DOTD Chapters 8-9

Fluer grieves Edwin. An alliance froms. The darkness emerges.

CHAPTER 8:

My eyes strained open, crusted half-shut from dried tears. A hammer pounded relentlessly inside my skull, and even the dim, flickering light sent searing pain through my temples. The crackling of burning wood filled my ears as beads of sweat slid down my spine.

Wha-
Where am I?

I braced my elbows on the itchy sleeping mat, the pressure in my head now surging forward, causing dizzy specs to dance in my vision. I adjusted my eyes to the light, looking around the room. I was in some sort of cabin. The dingy walls were made of timber wood, small and confining. There appeared to be furnishings, a sofa, tables, and a place to kick up your boots. This was somebody’s house, someone’s living quarters.

A second went by, then another. I blinked as the events of the carriage, all of it, came rushing back.

Sweet mercy… Edwin.

Hot tears immediately welled and streamed relentlessly down my face, one after the other in grief-stricken succession. Sweet, Edwin. He was gone. Someone had brutally murdered him and left a morbid warning on the windows, drawn in his own blood.
.
A broken cry slipped from my cracked lips, the air leaving my lungs like something torn away. I curled into myself, arms wrapped tight around my knees, rocking in a useless rhythm that did nothing to dull the ache. I would never see those gentle eyes again, hear his voice, or feel the warmth he carried like a second skin. The memory came without mercy: his face, slack and lifeless, eyes glassy and empty. It struck like a blade, sharp as the one that marred him, and fresh sobs wracked my chest. More tears poured down my face, thick and choking, flooding my mouth with the sting of salt and bile. I was breaking, splintering into something unrecognizable, and no one could piece me back together.

The cabin door creaked open, followed by heavy booted footsteps. Lucien appeared in the frame, completely soaked, his sandy hair dripping with rainwater. He clutched his dagger in one hand and was lobbing an arm full of firewood with the other. I barely recognized him through the glassy fog in my eyes. An emptiness, a black hole opened in the pit of my stomach sucking the life from my soul. If he were here… then it was real. It all really did happen.

I stumbled to my feet, wobbling back and forth with grief and vertigo. It felt as if my entire body weight leaned on two thin sticks of glass. Tears and snot smothered my face, cheeks swollen and puffy.

“ Where the hell am I?” I yelled towards his blurry outline.

“ You need to rest,” he replied, his voice resonant and commanding.

“ I said, where the hell am I?” I protested, my voice cracked and broken.

“ You’re safe,” he retorted, setting down the pile of logs near the fire.

Where was I?
Had he just left Edwin?
How did into these clothes?

I stared down at the massive flannel shirt I now wore, swallowing my small frame past my knees. The endless questions swarmed my mind like an angry nest of hornets, each one stinging with fear and confusion.

“ I need to get home. The manor. Oh God, Father… with Edwin, with-” I was spinning in circles, feet planted in one spot.

Lucien's face was stern and unforgiving, his expression motionless enough, I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or run. I still knew nothing of this man, and yet we’d shared an experience that would haunt me for the rest of my days. Complete strangers who’d witnessed the same horrific death, a shared morbid trauma. Something about his calmness, his lack of reaction, told me he’d witnessed death before.

“ You hit your head pretty hard when you passed out. I brought you back with me so that you could heal. You aren’t going anywhere,” he stated, firm and decided.

Like hell I was going to be held hostage. I took three long, shaking steps towards the exit before crumbling to my knees with a thunderous crash. A sharp pain shot through my joints, anchoring me to the floor.

“ I told you, you hit your head. You need to lie down before you injure something else,” he said, walking towards me. He laced my arm over his shoulder and scooped me into his arms with ease, as if I weighed nothing.

I didn’t resist him. I was too exhausted, too hollowed out by sorrow to care. I lay limp in his arms, an empty weight as he carried me to the bed by the fire. His hands, steady and strong, lowered me gently onto the cushions, as if I might shatter under anything less than tenderness. My head fell heavily on the felted cushion once more, body and mind surrendering all control. The tears had stopped and were replaced by a quiet hopelessness.

I stared vacantly into the flames, wishing they would consume me and the pain gnawing at my insides.

“ Who are you?” I rasped, my voice that of a whisper.

He took a seat beside me, gruffing as he bent down, as if his muscles were sore and tired. I studied the winding scar across his face and wondered at how he’d gained it.

“ I’m known to some as a Hallowbane. I hunt hellspawn,” he replied, digging the dark grime from under his fingernails with his dagger.

“ Hellspawn?” I asked, confused. I wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but it didn’t sound good.

He bit his thumbnail and spat it at the floorboards. I looked closer, examining his face, trying to get a read on him. I realized then, it wasn’t dirt he dug out, it was dried blood. I didn’t want to imagine who’s but part of me knew.

“ Yes. Mostly veilborns and fleshweavers, but occasionally I run across something that would send even the toughest of men running for the hills,” he murmured, his stare lost in the flicker of the flames.

“ Fleshweavers?” I prompted, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “ You mean to tell me you’re some kind of monster hunter?” I scoffed.

He turned to look at me, his face like stone, yellow-blushed eyes filled with severity. He paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch taut between us. The soft crackle of the hearth filled the spaces where our words didn’t.

Finally, he replied, maintaining a fierce eye contact. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

A blanketed chill wrapped itself around me as I took in the weight of his words. I’d hadn’t been serious, but there was no humor in his tone. The memory of the Viel Mother’s toothy black smile came clawing its way back into my mind. I shuttered. I needed to face it; at this point, there was no use denying that the supernatural existed, and it definitely had a dark side.

“How’d you get the scar?” I asked hesitantly. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted to know, but I needed something to take my mind off Edwin.

Lucien sheathed his dagger at his waist and rose to his full height, reclaiming his towering stance with quiet authority. If someone ever woke up one day and fancied themselves the title monster hunter, they’d at least need Lucien’s impossible height and maybe half his muscle mass, if they were lucky. He looked like he’d been carved from stone and tempered by something far harsher than time.

