Page 11 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts
Half an hour later, she slipped the letter back under her pillow and headed for the door, unable to remain confined in the oppressive colours of her room. The clock on the wall showed 3:20 a.m. She left, uncertain of where she was going.
Under the faint moonlight, she reached the main corridor. It acted as a terrace opening onto the central foyer. She tiptoed to the balustrade, reflecting on everything she had read in the letter. The Queen had said she needed to find two items. WithMikhail’s ring, that meant she would have three Sacreds.
Movement in the central foyer made her tense. The door carved into the rock, leading to the palace section, opened, revealing a familiar figure. Sevar had exchanged his ballroom attire for a dark grey jacket and trousers. His black hair was more dishevelled than the last time she’d seen him. But it was the man next to him who caught her attention.
Blood surged to her ears, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the balustrade, her mind struggling to comprehend.
There was no mistaking the man’s identity. He was hopelessness in black clothes, with a single bright spot – the mask on his face. A demon cast in gold. The features etched a furious grimace Amelia had dreamt of during Mikhail’s captivity in the Prison for Immortal Creatures.
Presiyan.
He said something Amelia couldn’t hear from her vantage point, but Sevar laughed in response. A laugh that conveyed the camaraderie of two friends returning from midnight revelries. The warden of the prison, the leader of the Tribunal – the institution responsible for maintaining order in the immortal world – was an ally of the reptilians.
Master of the Earthbound Demonswas the nickname Amelia knew him by. ButMaster of Traitorssuited him much better.
Mikhail had expected help from the Tribunal because he’d always believed in the friendship between himself and Presiyan. Even after Presiyan had arrested him and detained him beneath the ice of Prokaliya for four months.
Of course, the Tribunal supported the reptilians! Otherwise, they would have opposed them by now. That’s why the Queen wasn’t afraid of war with them.
Amelia couldn’t believe they had trusted Presiyan to arrest the General – the man who dismembered immortal creaturesfor amusement. Another of the Queen’s allies. No wonder the Tribunal had never managed to locate him.
Amelia’s heart ached for Mikhail. He would be shattered upon discovering yet another betrayal.
She kept watching, unblinking, until Sevar and his new companion disappeared on their way to the throne room.
7
Zacharia
There wasn’t much in this world capable of making Zacharia stop in his tracks, spellbound. Yet the sight before him did not just leave him dizzy – it transformed him into a sentimental poet.
Perfectly crafted, as if by a surgeon’s hand, the rounded slopes stirred a yearning in him to reach out, to feel the stone beneath his palms. Their greenish hues exuded tranquillity. As inspiring as they were dangerous, they demanded not to be underestimated. Between them lay an endless chasm, a trap for anyone daring to cross the boundary. A boundary as perilous as the claws of a Siamese cat…
Zacharia would never commit his musings to paper, but he enjoyed making comparisons in his mind. He could be romantic, too. It didn’t matter that the last woman in his life had compared his emotional depth to that of a chocolate egg – sweet on the outside, hollow inside.
“The chocolate egg isn’t empty, Tina. There’s a toy inside,” he would retort.
“Yes,” she’d say, “a toy. A game, but not a heart.”
It seemed no one but she found Zacharia sweet, even if only on the surface.
His ice-blue eyes landed on the young woman observing him as if he were a pest in her garden. She was the daughter of the witch he’d come to find, but saying he was unwelcome would be an understatement.
He compared her scowling face to a mosquito net designedto protect her from the world’s dangers – dangers like Zacharia himself. But he could see through the mask – beneath it was a vulnerable, kind heart. Perhaps the girl merely seemed to be a tough and ready type, brought up in a mountain village with barely a hundred residents during its ‘busy season.’ Maybe, when the house fell silent at night, she took out a secret diary and composed enchanting rhymes with such richness of language that even Shakespeare would envy her.
“What’re you gawking at?” she snapped.
He leaned against his SUV and surveyed the witch’s house. “Admiring the view.”
The typical village architecture gave no indication that it housed immortal beings. Such rare modesty for witches – they loved flamboyance. A broomstick stuck in the doorframe or a skeleton in the garden was not uncommon.
Byala Voda was a small village nestled amidst the mysteries of the Strandzha Mountains. It was reachable via a narrow forest path that few would dare to travel without knowing what awaited at the end. The witch’s house sat at the very summit of the hill, flanked by empty meadows. Behind it stretched the boundless expanse of the mountain range.
“When will your mother be back?” Zacharia broke the silence as the girl resumed her work in the makeshift orchard.
She shot him a withering glare and flicked a coal-black lock away from her sun-kissed forehead. She plucked a tomato and held it in her hand for a moment, as though debating whether to hurl it at him. Apparently, she decided it wasn’t worth wasting her hard-earned harvest on punishing an intruder.
“It’s Sunday,” she said.
