Chapter 16

Ididn't think I'd ever been happier, or more scared, than sailing over the ruined forest with Anaria on my back.

I could still taste her, flowers and amber, still feel her coming apart beneath me, her soft cries music to my ears.

I was a fucking fool to have waited so long, to deny myself—both of us—what we'd shared. Would share again the first fucking chance I got.

I leveled out, scanning the forest for any threats, keeping Anaria's slight weight carefully balanced between my shoulders, my outstretched wings catching the updraft. What I saw beneath us made me ill. Miles and miles of blackened forest, all the beautiful life Anaria had created was dying before our eyes.

I stayed high enough to avoid the reeking smell, the choking intensity of rot.

"We have to stop him, Tristan. We have to figure out some way to reverse his corruption before everything is gone." Anaria's fingers tightened around my shoulders before those fierce, quiet words were swept away by the wind.

I hummed in my chest, the only answer I was able to give in this form before beginning our descent toward the tiny speck of green floating in the sea of putrid black. Beyond the untouched town of Mysthaven loomed Lake Moor, almost as big as an ocean, the still water a silvery mirror reflecting the gray clouds overhead.

"The town is bigger than I expected." Anaria stroked her fingers down the side of my neck and my wyvern shivered in pleasure. "We need to be on our toes when we land. I don't want a repeat of what happened at Stormfall."

My hum turned into a purr when her fingers danced over my scales one last time, the fantastical wooden castle growing bigger as we dropped from the sky. The street was empty when we landed in a plume of dust, Anaria sliding from my back before I could hiss a warning for her to stay put until I removed any threats.

"There's nobody here," she said loudly before patting my shoulder. Anaria took one long look around then dropped the bag of clothes to the ground. "They may have fled ahead of the blight."

I swung my head around, peering to one end of the street then the other.

Nothing. And yet…

"Shift, Tristan, and get dressed. Then we'll start looking for that sword."

Magic hung around Anaria like a blanket, thick, star-flecked shadows that seemed darker today. Even the wind carrying the reeking odor in from the surrounding forest didn't disturb her glimmering mantle of power.

Even so, I dug my talons into the dirt, scanning the street again. Something was here. Someone was watching.

She ran her fingers over my shoulder. "You can't help me as a wyvern. My magic is at full power and gods help anyone who decides to fuck with us today. This isn't the Barrens and we're not getting ambushed like we did before. Now give me back Tristan, please."

The shift rippled through me, bending bone and tearing flesh, a quick flash of blinding pain that left a surge of weakness in its wake followed by a few seconds of shock while my body readjusted and began functioning again.

And those few seconds were all it took for the coven to spring their trap.

Magic surrounded us in a fury of fire and lightning and shadow, engulfing us as Anaria tossed me a pair of trousers. I didn't think I'd ever been so humiliated and infuriated at the same time, trying to cover my bare arse whilst under attack.

The only good thing—nothing got through Anaria's shield.

"Well, at least the village isn't empty." Her grin was a shade terrifying.

"You really didn't think I'd allow anyone to hurt my favorite wyvern, did you?" She poked me in the side. "Now, let's see who we're dealing with. I sure as fuck don't plan on ending today fighting for my life in an arena."

"I still don't see anyone." I yanked my shirt over my head.

"Yeah, me either, but they're definitely out there." Another orb of glowing magic struck the shield, veins of shimmering light illuminating the barrier a storm cloud.

"We are not here to hurt you; we only have some questions," Anaria called before I could tell her she was wasting her time.

I pulled on my boots then a cloak that Anaria tied beneath my chin with a smile. A happy smile, no less. One that was completely at odds with our situation.

I gripped her arms. "I doubt I can fly us out of here, even with your shield around us. They'll blast us from the sky. So any clever ideas you have would be good."

"I wonder if telling them I am an ex-High Priestess would carry any weight?" Her grin was maddeningly irreverent, given we were under attack.

"I don't know enough about the coven's history to give you advice. For all we know these witches are at war with the High Barrens Coven." Anaria scanned the sky, the forest around us, the nearest trees untouched by the blight.

She was right. The magic here was strong.

Strong enough to hold the blight at bay, because even the forest, reborn from the Fae magic, gave these wooden walls a wide berth.