“ Rest,” was all he said in reply, and wandered over to an enormous wooden hutch in the far corner of the room.
My body begged for it.

Every muscle screamed with fatigue, and a pounding throb pressed behind my eyes like fists I couldn’t push away. But I couldn’t close them, not yet. I knew what waited. His face. The dark crimson smeared across the carriage. Two jagged words written in red, their meaning lost on me. No, sleep would become a distant relative, one who never bothered to visit. One that the whole family despised because of what he brought with him.

Pain knawed at my bones once more, sucking out the marrow and leaving its malignant sting behind. I let it consume me, let it break down my body and swallow me whole. It should have been me, not Edwin. Edwin was good. All I ever brought into the world was disappointment, schemes. I cursed silently to whomever listened in the heavens above.

“ You have the wrong one,” I whispered to myself.

Lucien rummaged through the hutch, now wide open to reveal the hidden arsenal inside. Rows of rifles and flintlock pistols lined the shelves, alongside boxes of iron bullets. Clusters of alchemy bombs glinted beside coiled chains and heavy shackles. He carefully polished a wooden crossbow, its limbs etched with strange, arcane symbols that caught the firelight. He paused only for a split second when he heard what I said. He set down the bow with care and disappeared down a hall. He appeared moments later, a copper flask in hand, and bent down to where I lay.

“ Here. Drink,” he said, shoving the flask into my hands.

I didn’t care what its contents were, I just hoped they were strong enough to steal the pain for even just a moment. I gripped it, feeling the cool metal against my hand, before tipping it back in one rough motion. My whole body trembled with the heat of it as it scorched its way down my throat, but it didn’t burn enough. It never burned enough. So I took another swig, desperate for the numbness, for the relief that was always just out of reach, no matter how much I drank.

“ Easy now,” Lucien warned, watching me lose control.

I kept drinking, the bitter bite nipping at my tongue, until there was nothing left. I welcomed the loss of sensation spreading through my face and the blur of my surroundings. For just a heartbeat, all I could feel was the blaze in my lungs and the warmth of the liquor, but it was fleeting. I propped my weight against my elbows and watched the flames dance in soft circles.

“ Does it ever get better?” I asked quietly, watching the room spin around me, the walls tilting like they were laughing at my lack of restraint.

“No, not really. Time can dull it, but it stays with you…always. Becomes a part of you.” His voice was distant, as if the words themselves pulled him back to memories he desperately wished to forget.

Something dark, locked behind a door in my heart, seeped through the cracks. It was a cold, thick oil that leaked into my chest and soaked into the blood in my veins, leaving black, grimy stains in its wake. I welcomed its presence, letting it fester and bubble.

“ Im gonna find that son of a bitch and rend him apart,” I said and spat at the floor with venom.

The words were like a sweet poison on my tongue, and I relished in its taste, savoring every drop. I would enjoy carving into the flesh of the killer, committing his screams to memory, and replaying them over and over in my head. Smoke curled and danced in my lungs, stirring something innate within me. Something all too easy to fall into.

“ How do you plan on doing that?” Lucien asked into my deathly silence.

“ I’ll find a way. I don't care if it kills me,” I replied, rolling over morbidly satisfying thoughts.

“ Have you any experience with tracking? Fighting? Can you use a blade or load a rifle?” he listed off, dragging me from my vengeful plans and into reality.

He was right. I had no experience with any of those things. All I’d been taught were lessons on how to be an accomplished lady and what cutlery to use for each course. What utterly useless information, nothing but fluff and feathers. Hell, I’d kill the guy with a fork if I had to. My silence said enough.

“ I didn't think so,” he said, strolling back to resume the organization of his armory.

I staggered to my feet, my vision still doubling over on itself, body swaying with the moving floorboards. I managed a few wobbly steps toward Lucien, hoping to get a better view of the weapons.

He continued in his task, deliberately ignoring my disobedience to rest as he’d commanded multiple times. I inched closer, my hip flying into an end table and nearly knocking over the burning candles.

Shit.

I stopped, taking in the view of the cabinet and its lethal contents. Determination, perhaps foolish and intoxicated, rushed through me when I beheld the row of daggers, all shapes and sizes. One in particular caught my eye, its hilt silver and lined with small red stones.

“ Teach me,” I demanded, the words fleeing my lips before I could stop them.

“You’re drunk off your ass. I'm not letting you touch anything,” he said, still refusing to look at me. He brushed off my words the way a parent might dismiss a child's foolish protest. “Besides, a daughter of a Duke would likely be more successful with a pen or a marriage contract than a weapon in her hand.”

I scoffed at his reply, swinging a heavy arm into the air. “ First off, how do you know who I am? Second off, you’re full of shit.”

He chuckled softly under his breath, the sound deep and rough, like gravel sliding over stone, quiet, but heavy.

“ You can’t even hold your liquor, what makes you think you can hold a weapon?” he replied, proving his point with ease. “ Your gown, your jewelry, plus the name Undergove engraved in gold on the side of the carriage. It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

“ You think you have me figured out, but you don't. I may surprise you,” I bargained, determination threading through my every word.

It was a stretch to think Lucien would remotely be willing to help me, but he’d already helped once, and the idea of hunting down a murderer, one sadistic enough to leave his mark, with no experience, was more than overwhelming.

“ You’re right, I don't know anything about you, not even your name, but I haven’t been surprised since I could walk. I don’t plan on breaking that streak, and in your state, I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t turn the blade on yourself.”

He was right. The thought had crossed my mind, but I wanted vengeance more.

“ My name is Fluer Undergrove, and with or without your help I will find the bastard who killed Edwin and when I do, I’ll slit him from ear to ear,” I spat, raw rage rising inside me like a furnace.

