Celeste's life is far from the enchanting fairy tale one might expect from a princess. Her father, a ruthless and self-absorbed king, leaves a trail of death and destruction in his wake. To seal alliances and maintain his power, he arranges for Cele...
Death, an endless circle of death. Suffocating, bleeding to death, poisoned, stabbed, or drowned people.
Blood, dripping, flowing, and splattering. The smell of iron, the scent of warmth, and the endless stains on the dresses I could easily discard.
A heartbeat, a breath, or a simple movement is everything when surrounded by death. It's the only sign of life you cling to until someone finally breathes their last.
It's reassuring, yet it hurts more each time. It's a name you check off, but simultaneously a name, a face, and an image that remains eternally in your mind.
Nolin Verter
Elowen Stormrider
Thorne Darkwood
Seraphina Frostbane
Orion Shadowcaster
Lyra Silvermoon
Cedric Ironheart
Evangeline Starfall
Malachi Emberblade
Isolde Moonshadow
Rotak Frostfang
They are just eleven of the names that keep circulating in my mind like a mantra I cling to. Each name has a face, a final gaze, an image, and a scent.
Elysia Ravenshade
The very last on the list.
A woman, 56 years old, a magician living on the edge of the mountains to teach children about magic. A powerful magician who sacrificed the first part of her life to learn about ancient practices and master white magic.
You would think it gets easier the more you do it. That it becomes a habit, something you no longer feel emotion towards.
Unfortunately, reality is different.
As I unlock the door of the small house on the mountain's edge with my magic, and the cozy decorated living room comes into view, I feel my heart sink again. Barefoot, I shuffle across the wooden floor through the dim space.
Something that does become a habit is the extent to which you no longer take in your surroundings. I don't look at the personal portraits on the wall, the art the woman probably bought lovingly from a local artist, or the scattered toys on the tables. I see them but no longer register them.
With the dagger gripped in my right hand, I shuffle past the neat belongings to the bedroom where the woman found her sleep an hour ago.
As quietly as possible, I push open the wooden door, which fortunately makes only a small sound.
The older woman sleeps peacefully in her narrow bed. The gray blankets matching the gray of her hair neatly tied up in a bun. Her arms peacefully lying beside her under the thick covers. The room filled with the warm scent of musk and cedarwood.
Creeping, I move with a pounding heart and a mind in total silence and emptiness to the left side of the bed. The place where I see the woman's long lashes against her cheek.
'Sorry,' escapes my mouth before I raise the dagger and unhesitatingly plunge it into the woman's neck. Her beautiful blue eyes shoot open, staring at me in total panic. The eyes, the gaze, the pain that I will always link to this name.
Elysia Ravenshade
The woman grabs her bleeding neck, her once neat gray blankets now covered in a sea of red blood. Gasping for breath, choking and gurgling, the woman tries to reach for me as I take two steps back.
I could leave, not look, and deny it, but I don't want to.
The light fades from the blue, the familiar dullness appears. Her tidy nightgown is further covered in blood before her last breath leaves her body.
With intense pain coursing through my lifelines, I turn around and leave the house, not looking back, not wanting to feel the pain, and the image of the woman's eyes forever etched in my mind.
You would think it's a relief that the list has come to an end. All those months, all those dead, all that pain, all those difficulties—it's over. Or it seems over.
The reality is that it will never be over. The list is finished, but the names and magic are not gone. The magic flows through my veins, burning to the point where viante only provides a slight relief.
The reality is that I see the faces, eyes, and pain the moment I run my fingers through the bathwater. The scent of lavender doesn't give me the peace Alisha promised it would. It doesn't give me the fatigue I've been waiting for three days.
No matter how beautiful the mountain house we're in is, no matter how beautiful the view of the endless landscapes we've roamed for months, or how delicious the breakfast brought by the hostess every morning is according to Novak and Alisha, I only hear and see those hundred names.
Slowly, I let the wet cloth glide over my skin full of black veins. The warmth provides some relief from the pain.
I hear Novak, Alisha, and Elien talking from the living room, but I don't make an effort to follow what's being said.
It's only when Novak gently knocks on the door and walks in with the last bit of viante we have that my racing thoughts become quieter.
He smiles, presses a kiss on my cheek, and kneels behind me at the edge of the tub.
'It might hurt,' he says, as always, before the needle disappears into my burning lifeline. Biting on my teeth, I keep moving my hands through the water until the needle exits my skin.
Novak gently takes my right hand and helps me out of the bath.
'Do you want to go to bed?' he asks softly as he helps me get my arms into the nightgown and evening coat.
'No.'Novak nods and doesn't ask further. It was his way of offering me solitude, but the last thing I want with my busy mind is that.
With Novak behind me, I slowly leave the bathroom, through the narrow hallway until I step into the dining room.
Elien has taken a seat at the small red table with all the papers we've needed in the last months. The list, the map, all information—the black eyes are focused on them.
Alisha stands next to him, but the moment she sees me, she smiles kindly before walking in my direction.
'I'll take over the bath for you,' she says before slowly walking past me, giving me the opportunity to stop her.
I take a step into the dining room and look at my brother. It's still difficult to comprehend that this strong fourteen-year-old walked through the castle gardens holding onto my arm less than three years ago.
'Can we talk?'
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