"I know one thing. Unless they learn to fly, they're trapped, and sooner or later, they'll run out of food and water, if they haven't already." Her voice went low. "They'll die in the very place they thought would keep them safe."

I slung the bag over my shoulder. "So what's your plan?"

We both ducked—out of habit, more than anything—when a fireball flew out of nowhere and engulfed the shield—and us—in flames before evaporating. "That one was hot enough to burn the flesh from our bones," I pointed out, brushing my thumb over her warm, rosy cheek.

Anaria gathered her hair behind her head. "Let's stay close and head for the castle. Eventually, someone will appear to threaten us in person, I suppose. Then we can ask about the sword."

"Have I ever told you how impossibly optimistic you are?"

"No, but optimism is the only thing that's gotten me through some pretty crappy situations, so I'll take looking at the world with wonder over losing myself to despair."

"Now you're being overly dramatic," I told her, elbowing her in the side. We seldom had any time alone, and yet even here, in this horrid place, this girl made me smile. A small miracle.

"No." Anaria rolled her eyes then shouted, "Dramatic is tossing fireballs and lightning at your visitors when they've shown no sign of aggression."

"And are you?" I couldn't help catching her hand, tangling my fingers with hers, that low, quiet aching building in my gut. "Planning to show any aggression?"

"Why, Lord DeVayne, you sound awfully bloodthirsty."

"Maybe I'm tired of being everyone's punching bag," I shot back before I brushed my lips over the shell of her ear. "I could always transform and?—"

"No." Anaria cut me off, squeezing my fingers tight before she shivered. "No, I'll never forget Adele offering you up to Vireena like a sacrificial lamb. If they saw us land, they already know what you are, but let's not give them any ideas. Any more ideas," she corrected herself, pulling her hand from mine.

We'd reached the soaring wooden castle, which was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The structure rose above the surrounding forest, story after story of stacked roofs, fancifully carved wooden gargoyles spearing out from every steeply pitched peak.

The enormous double doors were locked tight; there was no sign of movement in the arched windows.

Then Anaria, the princess, the queen, the ex-High Priestess, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Oy. If you don't want to starve to death, let us in so we can talk. And stop trying to kill us. You're only wasting our time and your magic."

The doors took foreverto open, but when they did, two witches dressed in head-to-toe black stepped into the looming doorway, staying within the perimeter of the building.

Both had long black hair streaked with silver.

Both had cold, expressionless faces set with glittering eyes, the sort of eyes that had seen a multitude of horrors and enjoyed every bit of the resulting suffering.

One male, one female, magic coating their fingers. "Welcome to Mysthaven, Princess Centaria. Or is it queen, now?" the male asked harshly, dark eyes flicking between us.

I caught Anaria's wrist. "Get behind me. They knew we were coming; this is a trap."

"Of course it's a trap. But I'm not hiding, Tristan." She stepped forward. "Are you in charge here? Or do I need to ask to see your boss?"

"We ask the questions." The male held out his hands, magic glowing bright. "This is hallowed ground and only those with black blood can set foot on this soil."

"Oh, I bleed black." Anaria cocked her head. "As black as you, I'd wager. But I didn't come all this way to prove my ancestry to you. We're looking for something kept here in Mysthaven."

She pulled the torn page from the book out of her pocket and unfolded it.

"Bexley is going to fucking kill you," I muttered, but she just waggled her eyebrows and held the page higher.

"We are searching for this weapon. And before you tell me it's not here and waste our precious time, let me say this. Take a good look around you. This blight stretches north of Mount Sylvan, and to the east and west as far as you can see. In the span of five days, rot has engulfed half of Caladrius and is already creeping into Solarys."

The two battle-hardened witches traded a look before the female smiled, the air in my lungs icing over at that jagged, poisonous grimace. "We know why you are here." Her tone was oily. "What you want from us."

The witch's twisted grin didn't faze Anaria. If anything, she matched it with one of her own. I didn't know where Anaria had learned these cruel, wicked games played by kings and High Priestesses, but she'd learned them well.

One eyebrow swept up. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Ophelia and Gideon Darkfyre." The male swept into a mocking bow. "Of the Vanguard Conclave. My sister foresaw your arrival weeks ago. We've been waiting, Princess. Watching the darkness you released swallow up Caladrius as if the night sky itself has fallen to this realm. How does it feel to know you restored this realm only to destroy it?"