He faced me, considering the words I threw at him.

“ Try not to die too fast,” he said, coldly.

Fine. I didn’t need him anyway.

I’d raid this asshole’s stash early in the moring, find a way back to the manor and then hunt down Edwin’s killer. I didn’t give a shit if I’d never touched a blade, never held a gun. I had no doubt that if I found him, when I found him, I’d claw him with my bare hands if I had to.
Seething wrath flashed wildly in my eyes, sending him an unspoken message. Oh, I’d show him who I was.

“ Goodnight, Fluer Undergove,” was all he said as he walked away from me and disappeared down the hall once more.
I retreated back to my place at the hearth, slipping back into the starchy blankets. I would need my strength for tomorrow, and I would accomplish nothing successfully after draining a flask.

I pulled the coverings over my head, darkness swallowing me. I was left alone with only the sound and warmth of my breath. Emptiness and dread nestled beside me, sandwiching me into a fate full of fitful sleep and vivid nightmares. My eyelids grew heavy with the weight of exhaustion and alcohol. I could no longer resist, so I let myself drift into that waiting void where memory and fear blurred, and nothing felt safe, not even the beat of my own heart.



A weighted object flew into my stomach, dragging me from restless sleep. I pried open my eyes, the morning light blinding me and sending searing pain to my head. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was, the room unfamiliar, the silence too loud. I sat up, blinking hard, disoriented, like I'd been dropped into someone else's life. I looked down at my lap to see what had hit me. A long sword sheathed in leather lay across me. Confused, I glanced up searching for its master.

Lucien stood before me in all his might, wearing layers of black leather, armed to the teeth.

“ Get up,” he said to me, and strolled out the front door.

Where was he going?

I groggily fumbled over the sheets on all fours, attempting to stand. My stomach was thick and murky with nausea from last night. My hand flew to my mouth, trying to catch any possible vomit. But nothing came, it only pulsed on more intensely with each movement, my body incapable of finding relief.

A stack of neatly folded clothes was laid out on a chair nearby. A loose white tunic and pants were what was provided, along with a black ribbon for my hair. I snatched them up and hesitantly looked around the room. No one was present, but knowing my luck, I would be ambushed the moment I removed my clothes.

I decided to do it quickly, fighting against my severe hangover with every motion. I pulled the large shirt I wore to bed over my head. My underclothes clung damp and filthy beneath—cold, uncomfortable, but I didn’t have the strength or clarity to peel them off. Most of my body was bare now, exposed to the sharp bite of morning air.

A chill nipped at my skin, cruel and persistent, raising goosebumps along my arms. I hastily grabbed the provided clothes, slipping them on. The sat baggy on my small frame, sliding off my shoulder and hips. I assumed they were Lucien’s by the sheer size of them. If I were going to be moving around, following him to God knows where, this wouldn’t do.
I staggered to the hutch, opening the doors wide.

The big idiot didn’t even lock it.

I spied the thin silver-hilted dagger from last night and snatched it up. With careful application, I tugged at the tunic with the blade, ripping off excess fabric. Letting the scraps fall to the floor, I tied a knot in the middle of the shirt. It hugged my waist and stayed in place, allowing for easier movement. I laced the black ribbon through the belt loop instead to hoist the pants up.

There!

The clothes wouldn’t slide off me now. I twisted my hair into a knot and slid the thin blade through it to pin it in place. After slipping on my boots and grabbing the sword, I hurried after Lucien into the damp morning air.
He was waiting for me outside, satchel slung across his chest. He examined my make-shift outfit, giving away nothing from his blank expression.

“Let's go,” he said, trudging into the thick wood surrounding the cabin. I jogged to catch up with him, immediately regretting it as I felt bile rise in my throat.

We walked side by side in silence, the only sound the slow squelch of our boots sinking into the wet grass. Fog hung thick in the air, a pale, smothering veil that clung to my legs and curled around my ankles like cold fingers. Every breath felt damp and heavy in my lungs. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath, no birdsong from the trees above, no rustle of leaves, not even the whisper of wind.

It was as if the world had gone still in mourning, wrapped in the same grief that pressed on my chest. Even the sky looked hollow, drained of color, the gray stretching endlessly above us. A funeral without words. As though nature, in her quiet wisdom, knew Edwin was gone and chose silence over sorrow. As if her tears had dried up too, and were replaced with a true emptiness.

“ You changed your mind,” I said quietly to Lucien, my pace steady, crunching leaves and twigs underfoot.

A confirming grunt was all I received as we marched forward into the unknown.

“ Why?” I whispered to him.

He kept his eyes glued ahead, mouth paralyzed to a thin line. “ The mark, on his chest, I’ve seen others like it. It’s called a bloodsigil,” he began, his deep voice hushed. “ It’s a glyph that appears only to the eyes it’s meant for.”

A bloodsigil?

I soaked in his words, weighing their meaning. If what he said was true, that meant whoever killed Edwin wasn’t human. More than that, it was meant for me, all of it. The murder, the message, all intricately planned and constructed for….me. A drop of fear fell onto the flames of my revenge. I had no idea what I was up against.

“ That means…” I said quietly, thinking about how the news would break in town of his death.

“ Yes, it will appear as if it were an accident. He fell, injured himself, and while you ran for help, he bled out and slipped away,” he confirmed, listing off the turn of events in order.

The fire in my gut reared again, raging for justice. No one would know the truth, that he was brutally mutilated and slaughtered. I vowed that I would avenge him, not let his memory fade.

“ Wait,” I started, “ If the message was meant for me, how is it that you were able to see it as well?”

Lucein glanced my way, his golden flecked eyes glowing with life of their own.
“ I struck a bargain, many moons ago, with a coven leader. She granted me the eyes of a seer. So I can pierce through enchantment veils and read the majority of people like menus. That is how I was able to read the bloodsigil.”

