Page 39 of Dead Wrong

Taking a step back from where she fell, I reached once again for my aura, projecting it out in front of me in an attempt to detect those nearby, but another debilitating lance of pain skewered my head, forcing me to my knees. I exhaled a hiss as invisible claws sank into my shoulder, shredding the fabric of my shirt as they ripped into my flesh. My aura withdrew once again, but I managed to grab hold of the assailant, the claws digging deeper with a pain sharp enough to force a groan from my mouth. I swept a leg out, catching the Unseen by surprise, and the grass indented where they landed, freeing their claw from my shoulder.

Scrambling to my feet, I took off, heading for the open field between the camp and the cluster of trees. I could make it. If I just kept running, I would make it to safety—another sharp pain raked across my back as claws tore into me, and I was sent reeling forward, losing my footing in the soft earth. My ankle twisted at a strange angle, and I stumbled, rolling head over heels till I was sprawled out, looking up at the inky sky.

The tall grass around me rustled, but I couldn’t see anything. Not in the darkness that seemed to seep up from the ground like a rising tide of nothingness. I braced myself, struggling to get a leg under me, but my ankle throbbed, radiating pain that I felt all the way up to my teeth. The rustling was close, a low growl permeating the air. I didn’t dare try and draw out my magic again, and without it, I was defenseless.

“I’m not your enemy!” I cried into the darkness.

More rustling. I cried out as claws bit into my chest, sinking deeper and deeper till I thought they’d puncture my lungs. I thrashed futilely, unable to detach my attacker as blood, hot and wet, soaked through my front. My vision began to narrow, the sound of my heartbeat drowning out the chaotic din of the raid.

I could only hope that Bastien and Lynette made it out alive, even if I was going to perish amongst the sea of grass. Then maybe, just maybe, my brief second life wouldn’t have been completely pointless.

With a flash of light, the weight of the Unseen attacker disappeared. For a moment, I thought it was Death who approached, returning for me and me alone. But the constant beating of my heart disproved that theory rather quickly. The sky above was still dim, an endless, speckled void bearing down, ready to consume me entirely.

Would Bastien find me out here, alone amongst the wildflowers? Or maybe the earth itself would swallow me up, drinking in the blood that seeped from my body and leaving the rest of my flesh for the worms.

But it wasn’t Death that came for me. At least, not unless Death was a pale man with flaming red hair streaked with white.

“Still with me, Toto?”

I cringed at the nickname, a trickle of blood leaking from the side of my mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Cirian, kneeling beside me. “You look like a pin cushion, and your foot is nearly backward. Just what have you been doing out here?”

More blood spilled as I attempted to curse Cirian’s name.

“Ah-ah, let’s not speak with our mouths full. Come now, you can’t just lay here all night. Let’s get you someplace safe. Adoranda will not be pleased if they find you out here.”

Cirian hooked a hand under my knees, then the other under my ribcage, hoisting me into the air as if I weighed as much as a ragdoll. I groaned from the pain as gravity forced my foot to twist further, and Cirian muttered a half-hearted apology as he began to move, ushering us away from the blazing camp and sounds of Death’s approach.

I descended the marble stairs, the early hour dragging a deafening yawn from deep in my chest that mimicked the cry of a wounded animal. I’d been summoned to Mother’s office, though I was not given a reason. Surely, she wouldn’t expect me to entertain some insufferable son of the Adored aristocracy at this ungodly hour. I winced as I landed on the last step, my shins still sore from a recent growth spurt.

“Your Grace,” an Unseen servant greeted me at the bottom of the staircase, the outline of their body pulsing with a dim spectral energy. My tutor once spoke of the Unseen and the magic that allowed them to render themselves invisible. It was attached to their instincts, they told me. Some primal urge that magic enhanced after the Awakening blessed them. The tutor also explained that the Unseen had to spend their entire lives resisting their primal urges, or else they would be no better than beasts.

I had difficulty believing it. All of the Unseen here at the Chateau were just as proper as the rest of us.

“Good morning, Ferrin,” I replied, following him over to the entrance of Mother’s office. The Unseen hooked a padded hand over the doorknob, pulling it open for me.

“My child, how lovely it is to see your face before the dawn.”

I stifled another yawn, bowing my head as Mother greeted me. Another woman sat across from Mother, her ostentatious blue garb spilling over the arms of the chair and pooling on the floor.

“Source’s blessing on you, young one,” said the Cardinal. Beside her, a boy with fiery red hair tied back from his face stared at the bookshelf behind Mother, either oblivious to or completely ignoring my presence.

I had a pretty good hunch as to which. It wasn’t the first time I’d been snubbed by the acolyte, Cirian.

“Good morning, Mother,” I greeted her in return, then turned to honor the Cardinal with the same half-bow. “Saint Sancha. It is an honor to welcome you to Chateau Greene.” My gaze lingered on the boy with scarlet hair, waiting for him to acknowledge my existence, but he seemed entirely disinterested in pleasantries. “Was there something you wished of me, Mother?”

“Indeed, there is,” Mother replied, rapping a long nail against the desk. “Young Cirian here is training under Her Eminence and has shown an impressive interest in the study of the blade. While the Cardinal and I discuss matters that would lull her acolyte to slumber, I hoped that you would take him to the gardens and have a friendly bout?”

“Really?” I questioned, unable to keep the surprise from my face. “You want me to spar with him? I would think Lynette more suited for the sport?—”

“He has requested you as his bout mate,” Mother answered, her voice adopting a tone that communicated her displeasure in being questioned. “Does this not please you, child?”

“Apologies, Mother. This pleases me very much.” I turned my attention to the boy once again. “I would be delighted to spar with you, Cirian.”

The boy rose from his seat, finally turning to face me. The years between the acolyte’s visits to Chateau Greene were clearly marked in the staggering height difference between him and myself. Cirian stood a remarkable foot taller than the last time I’d spoken with him, looming under the statue of my great-grandmother.

“I look forward to meeting you on the strip,” said Cirian, the hint of a smirk building beneath his usually stoic expression.

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