Page 37 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silas’ gaze lingered on her before he pressed his thumb firmly into the glowing rune.
The moment he activated it, the magic flared to life with a low hum, the blue veins of the rune glowing. The air shimmered like a heatwave, distorting the edges of the world around her.
Amelia’s breath hitched as the jump took hold. It was not a physical tug like the midnight pull, but a shifting of her very existence, like her body suddenly remembered it was nothing but a collection of fragile cells waiting to be scattered and put back together.
In an instant, the world around them folded.
Colours blurred and inverted, the sky and ground flipped upside down, shifting over themselves like the reflection in a glassy pond. Her stomach plummeted as space and gravity became meaningless, falling with no sense of direction. The sound and the bite of wind vanished, replaced by an eerie, pressing silence.
She landed.
The chilly mountainside had vanished, replaced by grassy fields, trees rising into the distance next to a large, sprawling stone city.
She stumbled, hand still clenched around Silas’ elbow, into the centre of the Waystone portal for the City of Lunarian, the runes carved into the stone matching the chip Silas had activated.
Her boots found solid ground that hadn’t been there moments ago.
Silas stepped away from her and adjusted his cloak as if nothing unusual had happened, like he’d simply stepped over a threshold. Both horses shook their heads and stomped uneasily, but they appeared unharmed, all their belongings still strapped to their sides.
Silas brushed at his chest before looking at her. “You did well,” he remarked. “You didn’t even fall this time.”
Amelia glared, recalling thesingletime that they had travelled by Waystone together, and she had landed in slushy mud, causing her to fall embarrassingly to the ground. That incident was almost five years ago, and Silas had never let her forget it.
She shook her head, tugging on Tempest’s reins, moving her from the centre of the Waystone. Amelia felt the aftereffects of the jump, a faint buzzing in her bones, a distant echo of the mountains they had left behind like a shadow clinging to the edges of her mind. A ripple of nausea flowed through her.
Shaking it off, Amelia looked over to the city before them, shrouded in a thick mist clinging to the ground. She had never been inside the City of Lunarian before, a place that housed the wealthiest people in the Shadowlands.
The air felt somewhat warmer, the heat of the sun welcome. There was the scent of fresh grass and recent rainfall.
Silas pulled Ember up beside her, following her gaze to the city that he had grown up in.
Amelia shook out her fingers, praying the contents of her stomach stayed put. “That’s a million times less painful than midnight,” she said, “but I still don’t like it.”
Silas laughed softly. “You do get used to it the more you do it. Point being, you managed to stay upright this time.”
She threw him a sharp look. “Careful, Finley, or I’ll aim my vomit to meet your boots.”
Silas smirked and looked away. “Please don’t, they’re expensive leather.” Then he moved forwards, but not before he flicked something in her direction. Amelia caught it easily and looked down to the small rock on her palm. The Waystone chip had dimmed, the magic spent, leaving behind a faint, ever-dimming glow. All evidence of power that had rewritten the fabric of time and space, gone. She pocketed the useless chip and tugged on Tempest’s reins, following Silas towards the city ahead.
PART II
THE CALL OF MIDNIGHT
Silas
ELEVEN
Silas kept his gaze trained ahead, warmth flooding him as the walls of his home city loomed from the thick layers of mist coating the ground. He tried not to glance too often at the woman tugging her horse through the outer gates beside him.
He didn’t care what she thought of his hometown. Not one bit.
The City of Lunarian emerged from the mist like something carved from the bones of the earth itself. Built into the rising cliffs of the Western Ranges, its pale stone buildings were stacked upon one another in a tiered sprawl, linked by narrow, winding streets and arched bridges that spanned the chasms between. The city was old, weathered by time and frost,its edges softened by the constant presence of mist rolling in from the surrounding valleys.
The air was bitingly cold, the wind carrying the distant bell toll from high towers. Silver banners bearing Lunarian’s crest hung from street posts, a silver crescent moon over a mountain peak, fluttering in the frigid wind.
Moving into the heart of the city, he noticed Amelia shivering, pink fingers pulling her jacket tighter around herself. He resisted the urge to throw more of his clothing at her. She would need to find some warmer clothes to survive the bitter weather of the Shadowlands. He mentally prepared a list of items to gather for her as they walked.
“You grew up here?” she asked, eyeing the looming stone walls and arched bridges spanning the city. “That explains so much.”