His words were heavy with something I couldn’t quite read. Was it pain? Regret? His ability was astonishing, but the way he spoke about it was as if he carried the weight of a curse, not a gift.

“ What was your end of the bargain?” I dared to ask, curiosity running its course.

The muscle in his jaw feathered, his body tensing at my blunt question. Perhaps it was rude of me to ask, but I knew so little of Lucien. He was a man of mystery and few words. Even after all we’d been through and the way he’d cared for me, I wasn’t sure if I trusted him.

“ You’ll come to find, magic is seldom free. There’s always a cost, and it’s usually more destructive than you anticipate. Let that be your first lesson,” he replied, giving me no details.

I took heed to the warning and wondered how it applied to my own ability. It’s not as if I’d struck some life-altering deal with a crazy witch, but still, it worried me. What would my cost be?

We came to a clearing in the trees where the long grass grew patchier and thinner. The space looked like it had been cleared of brush and was trampled quite frequently underfoot. Was it possible this was where Lucien practiced? I imagined his towering, leather-strapped figure dancing across the earth, sword slicing through the air.

“ We’ll train here,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “ Draw your sword.”

I obeyed, pulling the gleaming silver blade from its protective home, the metal singing sweetly as it was removed. I stared in admiration, watching the early morning light reflect off it and soaking up the feeling of power it gave me, gripping it in my hand. I had never touched anything more than a butter knife in all my life, and yet somehow it felt so natural to hold it.

“ Feel the balance of the blade and the hilt in your palm. It should be perfectly centered,” he said, guiding my hands with years of practiced precision. “Close your eyes. It’s essential to memorize the feeling of its weight. Let it be another extension of you, a part of you.”

I obeyed, closing my lids and taking in a deep breath, filling my lungs with anticipation. As I exhaled, I honed in on the sensation of the sword in my hands, its sleek, dynamic point. I committed to memory the curves of the hilt, where it started and stopped, running my thumb over the rows of engraved lines.

“ That’s it,” called Lucien, “ Now I want you to stay like that.”

“ For how long?” I asked, eyes still squeezed shut, the gentle weight of the blade nestled in my palms.

“ For as long as I say,” he replied, sentencing me to an infinite vague period, one of which I wasn’t allowed to use my sight.
Like hell I was gonna stay here in one spot with my eyes closed like an idiot. I wanted to learn how to kill, not audition for a balancing act in the circus. How was this possibly going to help me destroy Edwin’s killer?

“ So what, I'm gonna stand here for hours like a moron with my eyes closed? You’re supposed to teach me how to use it, not cradle it to sleep,” I retorted, my hands itching to snatch it up and slice it through the air.

“ Patience. There’s more to wielding a blade than just hacking and swinging,” he shot back, condescension and pride for his craft laced through his words.

I scoffed. “ Yeah, good tactic. When I come face to face with the immortal monster who sliced Edwin to bits, I’ll just stand still and close my eyes! Why not just plaster a sign on my head that says human sacrifice?”

“ You’re brash. You and your mouth are going to earn a lethal fate if you don’t stop running it,” he barked back.
I could feel his presence circling me, watching my movements, and criticizing my posture. I imagined his disapproving frown and furrowed brow as he spat his wisdom.

“ Says you and everyone else,” I replied, flashing him a perfect grin. “ It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?”

“ If you think your current state is considered successful, then I guess I have more to worry about than just your physical capability,” he said smoothly, the crunch of his boots still pacing around me.

“ You know, you’re a real asshole,” I declared, trying not to loose my focus on balancing the sword.

A low laugh escaped his lips, deflecting my petty shower of verbal arrows.

It was tempting, with him this close, to turn the weapon on him. If he thought I couldn’t hold it correctly, I’d show him, maybe even with his neck at the tip of my blade. I had zero experience with any of this, but it was like the weapon called to me, begged me to wield its greatness. Besides, I presumed it had been a while since anyone had taught Lucien a lesson. I listened intently, waiting for him to circle behind me. Once I knew he was positioned behind my back, I sprang. My eyes flew open, flinging the sword to my right hand and whirling around at him, weapon pointed.

He moved too swiftly, effortlessly disarming me and spinning me around, my arms wrenched behind my back, both wrists trapped in his fists. I fought against his grasp, attempting to yank my hands free, but Lucien was strong, insanely strong. I writhed and strained, pushing my back against him with force. He waited patiently for me to finish my tantrum.

“ Are you done yet?” he asked close to my left ear, completely unfazed.

“ Yes, dammit. Let me go!”

He released me and continued his leisurely stroll. “ I saw your plan formulate way before you foolishly tried to turn your weapon on me. I read the anxious twitch of your fingers, the way your breathing caught in your chest, the resolve that settled over your face. You have to learn to interpret your opponent’s body language, know their move even before they do.”

I listened to his instruction, my face hot with frustration and embarrassment. He paused in front of me, positioning himself directly across, golden gaze analyzing, assessing every slight of movement.

“ Well, it helps to have magical eyes,” I mumbled under my breath.

“ My vision was keen, thoroughly trained before I ever became a bearer of true sight. I will teach you, if you can close your mouth and listen,” he growled, hearing what I said.

I swore under my breath at his remark and returned my focus to his instruction. Lucien placed the sword in my hands again and began his lesson on reading your enemy. I listened, eyes shut obediently, absorbing every word. Asshole or not, he knew what he was talking about and I needed all the help I could get
.
Lucien explained in great detail, demonstrating an opponent poised to strike. He called attention to every detail of his body’s movement, the slight twitch of a muscle, the direction in which his eyes followed, even where his left foot was pointed. All were key indicators in determining their next move. It was astounding how much you could tell about someone, even from the faintest of motions.
Eventually, I was allowed to open my eyes, the sword was replaced with a long stick, and we practiced our dance of lunging back and forth in rhythm, Lucien requiring me to shout out loud what I predicted his next move would be.
It went on for hours, until the sun hung high in the sky, and my mind was branded with each detailed step. Drenched in sweat, mouth dry and parched, I was certain I would wake from sleep tonight mummering right, left, side-lunge, duck. The motions were stuck on an endless loop.

