Chapter 14

The pages turned into a bleary smear of ink, and I pushed away from the table shaking my head. "Five hours and all we've found is one measly picture. I thought there were more."

"I warned you it would take me time to find them." Bexley's eyes slid off to the side. "And it's also possible those pictures might not be here. I have a rather large library and only brought what I could carry."

"You can't be serious? Let's go get the rest."

"Swallowed by Corvus, remember?" Bexley's voice thickened. "I should have left earlier instead of trying to stop the rot. Saved everything while I still had time. But whatever I left behind is gone."

My frustration melted away at the wounded look on his face. "I'm sorry. We're getting somewhat desperate, Bex. I got caught up"—I waved at the table, the open books—"in finding answers. I'm sorry you lost your library."

"So am I, Anaria. But take a break. Whatever is in these books will be waiting when you return."

Tavion had left an hour ago, maybe longer, to go outside to check on Zor and Raziel and get some fresh air, leaving me and Bexley in the eerily quiet dining room where the only sound was one of the beakers that occasionally burped out a puff of noxious steam.

"Don't pay any attention to that. In three days, I'll know if my experiment worked," Bexley told me, which meant I became instantly fascinated by the burping beaker, and now I couldn't scrape the annoying sound out of my head.

"How far did you get on the symbols?" I asked, rubbing the sand out of my eyes. "Hopefully further than me and Tavion did on these books."

"This is still a rough translation. Some of the words might be…wrong." Bexley cleared his throat.

"In a place of forgotten whispers lies the key to shatter the throne of ancient…deities, maybe. Or the word could mean frog—they're very close idiomatically."

"So we're either hunting a frog or a deity." I grinned. "Got it."

But the place of forgotten whispers…that could mean the tunnel, and the key could be those skulls and the visions they contained. Not that it mattered now.

Bexley's spine creaked, he straightened up so fast. "If you think you can do a better job, go right ahead."

"I'm only teasing, Bexley. It's not like I can read a single word, so if you say it's a frog, then it's a frog." Finally, his lips twitched. "And, for the record, I'd rather fight a frog than the Oracle."

"Fine, then, shall I continue?" He adjusted his spectacles. "No flame will halt the heartless fight, draped in eternal, starless night…or this could mean darkness…No weapon forged by mortal hands will cleanse these blighted, ruined lands. Where time and ancient memory meet, the lines of gold lead to defeat. To end the dark, the world to cure, a broken heart, intentions pure."

Where time and ancient memory meet…did that mean the visions?

"Well, that's cryptic and completely unhelpful." I sighed. "And what does that mean about the sword not working? Why can't they just say stab the bad guy in the heart with the magical weapon and go live happily ever after?"

"It specifically says fire will not work, but yes, this does seem to indicate the sword, as a weapon, will not work against Corvus."

My eyes drifted over to the rendering. "Yes, it sure does."

"I sometimes think the wisest of us were simply idiots hiding behind clever sayings," Bexley countered softly. "When I write my autobiography, I'll spell everything out clearly and leave nothing to the reader's imagination."

"Really?"

"Of course not, where is the fun in that? I'll make it as difficult as possible for them to decipher my writings. I worked hard for my knowledge, and so should they."

"Do you think that's part of this? Making us earn the answers, I mean?"

"Possibly. Magic has a cost which must be paid. Knowledge has a cost too." He squinted up at the ceiling painted to look like the sky. "What is the cost of your magic? You mentioned monsters."

I swallowed. If he only knew what the real cost was…

"Every time I use the magic our marks get darker. And the Fae King was covered in black veins. I expect by the end of this…we will look the same."

A picture of Corvus loomed in my mind. Hulking, ruined, barely able to move. And in all those visions, we'd been transformed into creatures so unlike ourselves, I could barely comprehend the journey it would take to get us to that point.

"Oh, I saw with my own eyes what the king became in the end. That was you?" I managed a tight nod, a sour wave of bile choking me.

"So the cost of using the magic is to become a monster." Bexley drummed his thin fingers on the table, the huge ring he always wore slipping sideways, it was so heavy. "I assume you use your power judiciously, then?"

"As judiciously as possible, given I don't want to harm the others."

"Then this weapon could be the answer, Anaria."

"We have one picture in one book," I pointed out, Bexley nudging the other book closer. "Okay, two pictures. We don't know where this knife is, or how it works, or if it even exists. What do you think that bit means about lines of gold lead to defeat? Our defeat or his?"

