Rest In Pieces

14

 Xadezhda

Begrudgingly, Xadya hunted for answers. Something felt odd about the Arcane this time. Maybe it was her. Maybe she had not fully given in the way she wanted to. But still the air had changed in the Caves. Something was off. Something was wrong.

Matías would offer her nothing, she was too afraid of him to even ask. He rarely ever emerged from his rooms; he was not the one she needed to be worried about.

Something dark was brewing down there, she could sense it—feel it. Each day her heart—or what was left of it—ached to go back to Airo, to familiarity. But no, he wasn't familiar. This was.

As strong as those feelings were, her curiosity was stronger. Xadya thought she'd always had an understanding of the Arcane's power, granted, gifted, holy. They were not inherently evil creatures, only portrayed that way to scare the kingdom's citizens into behaving.

Perhaps she had been wrong.

The dark atmosphere in the Caves felt distinct from the magic she had been used to. Though her powers had been ultimately used for destructive purposes, she imagined it had still originated from the gods, ancient beings she felt tied to every time she used it. Even they had no tolerance for rule-breakers.

She wondered if Laszicslav had magic too.

"You look puzzled."

"And you have approached me yet again."

Malakhai squinted. "If I recall, it was you who sought me out last time."

"I most certainly did not. You just happened to be in the room."

"Ah."

She debated asking Malakhai about the air, about the magic. But still she feared she may have been wrong, that it was just her torn mind playing tricks on her.

"Would... would you be able to help me with something?"

Malakhai rocked back on his heels, a diminutive smile forming at his lips. "What could that be, I wonder?"

"I have no desire to be Initiated again. No need for it either."

"The point, please."

"I'm weak," she admitted, the words forced. "I fear that whatever the King had done to me may have caused more damage than I thought."

"I see. You need my help being Arcane."

"Well, when you put it that way," she scoffed. There was not a doubt in Xadya's mind that she was Arcane through and through. But her thoughts were too soft, too human. It would not serve her well down there.

"Hey." Malakhai caught her arm as she pushed past him, talons digging into her flesh, almost hard enough to draw blood.

She looked him up and down. "You certainly have the strength of a Second."

His grip loosened instantly, hand falling to his side as he concealed it with his other. Did he not know his own strength?

Malakhai's colourless eyes met hers, flashing black. His demeanour changed, leaning back on his heels, that small sickening smile tugging at his lips.

"I'll help you, little Arkāni. You will be whole again."

Malakhai curled a taloned finger at her. She followed.

He did not come back to himself, but perhaps that was entirely the point. Xadya could give herself over too, but it wasn't time, she wasn't ready.

She intently stared at Malakhai's black eyes. Took in his features. He was tall, quite taller than her. Wild black hair framed his face, and the sharp edges surrounding Malakhai made him appear altogether otherwordly.

Xadya craved the monster she once was. A slight voice in the back of her head—Airo's voice—told her no, told her it was wrong. But was it, though? She had been chosen for this. Caught in between both worlds with no memory of who she was before had left her with a choice to make; stay in limbo, stay in the unknown, or come home.

And home she chose, home to the Caves, home to her Zlatčka.

She did not remember getting to the chapel, but there she was all the same. Xadya's eyes twitched open, she could see.

She could see.

Things that weren't there, blurs of movement and thought and darkness. When she looked down at her trembling fingers, she startled at the blackness twisting its way around her talons, up the tips of her fingers.

What the hell was that?

Blood stained her dress. She wondered if it was hers.

"Gods, I hope you didn't bring me here to pray." She had spotted Malakhai perching on a pew, legs pulled in tight, watching her.

"Not much to pray for, I'm afraid. Something's not right." He stood, offering a hand to pull her up. "Is it just the one?"

"Looks like it." Xadya held her hands out, seeing the black veins on only her left. "What are they?"

"Hell if I know," he grunted.

Xadya looked around, taking in the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows, the moss and flowers growing around the altar. The chapel was very much alive. The gods were here.

Xadya felt unsure if they wanted her there. She knelt anyway.

Malakhai stood next to her, she could feel his warmth on her skin. He had never been much of a believer. Or if he was, he had lost hope in their gods and made no attempt to commune with them any longer.

"Are you hoping they have answers for you?" he asked softly.

Xadya gently brushed some dirt away. "I'm hoping you do. How did we get here?"

Malakhai sighed, falling back into the pew closest to her, drawing one leg over the other. "I brought you here to stop the madness you were ensuing. You bit me."

"Can't say I'm sorry. Why here?"

"You don't know?" His brows knitted together, tattoos crinkling. "The church quiets our... abilities."

Xadya looked away. "I thought our magic was a gift."

"It's not, not a gift," he offered, a troubled expression settling over his features. "It's just not from these gods."

Oh.

Oh.

"Tell me," she whispered to him as he came to sit with her. Malakhai took her hand in his, pushing her sleeve back and inspecting the inky colour consuming her fingertips.

"I was almost sad to stop you," he said softly. Not what she expected. "Watching you was... incredibly fascinating. I don't know where you were pulling magic from, Xadya, but I'm not certain it was entirely Arcane."

She faltered.

If her magic wasn't Arcane, then what could it be? Was there a deeper darkness she was not aware of? Somewhere further to sink into? Did she even want to find out?

She was curious though, of course she was. Xadya was nothing if not full of questions.

Her eyes were wide and her voice was hoarse as she looked into Malakhai's colourless eyes, and asked, "What is it, then?"

He grinned, that sly smirk a mixture of hotheaded boy and something darker, something chaotic, that rested within him.

Perhaps she was just as curious about him as he was her.