“ Alright,” he said, catching the tree limb mid-air. “ That’s enough for today.”

Although I didn't show it, my body and mind screamed for a break. Lucien had barely broken a sweat, as if he were made entirely from steel.

“ When will we train next?” I asked, bent over, catching my breath.

“ If you’re truly going to find this killer, it’s important for you to keep a low profile. Play the part, mourn Edwin during the day when your attendance is noticed. At night, when the house has gone to sleep, you’ll meet me here to continue,” he replied, explaining his plan.

“ Only, if you say please,” I mused up at him from my fatigued stance.

He kicked the back of my locked legs with his boots, making them buckle and sending me sprawling into the dirt. Dark stains decorated my knees and elbows, as the damp soil soaked into my clothes. I huffed loudly, wiping an earthy smudge from my face with my sleeve.

Bastard.

“ I don’t say please. Now, get up,” he warned, nodding his head towards the cabin. “ Clearly, your head doesn't hurt that bad if your yapping this much. Time to go.”

Cursing under my breath, I dragged myself to my feet. As much as Lucien pissed me off, he made way too much sense and right now I needed him. I followed behind him, forcing my disobedient limbs to submit to his instructions. Fatigue throbbed through my worn muscles and sat heavily on my heart, clinging to each step I took. My body protested every movement, my mind begging to settle into that still hopeless state. But I knew- I knew if I gave in to that frame of mind, even just for a moment, that it would destroy me from the inside out. It would claw me apart inch by inch till I was nothing more than a shell. I needed to keep my mind sharp and each step fueled by the raw, coiled rage surging in my gut. If the world ripped Edwin from me, a person whose soul shone brighter than a dying star, then I would devastate the world.

The only thing that encouraged my lungs to continue rising and falling was how the killer’s face would look when I gutted him, how delicious the fear would smell wafting off of him. Nothing would fill the ever-growing, gaping hole in my chest until both my hands were bathed red in his blood.

Once we arrived back at the cabin, Lucien ran over the plans with me once more, ensuring everything was seamless. There could be no crumb trail leading back to me. I had my lines and part to play. I changed back into my soiled gown, the smell of death still laced into each fold of the fabric. I let the grief rise in my chest, contorting my face. It wouldn’t be difficult to put on an act for the pain of his absence, the leaden guilt I felt for not running back to him a second sooner, all were very real and haunted my every moment. I would carry Edwin with me like a second skin.

Strategy in place, we rode back to the manor on the strong back of Nightmaw, his thunderous gallops bringing me closer and closer to my impending fate. The thought of having to explain Edwin’s death, having to lie about his murder, cheating him of the honor he deserved, cracked my ribcage and fractured my heart into even smaller shards. As the wind whipped violently through my tangled hair, I reminded myself that I would be the one to cherish the light he left behind. That each and every practiced conversation would get me to nightfall, where I could slip out, find Lucien, and hone myself into a weapon of destruction, leaving nothing but ruins in my wake.
I realized then, I’d lied when I told James that the world was grey. It wasn’t grey, it was black as pitch, stained with every sinister action of the heartless inhabitants who trampled it underfoot. If I wanted to survive, I didn’t need to shine, I needed to learn to see in the dark. “Live in the shadows”, the witch had said. I understood then the truth that rang through her words.




CHAPTER NINE:

“ I’ll see you tonight,” Lucien announced, “ Tie a strip of white cloth around your right arm, so I know it’s you coming.”

I nodded solemnly, my face numb.

“ Remember the plan and always watch your back. We don’t know who the killer is, but we do know he’s still out there,” he urged, eyes searching my own. For a moment, a flicker of sad understanding betrayed him in a fleeting expression. He looked as if he’d once shared, breathed the kind of sorrow now I wore.

“ I will,” I replied, my voice quiet and unwavering.

He took a moment longer to read the resolve in my eyes, then turned and took his leave. Nightmaw surged forward, and Lucien’s black cloak trailed behind him, a whisper of smoke fading into the distance. I stood there, watching his shadow slip into the treeline, the thunder of hooves on gravel fading until silence swallowed everything. The tears that had been pressing behind my eyes finally fell.
It was time.

The manor was blanketed in a grim silence. The news had more than likely been received by now, wrapping its cold, dead arms around the estate and those inside it. I doubted Father, Aurelia, or Sonnet would bother offering their sympathies. They never made an effort to know any of the staff, not even their handmaidens who faithfully dressed and decorated them in finery every day. No, the only souls who would grieve Edwin would reside downstairs. I thought of Ewoyn and how the weight of the news would crush her oversized heart. She was most likely worried sick about me.

As my feet crossed the threshold of the manor, I could feel the space Edwin left behind pulsing all around me. Father was by the stairs, speaking in hushed tones with a constable, his face unfeeling as stone. When I stepped into view, they both paused to behold me. Streams trailed down my smudged cheeks, leaving streaks in their wake.

“ Where have you been?” Father questioned. There was no concern for my well-being in his tone, only a placid aggravation. “ News of the accident and your absence has spread already. Questions circle our estate and our good name. Explain your disappearance now!”

The constable observed me closely, my grief-stained face, the ratted knots in my hair, and the mess of blood and dirt soiling my faded gown. I rehearsed my lines once more in my head, Lucien’s careful instructions burned into my memory.

“ Miss Undergove,” the policeman interjected, joining the conversation. “ I’ll need to get a statement from you when you're in a state to do so.”

I approached them both, embellishing each movement with practiced anguish.
This would all be over soon. Once it was said, I could retreat to my rooms, where no eyes would be watching as I decomposed, my only companion the labored beats of a broken heart.

“ Now is a good a time as any,” I croaked out, eyes lined with silver.