"The passage is quite vague, but remember, my translation is shaky at best. I suppose Cosimo would be the one to ask. I've never known him to be wrong when it comes to ancient languages."

"Oh, we already went that route."

Bexley's ears perked up. "What did he say?"

"He burned the other copy and told me he was saving us from ourselves."

"Well, that sounds arrogant enough to have come out of his mouth." Bexley ran his finger along a line of text. "I should give you the same warning. But I'd much rather eradicate those two forever."

"Me too," I muttered, flipping the next book open, and there it was.

A perfectly rendered drawing of the sword, including the pommel Zor so desperately needed to see. I squinted at the text and cursed my lack of formal education. "I can't read this except for some names. Shadowbrook, Hexborough…Mysthaven."

Bexley's entire demeanor changed, going from relaxed to stiff, all his earlier wariness returning. "Ah, I knew I'd seen that somewhere before." His voice was tight as a drum. "I believe this rendering will satisfy the general."

I wasn't sure anything would satisfy Zor right now. He'd been in a foul mood when we'd left Blackcastle and was in an even fouler mood now. My own temper wasn't much better, but our options were dwindling by the hour.

All we had were a half-arsed cryptic message and a drawing of a weapon that might not even exist.

"We're pretty much fucked, aren't we?"

The question was easy to ask, alone in the candlelit room, the beaker making that funny sound, Bexley looking down at me with no judgment, only a hint of pity. Easier to ask him our chances than Raz or Tavion or Zor, or Tristan who wasn't back yet even though it was dark outside.

At least I'd get the truth.

"The whole world is fucked, from the sounds of it, unless we figure this out. Tell me what you know, Anaria," Bexley urged, taking a seat opposite me. "Tell me everything, leave nothing out. The most insignificant detail could be the thing that saves us all."

Tavion returned halfway through my explanation, and he scooted his chair beside me until our thighs touched, pausing over the rendering then slowly paging through the rest of the book while I explained the past seven months of my life.

"That is…a lot." The mage set his trembling hands on the table in front of him. "But so much makes sense now. So very much."

"The blight or the Reapers or"—I waved my hand—"everything else?"

"No, my master's theory was more of a…personal quest. There is, perhaps, something else I should tell you." He chewed his lip nervously, his eyes darting around the room.

"I'm a?—"

Tristan burst in, hair loose, shirt still clutched in his hand, Raz and Zor behind him.

"The High Barrens are untouched. Lucius and Dane should have had a clear path north once they cleared Montgomery lands. They will be alright, Tavion." My heart tightened at the look on my husband's face. Pure relief, and I set my hand on his thigh.

"But between here and Lake Moor, there are only a few untouched swaths of forest. We're fortunate we reached the palace when we did. Everything for miles is affected by the blight."

"What about to the west? Does the blight go all the way to Varitus?" Zorander stared out the window at blackened forest as far as the eye could see, his face a hard mask.

"Almost." Tristan dropped the shirt over his head. "In the south, the forest mostly is untouched, but north, the blight stops right at the ward, like someone drew a line."

"Maybe they got out, Zor." Raz squeezed his friend's arm as I looked on, confused. "They had five days, after all."

"They who?" I studied the grim concern on Raz's face, Zor's stiff posture. "What's going on?"

Raz blew out a breath. "When we went to Darkhold, we saw what was happening at the border between Varitus and Caladrius. There were thousands of refugees pouring through the wall into Descendant lands."

"Gods," Bexley murmured. "They'll be trapped over there with no magic."

"I sent two of them home. Told them they'd be safer." Zor's face twisted. "They gave us food and I fucking sent them home to die. They would have been better off going into Varitus with everyone else."

"You couldn't have known this would happen, Zor," Raz muttered.

"Maybe they heard blight was coming and left anyway," I echoed Raz, though Corvus's corruption was moving so fast, I didn't see how anyone could see this coming. Though being trapped in Varitus with no powers was almost as bad.

"There was no way any of us could have foreseen this."

I slowly balled my hands up into fists. No.None of us could have foreseen Corvus's corruption. And while our ignorance was a problem…I wondered if that could also be our answer.

The Oracle and her brother had been ahead of us since the beginning. Pulling the strings, moving us around like chess pieces.

To defeat the Oracle…we had to have the element of surprise. We had to stop playing by her rules.

Witch magic could stave off Corvus's corruption. We had the proof right in front of our eyes.

