Page 159 of Where Darkness Falls

A deep rumble reverberates throughout the chasm of my mind.Don’t worry about me, my dear. I’m merely resting for the days ahead. The time is drawing near when you’ll need me, so I’m reserving my strength,she replies, her voice drifting off on the last word.

When will I need you, Saoirse?I ask, hoping she’s still there.

When the silence carries on, I think she’s fully drifted off to sleep. Then, a low sigh rumbles through my mind.

Soon,Saoirse murmurs.Very soon indeed, my dear.

“Welcome to Zulgalros, Maeva Cale,”I whisper.

Maeva startles at the sound of my voice, as if coming out of a trance. She’s been quiet ever since the story of the graveyard. I feared that I’d frightened her, but it seems she’s lost in her thoughts again—always wandering in that beautifully complex mind of hers.The hood of her cloak falls away as she tilts her head back to examine the Galrosan woods.

Wonder twinkles in her gaze as her head swivels from side to side. “I didn’t expect it to be so beguiling,” she says.

The woods in Zulgalros are covered in the same misty haze as Malvoria. However, the stark difference is the dazzling white snow. It glistens and scintillates along the ground, covering the canopy of trees with a magical effect. Some of the gnarled branches adorn sharp icicles that glitter against the gray sky. Zulgalros always resembles a winterwonderland. A small part of me has missed the beauty of home, but I believe what I miss the most are the perfect memories made with a laughing girl…

Snowball fights.

Our tongues sticking to the icicles.

The tiny woodland faeries zooming through her hair.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Emyreus,” she laughs.

“What if I don’t want to marry you?” I tease.

“You’ll change your mind once I’m truly a woman and irresistibly beautiful,” she says confidently.

“You’re already beautiful,” I whisper.

I shake my head, forcing the memory back where it belongs. It’s not good for me to think of such things. It only hurts to remember her. Besides, the paragon of a woman in front of me is worthy of creating new memories. Watching her admire the Galrosan woods is one I hope to carry with me for the rest of my days.

I want to remember how the snowflakes adorned her hair like little stars.

The rosy color of her cheeks and the way she smiles when she’s delighted.

I want to remember the way she looks back at me with such affection that my heart explodes with joy.

The Drakhul cursed two kingdoms, but Maeva’s the one breathing life back into them.

“We can’t passthrough the graveyard this close to nightfall,” Laisren advises in a hushed tone.

“We’ll have at least an hour, maybe two, of daylight left,” I reply. “We’ll make it.”

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Laisren scolds. “Perhaps if we could travel by horseback, then I wouldn’t question your judgment, but what you’re proposing is insanity, Emyr.”

Before us, the expansive graveyard lays sprawled behind the large iron-gate enclosure. The supernaturally blue-lit canvas is filled with endless rows of marble headstones and mausoleums along a bumpy path, overtaken by the dense brush and jutting roots of the trees along the dire scenery. Cawing birds fill the sky with sounds of warning, while the tiniest blue faeries buzz about—awaiting the spirits to awaken for the night. Our horses have been called back into our signets, leaving us with only our swords to shield us as we navigate through the haunted burial grounds. It’s forbidden to use abilities within the boundary of the two gates. If one chooses to do so, they’re cursed to remain here for a century as a corporeal spirit.

Years ago, the quickest way to Malvoria was to use the path that is now unsteady. One could walk through the entire place in an hour. However, now that it’s uncultivated, it’ll take longer with the slower pace. As long as we aren’t within the gates at nightfall, none of the souls can harm us—nor can the banshee foresee our deaths. The thought of being near this place longer than necessary fills me with unease. At least if we make it to the other side, we can take refuge in one of the elven hollows. The alternative is sleeping out in the open on this side where Siorai knows what creatures are roaming. I’d rather take my chances with the Blue Lady.

“We’ll make it,” I say to the group. Each of their faces are apprehensive—sheepish even.

Maeva’s eyes remain transfixed on the grand iron gate. “What if we don’t make it?” she asks.

I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I promise that we will,” I say.

Laisren releases a bated sigh, gesturing a hand toward the gate in a sweeping motion. “After you, High General,” he barks out. “If this is your plan, then it’s best that we not dally, lest the spirits awaken before their time.”

I’m about to say something when the sound of a snapping limb echoes behind us. With our weapons drawn, we look for the source ofthe intrusion, but we are met with nothing but large trees and empty woods. This isn’t the first time this has happened since our encounter with Darach’s clan. Every time a minute sound is heard, Maeva worries that someone (or something) is watching us. More than likely, it’s a curious creature or even a faerie trying to scare us.

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