The duke looked on with disgust, as if seeing me alone was an offense to his bloodline. I knew the gleam in his eye held a threat of more pain to come when we were left alone.

Damn him for being so heartless.

The constable pulled a small notepad from his jacket in preparation for my words. “ Go on, Miss,” he prompted.

I cleared my throat, eyes glued to my feet, the pain of my next words splintering the tip of my tongue. “ There was a bad storm. I’d been asleep when the accident happened. When I found Edwin,” my voice cracked as his name left my lips. “ When I found him, he was badly injured.
I ran to town for help, but when I made it back… it was already too late.”

He was scribbling notes furiously, as each of my words scraped their way out of my throat.
“ And why did you flee the scene? What is the explanation for your absence?” he said skeptically over his readers.

“ When I saw him…just lying there, lifeless, my mind and body couldn’t handle the shock. I passed out and apparently hit my head very hard on the way down. The man who helped me brought me back with him so that I could rest and sent word to the police himself,” I recited, each word practiced and precise.

He studied me, mulling over my explanation. Finally, his expression relaxed, accepting my timeline of the events and writing down his last few notes. “ Your story checks out,” he stated, “I’ll have this filed away and get it all settled tonight. I'm truly sorry for your loss.”

I nodded a thankful shake of my head, absorbing his kind sympathy. I knew he truly meant it.

“ Just one more thing,” he added, “ Who is the man who helped you? We will need to ask him a few questions as well.”

“ I never got his name,” I lied, “ Forgive me if my mind has missed a few details. Losing Edwin…it’s been a lot to take in.” The last part was true. The past two days had felt like living in a shrouded veil, legs still moving and mouth still moving, but not truly living. My mind a prisoner to death, my heart devoid of feeling.

“ I’m sure we’ll be able to locate him on our own. If anything comes back to your memory that you think might be helpful, be sure to send word. Thank you for your time, Miss,” he said politely, tipping his hat.

“ Very well,” Father chimed in, taking his hand and firmly shaking it. “ I trust, Constable Marks, you will put to bed these ridiculous rumors. The sheer notion of my daughter being a murderer is ludicrous and should be silenced immediately.”

He glanced down at Father’s aggressive grip, his hand turning white from blood loss. “ I’m sure it will pass over in the next day or so with her statement out,” he said nervously, swallowing hard.

The Duke’s lips curled into a malicious smile, one that promised dark consequences, and he released the poor man’s hand from his death grip. “ Splendid, I knew I could count on your loyalty,” he replied, his words echoing as more of a threat than praise. He knew the power he possessed, and so did the constable, for he simply offered Father a small, wary smile and swiftly exited out the front door in awkward, scuffed steps.

We were the only two souls left in the foyer, his vile grin dipping into a harsh line, teeth barred. He closed the distance between us in two long, authoritative strides. Before I could duck out of his reach, his hand tangled itself in my hair at the base of my neck, violently yanking my head back. The swift motion sent pain knifing its way through my skull where my head had slammed against the carriage floor. I winced at the pressure wrenching my wound. When he spoke, his breath was hot and rapid.

“ How is it that you are at the center of every scandal that attacks this family?” he spat quietly in my ear, his grey, wiry beard scratching my skin. “ I’ve begun to think you enjoy embarrassing me.”

The familiar sick smell of tobacco smoke snaked its way into my nostrils, but this time it was rage that answered it, not fear. Rage for the years of beating and bruising, rage for his slimy dealings and threats, rage for his lack of care towards the death of another human being. I slowly twisted my face to meet his, the motion yanking my hair further and snapping strands. I glared at him with a fiery judgment, one that burned in the pits of hell itself.

“ I live for the day you are exposed for who you really are: a cold-blooded, depraved piece of horseshit,” I whispered, letting the words slice into him sharp and cold. A venomous smile spread across my face in great satisfaction as each one hit its mark.

That was all it took. Pain erupted across my cheek, smacking into me hard as his ringed fingers tore at my skin. I fell to the floor, the blow so monumental it knocked me completely from my feet. He stooped down into my face once more, a crazed fury wildly flashing in his eyes. The back of his calloused hand struck me again, whipping my head into the wall with an ear-splitting bang. Flecks of black swam in my sight, as I spat blood at his feet, my defiant smile unwavering. It only fueled his anger more as he gripped my chin in his cold fingers, nails digging into my skin.

“ You’re right about one thing, you little brat. I am cold-blooded,” he growled and released my head back with force. He stepped back, scoffing at my crumpled, beaten figure slumped against the wall, and polished his ring leisurely on his violet waistcoat. He turned his back and walked away, his wicked steps clinking on the marble floor, enclosed in finely polished shoes.

I watched his blurry outline disappear down the hall before attempting to stand. Adrenaline flooding my veins, I rested my hip heavily against the wall, bracing myself.

It was worth it, every damn word.

The strange, sweet taste of my blood swirled on my tongue as I licked my swollen lip. Wiping the splotchy blue stains from my cheek, I staggered up the stairs to my rooms, my body wholly ready to crumble and give out. It took everything in me not to collapse and sink into the steps. When I finally reached my room, Eleanor was waiting for me, her stone expression softening a bit when she saw my busted face and tattered gown. I hobbled further into the room, my slippers dragging against the carpet, much like the exhaustion tugging at my soul.

She silently helped me out of the garment, peeling off the cold, grimy layers beneath. She bathed me and tended carefully to the splits running across my raw skin, not uttering a word about it. I was grateful for her discretion, her lack of questions. Normally, I would refuse the help. Only Rune and Eowyn had seen me in this state, but I was too cracked, too worn down to care. I complied, going through each motion in a silent numbness. After I was dressed, she took to my hair, detangling the wet strands with a large comb. I sat in silence, eyes blank, my mind glazed in a blurred awareness.