The High Barrens were unscathed. The Wynter Palace.

"Which other areas were untouched, Tristan? You said there were a few spots in the forest where the blight hadn't yet taken effect."

Tristan scratched the back of his neck. "There is a small area to our south, looks like some small buildings clustered together, but the ward is strong enough to keep the blight at bay. To the west, one small village hasn't been overtaken."

"That's probably Thornvale." Bexley rooted through a pile of loose papers and pulled out a wrinkled map. "Right here. A hotbed of rebel mage activity. They are accustomed to hiding and have strong warding around their fortifications."

"Rebel mages?" Tavion lifted an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Bexley bristled. "I'll have you know there was an entire underground movement to unseat the king and overthrow his detestable reign. You lot got to him first, that's all." He straightened proudly. "Of course, if we had the assistance of both the Oracle and the High Seer of Tempeste, we might have had more luck."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that we succeeded despite their help, not because of it.

"Where else, Tristan?" Raziel asked, Zorander drifting off to stare down into the fire, the very picture of broody. I could see the regret written on his face, wishing for that second chance to make a different decision.

Too bad none of us had that privilege.

"The largest unaffected area is directly south, east of Lake Moor. Bigger than a village, there's an odd-looking black castle surrounded by a collection of out buildings. All built from dark twisted wood, but they look as ancient as any stone and even the forest doesn't encroach on their wards." His eyes flashed with that red-gold light. "An easy flight, in case you're wondering."

"Mysthaven," Bexley murmured, his eyes catching on mine before he guiltily looked away.

"Are there still witches in Caladrius, Bexley?"

He shifted his feet. "There might be a few. Here and there. If you know where to look."

"The writing below that picture of the sword"—I jerked my head toward the open book on the table—"mentions Mysthaven. Can't be a coincidence, can it? The blight hasn't touched the Barrens or this palace. Witch magic keeps Corvus's corruption at bay. So there are witches amongst the mages in Thorndale. And Mysthaven."

The mage's lips thinned out. "As much as I would like to help, there are certain secrets I cannot reveal, not even to you, Anaria."

"Mysthaven is home to a coven, isn't it?"

"I'm forbidden from answering that question," Bexley said stiffly. "You must understand, my Order is very strict."

"That's good enough for me." Tristan's hair gleamed as he gathered the uneven red strands back with a leather tie. "When do you want to leave?"

I scanned the darkness outside the windows.

Foolish. We'd be foolish to go into that consuming darkness when we had no idea what we were walking—flying—into. When we had no defenses against Corvus's power. Not yet, anyway.

"Tomorrow. What sort of welcome can we expect?" I couldn't help my smile. "I was, after all, for a very short time, the priestess of the High Barrens Coven. That has to carry some weight, right?"

"These witches…are not High Barrens witches."

"Here we go," Tavion muttered out the side of his mouth.

"Let me guess." I kept my gaze fixed on the mage. "Mysthaven is home to what remains of the Vanguard Conclave. The original witch coven that existed before the Old Gods—also known as the Mystara—arrived on this world. And you, Bexley, are one of them."

Bexley's mouth fell open, his expression filled with disbelief and shock. "You cannot…I never…How did you discover…"

I held up my hand and tried not to sound too smug. "Don't worry, Bexley, your secret is safe with us. I simply put two and two together."

Zorander pushed off the mantle, his face a mask of ice. "First, you are not going anywhere, Anaria, least of all into a blight-infested forest. Second…where is this coming from?"

I tried not to bristle at Zor's bossy, imperious tone, reminding myself he was going through something right now, but it seemed like every time I turned around, he was standing right in my way.

I turned the book around and pushed it closer to Zor. "Here is the best rendering we found of the sword." I pointed to the writing. "Right here, the text mentions Mysthaven. That can't be a coincidence."

Zor flipped the book back around and tapped his finger on the page. "Look at the pommel. What do you see?"

I shook my head. "You know I can't read that writing. None of us can."

"I'm not talking about the writing. Look at the pommel."

"Fuck me," Tavion muttered through his teeth.

At the end of the grip, turned at an angle where I barely recognized it, was the amulet Torin had given to Trubahn. I could barely make out the symbol at the top, and while the drawing wasn't in color, the shape of the stone was right.

"Even if you managed to find this weapon, we still need the other piece," Zor said. "And that's somewhere back in Blackcastle, probably in the ashes of Trubahn's shop."