient. The fact sent shivers down Evelyn’s spine. So many years to perfect her cunning, lying ways. But more importantly—

“Attacks, ones we believed were because of the king, ceased years ago,” Evelyn said.

Belle shrugged. “The prophecy might’ve played a part. Perhaps Prince Riven and Princess Tovi got better at maintaining the caillte . The princess has taken significant strides to help vampyrs in the surrounding towns and villages.”

“Tovi?” Evelyn didn’t hide the surprise in her tone.

Belle hummed. “She is the rightful heir, after all.”

The rain worsened outside. Wind rattled the metal frame of her window and thunder boomed against the stone walls. Evelyn’s heart raced in unison, the fire at the hearth flickering higher as the sense of betrayal stormed inside her. During their friendship, Tovi had alluded to “the family business” and her part in it. Never would Evelyn have ever imagined that business was running a country and Tovi was rightfully queen. It at least explained the divide between her and Riven. Did that mean Tovi had no part in Evelyn’s capture? Evelyn swallowed, ignoring the stinging in the corner of her eyes. Even if Tovi wasn’t involved, she was still a liar .

If Belle noticed her withdrawing, she didn’t say and continued on. “But most at court, lords and ladies, don’t honor her claim.”

Evelyn stilled, a thought sparking in the back of her mind. “Is that why Riven wants vampyrs to walk in the sunlight? Will it make him king?”

“Maybe, but I think he’s more concerned with breaking the curse.”

“Your sister said the same thing. The curse as if it were—”

“Its own thing, yes.” Belle nodded. “Vampyrs haven’t always been this way.”

Belle rummaged through the basket of supplies she’d brought and retrieved a journal. She handed it to Evelyn. The weathered leather was soft under her touch, numerous water stains blooming into the tan material. She opened it, the entry page similar to journals her scholarly sister, Blair, kept when conducting research—she never left the house without one tucked under arm.

Evelyn scanned the long, delicate writing and gasped—the owner’s name as well as the book’s title rooted her in place.

Vampyrs by Matilda Moore .

“But… she never wrote a book on vampyrs. No witch has.” Her voice shook while the thunder boomed outside.

“Yes, and she’s quite knowledgeable about them. You’ll also find her account of vampyrs is starkly different to what we know, and the dates all preceded the king’s death.”

Evelyn shook her head. All the questions she had answered were replaced with new ones. “But I don’t understand. Where did you find this? Why is her research even in Drystan? Why was it never translated to text?”

Before Belle could answer, the door opened, and servants began wheeling dinner into the room. Belle snatched the journal from Evelyn’s hands and wedged it between the sofa’s velvet cushions. The two remained silent as the servants laid out dinner. Evelyn’s heart raced. It quickened to a pace her core hollowed out. The scent of cream, tarragon, and mustard chicken roiled her stomach, and she fought the urge to throw up .

The water witch sent the servants away, requesting privacy. To Evelyn’s amazement, they listened. Whoever Belle and Ingrid were, they had position within the court. Once gone, the fire and rain crackled and pattered together as Belle made herself a plate of food and rejoined Evelyn on the rug.

“I found it in the library, thinking I’d stumbled upon someone’s diary. I can’t even begin to guess why Matilda’s journal is here or why we’ve never known these facts,” she said. “Maybe she wanted to protect witches, thinking that keeping us ignorant would keep us away. Maybe it wasn’t even intentional. I’ve read it front to back multiple times, though, and I’ve come to the conclusion vampyrs aren’t darkness itself. They are cursed by it.”

Evelyn’s brows pinched. “ By it? You’re suggesting darkness and the curse are two separate things. Vampyrism is a curse.”

Belle considered, nibbling her lip. “Earlier, we discussed a brotannas is a kernel of power in our souls. Our powers are us. Not a separate thing. From what I’ve seen, it is different for vampyrs. Whereas a demon is all darkness, vampyrs possess only a kernel of darkness inside them. They fight against it every day.”

“I have studied vampyrs for two decades. This threatens everything I believe,” Evelyn whispered.

Belle pointed her fork at the journal. “Read some of Matilda’s passages.”

Evelyn, despite the chill running down her spine, obeyed. She skimmed, far too frantic to care for every word. Culture. Sleeping habits. Mating bonds. Matilda’s passages and notes were observations made of a people that didn’t align with vampyrs. Scáths—or caillte —weren’t mentioned once, in fact Evelyn didn’t find a single passage detailing the insatiable hunger for blood. The words honor and sacred had been underlined with ink.

“They were a peaceful and prosperous kingdom,” Evelyn whispered.

Witches and werewolves regarded vampyrs as cursed, like all creatures of darkness. That’s what she’d been taught. Two decades of tutelage warred against the notion there was more to it, but she couldn’t discredit Belle’s suggestion or Matilda’s notes supporting it.

Evelyn rose on shaky legs. She poured herself a glass of wine, leaving a scant distance between the burgundy liquid and the glass’s rim, needing the heavy pour. The first sip sent a chill through her gullet. The hairs on her arms prickled, and she grasped onto the warmth bleeding through her belly.

Third-borns will defeat the darkness.

She’d learned in Callum the prophecy was up for interpretation. The truest of unions. Scholars had inferred that to mean a binding of souls between third-borns. But after discovering Kade was her fated, Evelyn believed that the prophecy meant something deeper, something that spells or rituals couldn’t create. It was more about matters of the heart, about destiny. If those who had interpreted the prophecy could be wrong about her bond with Kade, could they also be wrong about the vampyrs? Perhaps she wasn’t meant to destroy them but to free them.

No. The prophecy stated she and Kade would defeat the darkness together. Her soul, her magic sang with that promise. That future. Yet, Riven didn’t need Kade for the spell. He’d had a chance to capture Kade in Callum, but instead he’d threatened his life, not a sliver of hesitancy in his words. To the prince, Kade was expendable, which assured Evelyn he only had plans to use her, but it didn’t answer a blaring question.

“Why is Riven convinced walking in sunlight will break this curse?”

Belle shook her. “I haven’t the slightest idea, and between you and me, my sister isn’t convinced it will. Others around her seem wary, too.”

“Then why go through with it?”

Belle sighed as she rose. “Because Riven wants something, deeply. No one would dare get in his way.”

Evelyn gritted her teeth, jaw aching from the force. She’d get in his way, Goddess damn him. If the spell didn’t break the curse, which Evelyn was inclined to believe, caillte would have the ability to roam day and night, wreaking never-ending destruction across Sorin.

Belle teetered from foot to foot. “Will you still help me with my magic?”

Evelyn nodded, jarred by the switch in subject. “Of course.”

Belle released a pent-up sigh. “Good. My sister isn’t aware I came to see you today, so I must hurry before she discovers me gone. Read more of the journal, and I’ll try to learn more.”

“When will you come back?”

“Tomorrow if I can, but if not, the day after. I swear it.”

With that, Belle dashed out of Evelyn’s room and the lock to her tower door resounded against Evelyn’s endless questions and sense of unease. The rain continued, and Matilda’s text beckoned her.

Read me. Read me. Read me.