“ We all cared for Edwin,” she said, breaking the silence. The kindness in her tone surprised me as she continued speaking quietly. “ He was a good lad.”

I said nothing in reply, only pictured his sweet freckled face in my mind. The memory queued a silent tear, the dampness on my face growing all too familiar.

She laid the comb down on the vanity, her eyes finding my own.
“ I leave you to it, then,” she said.

I watched her walk towards the door out of the corner of my vision, not even bothering to lift my head. She paused hesitantly in the reflection, conflict written across her features as if she desperately wished to say something but didn’t know how. Finally, she spoke.

“ For what it’s worth, Miss Fluer, Edwin was a match struck at midnight, illuminating the darkness. We all knew it, but you…you knew him. I'm truly sorry you lost such a friend.”
Her words broke me, shaking me to my core.

Eleanor clicked the door shut, and I was left alone with myself and haunting images of a mutilated body and a message written in blood. I wouldn’t close my eyes. Couldn’t. Waterline burning with salt, I sat myself down at my writing desk, desperate for anything to dull the ache tearing through my chest.
With tender, shaking hands, I sifted a fresh paper from its stack and laid it flat before me. I just needed to tell him, explain to him that I was sorry. Inform him that the only reason he was murdered was because of me. The killer was after me! It should have been my chest that was dragged and marred with the knife, my blood painted on the carriage walls.

I pulled the thin, jeweled dagger from the folds of my crumpled gown lying on the floor. Without a second thought, I pressed the sharp point into my finger, drawing a small stream of cobalt blue. The bloody ribbons fell in soft plinking sounds into an empty inkwell, each drop fulfilling its purpose. I dug the blade deeper into my tissue, wincing slightly at the steel bite. More fell, flooding the well about halfway and to my satisfaction. I dabbed my bloody finger dry on a piece of scrap paper and snatched up my quill. In immediate reply, the tingling pressure I knew all too well, twined itself around my finger, climbing the slender bone like a slimy reptile and urging my hand forward.

“ Please be listening,” I whispered up into the quiet room, heart yearning that somehow, someway Edwin would hear the words I was about to write.

I dipped the quill in my own blood and began to scratch my sorrow, my regrets, my pain into the fibers of the page. I begged him for forgiveness, begged him for judgment. I drew out my grief of losing him in messy, navy sentences, the jumbled heap barely readable. I poured out my rage, my fears, the last remnants of my soul, praying that somehow the words would lift off the page and find him. The heavy magic snaked up my arm and coiled itself around my heart, squeezing tighter and tighter, as if it would grind the few shards left of my heart to a dull, grey dust. Hot tears dripped onto the parchment, muddying the words into an inky, bloody mess of raw and tangled feelings. Finishing my last few thoughts, I threw down the quill with force, my breathing ragged and broken.
The prickling weight had now spread to every inch of my body, pulsing through my limbs, my face, my chest with slow, burdened beats. It consumed me whole, swallowing me in one gaping bite and firing on every nerve. Heartbroken, knotted, and worn to a fray, I climbed quietly under the sheets of my bed. I begged sleep to take me, to steal me far away from this world and never allow my return. She answered, lounging beside me and dragging her long, wispy fingers across my brow, beckoning me to follow her. I let her drag my consciousness and inflamed heart with her into a dark, muted void, where I hoped Edwin would be waiting for me.



The grandfather clock chimed twelve in the morning, its low, distant notes echoing through the room and stirring me awake. My eyes blinked open, moonlight pouring through the window in luminous streams, the shadows of tree branches blowing in the wind flickering across the floor. A leaden ball rolled around in the corner of my mind, like there was something important I needed to remember.

Lucien!
He was waiting for me.

I’d been so engulfed in sadness, I’d forgotten I was supposed to meet him. Kicking off the layers of bedding, I rolled out of the mattress and dragged myself to my wardrobe. It felt as if I’d been salted and left to dry out in the scorching sun for weeks, each movement deflated and limp. Scrounging my will to keep awake, I grabbed the only pair of leather pants I owned and a long loose blouse. I threw the clothes on, fitting foreign and tight to my figure, and secured a small white strip of cloth to my arm, as I was told. Tangling my hair back into a loose braid, I nabbed the dagger still lying dormant on my desk, its serrated edges still decorated in my blood.

The manor was still, a midnight hush settling over each corner of exquisite architecture. I listened closely for any footsteps, any murmuring between the walls. There was nothing. Good.
I rehearsed Lucien’s instructions in my mind: out the window, get a horse, don't be seen, watch your back.

I climbed onto the window ledge, my legs dangling over the side.

Lords, I’m high up.
How does Rune do this all the time?

With careful precision, I eased off the windowsill, dropping down onto the roof with both feet. I winced as my boots landed with a heavy thud, praying that no one below heard. The humid night air whisped through my hair, pulling strands of my braid free, loosely falling around my bruised face. I tiptoed along the roof, intentionally balancing my body weight as the ridge peaked. When I finally reached the edge, I swung myself down, clinging to the trellis. Smashing blooms and vines under my boots, I continued to inch down the wall till I reached the bottom.

Once my feet hit the grass, I wasted no time, flinging into action. I sprinted across the lawn towards the stables. Pearl’s soft nicker and stomping hooves greeted me as I swung the gate wide to welcome her. Her exquisite white coat gleamed as the moonbeams danced off it, reflecting a sweet, silvery light.

“ Hello, my beauty,” I called to her quietly, scratching my long nails underneath her chin. “ You up for an adventure?”

She smooshed her soft nose against my palm and snorted contentedly. Smiling to myself at our silent exchange, I lead her from the stable stalls and into the night. Pearl was a gift from Father when I was very young. Probably the only thing he’d ever managed to do right, not that it made up for anything else. I’d fallen in love with her playful demeanor and sweet face. She truly was a lustrous animal with her towers of ivory muscle and coal colored snout. She’d been my escape route on more than one occasion when the manor had been too suffocating to stand.