For the first time since we arrived, Anaria's composure faltered. Only for a second, and only enough that I noticed. My heart lurched at every doubt and regret that slight lapse in her expression revealed.

Anaria lifted her chin. "I did not release this blight."

"Didn't you?" The witch—Ophelia—raised her brow in checkmate. "Did you not kill the king and his brother? Did you not release the wild magic?" Her posture changed, her hands turning to claws, fingers flexing as she eyed Anaria's throat. "This entire world is now teetering on the precipice, Princess, because you tipped the scales. Only when those scales are righted will this blight recede and the balance be restored."

"You're a seer?" I asked, closing the gap between Anaria and me. "What did you see?"

Black eyes raked over us. "You. Coming here. Asking for the blade."

Gods, I despised witches and their endless games. "We get that part. How long ago did you have the vision?"

"Three weeks now. The blight arrived at our doors two days ago. We had enough warning, thank the Three Mothers, to send the rest of our people to safety. If the goddess smiles upon them, they have already reached Meridian Bay."

"And yet you remained." Anaria cocked her head. "To deliver your doom-filled message, I assume?"

"To deliver the message and give you Aetherial."

"And what is Aetherial?" Anaria asked.

"The weapon you seek, of course." Ophelia crossed her hands over her chest.

The hair on the back of my neck went up. This was too straightforward a transaction, and if there was one thing witches were not, it was straightforward. "What is the cost of such generosity?"

She snorted. "As if I'd tell you, wyrm. This is for the princess to decide. A weapon to kill a god or watch everything she brought to life wither and die. They are one and the same, yet as different as night and day."

"Games and riddles. Now that's more like it," I muttered, rooting around in my bag until I found what I was looking for.

"Do not blame me if your puny brain can't comprehend the universe's secrets." Ophelia's dark eyes raked over me like claws. "Beasts like you are only good for one thing. There was a reason we used to sacrifice your kind. Skin you like rabbits."

"Watch your mouth," Anaria growled, the shield around us thrumming with starry power. "We can be civil, or we can step over your steaming carcasses and leave you here to rot."

Fury raised its head as I rose to my feet, staring down this hateful creature. "I know exactly what you used my kind for. If I could, I would burn this town to the ground."

"You need the blade." Ophelia's smile turned as oily as her creeping tone.

"There is always another way," Anaria countered, her jaw tensing, but I heard the doubt in her voice and spooled back my anger. Our success was still far from assured, but at least the weapon was a path forward. Once we had the knife, we would find that pendant and unite the two pieces.

"In fact"—Anaria raked the two witches with such wicked disdain, I had to smile—"I think we're wasting our time. Perhaps we should leave you two here to rot. I doubt the world would notice."

"Do not disrespect my High Priestess." Gideon's hissing threat sent me lunging forward, stopped only by Anaria's hand on my arm. "A thieving usurper and a mindless beast." Gideon sneered. "I counseled my sister against this meeting. We should have killed you both the moment you landed."

"You could try," Anaria challenged softly before I could stop her. "See where that gets you." Her hands flexed, that beautiful face alight with fury, all her irreverent humor stripped away.

"This world is on the brink of collapse, and you want to have a pissing contest? Fine. But know this. We'll walk away. You won't."

For the first time, doubt shone in their eyes as if they were seeing Anaria for the first time.

I straightened, my hand clenched around the item I sincerely hoped I would not need. "You delivered your message," I said evenly. "Now give us the knife and we'll be gone."

"Come inside and we will negotiate. I have something else to tell you." Cruelty flickered in Ophelia's eyes, and I stifled my curse. "A warning. Or call it a show of goodwill, from one priestess to another."

"We remain outside." I widened my stance. "You deliver your warning while your brother goes and fetches us the knife."

"We do not take orders from animals," Gideon hissed.

"A beast I might be, but I did not come empty-handed. Even my puny brain understands the greed of witches."

I held out my hand, the vial of bright red blood gleaming in my palm. "My princess might bleed black, but I bleed red. As red as the throne of the Conclave's High Queen."

The two sucked in a breath as I ignored Anaria's boiling fury and turned the whole of my attention on the male. "Now be a good boy and fetch the knife, Gideon, because we have no interest in your sister's web of lies."