I mounted the saddle, marveling at the strength of her beneath me.
“ Go!” I called softly, clicking my tongue.

She took off, melting into the breeze like she was as light as the air whipping around us. The moon was full, shining our path to Lucien’s cabin. Rows of dark pines caught the horizon, a contrasted painting of pitch and frosted light. I clung tightly to the reins as Pearl hurled us further into the night, hooves pounding in the dirt. The world was asleep, a still, eerie quiet that made you wonder what things were just now waking up and stalking through the woods in these wee hours. I recalled to memory the creatures Lucien said he’d hunted, as we rode along.

Skinweavers….Veilborns…

I shuddered at the thought. Creatures that could morph their flesh to appear as another. Witches, oracles, coven leaders with long, spindly fingers, the dead reek of bones and mold clinging to their crepey skin. I wondered where they hailed from, their origin. I imagined the dark, haunting holes and caves they crawled out of, spawning and festering. In that moment, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that Lucien was teaching me how to fight, how to defend myself. Picturing one of those myrmes closing in on me, fangs out, poised to strike, with no training, would be a nightmare come to life. It had been dumb luck that I’d escaped the Veilmother with both arms still perfectly intact. What's worse… was whatever had torn Edwin to pieces.

“Watch your back,” a voice murmured in my mind.

The hair on my arms rose immediately. The lively buzz of nightlife had dulled, and even the rustling of the trees had stilled. It was quiet, too quiet, an uncanny stillness, broken only by the sound of my own heartbeat, far too loud in the lull. Fear lapped at the nape of my neck and trickled its long tongue down my spine. I whipped my head around, peering into the darkness and grasping the reins tighter. I scanned the obscurity, eyes straining to see as hair tangled in my face. Ice shot through my veins. Along the black forest edge, trailing behind, were a pair of beady yellow eyes. Someone or something was watching…

Shit.

I turned around and dug my heels into Pearl’s sides, urging her to go faster. She obeyed, picking up speed and flinging us further down the winding road to the cabin. The air whipped around us, our surroundings morphing into a midnight blur of thick brush and constellations.

“ Come on, girl, faster!” I called to her, the prickling sensation of being watched still slick to my skin, like a thick layer of margarine.

I begged the heavens it was a wolf, prayed it was a bear, and not some monstrous creature that would rip the flesh from my bones and slurp the marrow down its throat. How I wished for a sword now, whether I knew how to wield it or not, it would be a comfort to have at least something on my person to defend myself with. The small dagger was strapped to my thigh if necessary, but it was really more of a letter opener than a deadly weapon.

I frantically tossed my head over my shoulder once more, breath rapid, heart pounding its heavy fists behind my ribs. Four pairs of pale-rot eyes followed at a steady crawl now, creeping along the forest’s shadowed edge.

Great.
There were more of them.

The only thing Lucien’s plan didn't account for was an ambush on the road. The man was a damn monster hunter, or Hallowbane as he called it, you’d think he would’ve taken this into consideration. But no, I was left to deal with not one but TWO, possibly ravenous creatures with nothing more than a butter knife and a sense of false confidence. The wind howled and slammed into me as Pearl charged down the jagged trail, veering off the main road towards the cabin. We were surrounded by dense forest, a thick canopy of branches curling their moist leafy fingers around our path. Pressing on through the twisted overgrowth, I spotted torchlight in the distance, its flickering flame a small beacon of hope in the darkness.

There it is!
We’re so close.

The dreadful sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot echoed around me. Fast, uneven footsteps pittered from either side of the thick brush, human in sound but somehow…wrong.
My pulse quickened, head darting from side to side, straining to see what was tailing us in the dark. The sheer unknown was more frightening than facing the thing itself, and without a doubt, there were definitely more than two. Reverbed freakish giggles bounced on the wind, their sound shuddering through the air. Like a stone skipped on water, the uncanny notes rippled around us in a strange, irregular rhythm. We were being hunted.

Damn it Lucien!
Where are you?

A black, lanky shadow darted in front, spooking the horse, her front legs kicked high up into the night air. The sudden motion sent me flying back, clinging on for dear life.

“ Whoa, whoa!” I yelled, gripping the reins with every muscle fiber I had.

She bucked and neighed, manically flipping in wild motions. We needed to move and NOW! Staying in one spot like this, we were defenseless targets, lambs willingly accepting their slaughter. The cabin was so close, close enough that Lucien could most likely hear all the commotion outside. I desperately hoped he was listening and any minute now would come flying out the door, weapons strapped to every inch of his figure.

“ Come on, girl! Go!” I urged, cold panic coating my limbs and nipping at my spine. Pearl only reared more, her body tense and trembling, eyes wide with terror. Her thick mane whipped wildly, as she bucked in every direction, her body jerked by fear.

My eyes darted around the trees, counting the precious seconds that ticked by too quickly, each one closer to a dismal fate. A quiet so intense, it was deafening, fell in the air like heavy snow, and every hair on my body stood straight up in warning. Eight pairs of sinister, bile-stained orbs blinked back at me. We were completely surrounded.

Merging out of the shadows, a pale, long-limbed figure sculked forward into moonlight, each step staggered and off-kilter. My blood ran cold with pure, raw terror when I beheld it. It was at least eight feet tall, but it remained hunched, dragging its even longer, spidery arms in the dirt. Knobby joints connected to thin, lanky fingers, like they were never meant for human hands. Death-sharp claws steeped out and curled, their jagged edges resembling long shards of bone.

It cocked its elongated head to the side, flashing me rows of black needle-like fangs. Eyes the color of wormskin, gleaming brighter than the torch flame, it reached out a paw and pointed one of its hideous skeletal fingers at me.

“ Greetings, blooded one,” it lilted, voice cracked and dry, like teeth grinding against stone.
All their voices rose in unison, weaving together in unnatural harmony.

“ We’ve waited for you.”