In the Wake of the Wicked (Veridian Empire #1)

5. Rose

5

Rose

T he rest of the journey through Feywood passed uneventfully. By the next morning, we’d paid to keep our carriage and horses at the port and boarded a ship to sail the short distance across the Eldertide Ocean.

It took all day to reach the port at Veridia City. Aunt Morgana and I leaned against the railing on the quarterdeck as the sun set behind us, highlighting the oncoming island in rays of orange, gold, and deep pink. The wind blew our hair back, the matching strands of black dancing and weaving in the air—the only trait I shared with her, seeing as my mother had the same dark locks. But while Morgana was pale and fair, I’d inherited my olive-toned skin from my father, along with a strong jawline and high cheekbones.

My aunt tapped her fingers on the wood, her eyes distant as she took in the land looming before us.

“How are you doing with all of this?” I asked.

She seemed surprised I had spoken. Clearing her throat, she dropped her hands with haste. “Oh, I’m fine. I trust Ragnar, and I trust the Fates. He’s more than capable of keeping himself safe with their help.”

The Fates. The mystical, omniscient Fates who had our futures wound around their fingers, playing them like strings on an instrument. I’d never been much for the legends of the three beings who weaved the destiny of this world, choosing to place my trust in my own hands. The Fates were mostly myths at this point anyway, their existence a mere household expression instead of worshiped and revered as they once were.

But my aunt wished to keep them sacred. For her, clinging to the higher power of the Fates provided a refuge when her world ran out of control. I would never deny her the comfort they brought, even if I was more skeptical.

Who knew? Maybe they were listening.

“You know, you’re allowed to tell me the truth every once in a while,” I said, raising my eyebrow in jest. “I’m not a child anymore. You can tell me if you’re worried.”

Chuckling, she patted my hand. “I do sometimes forget how much you’ve grown. You’re the age I was when we adopted you.” She faced me fully, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. “You look so much like her,” she whispered.

I didn’t have to ask who she was referring to.

The emotion in her words overwhelmed me, and I looked away, back to the glistening navy blue waters lapping against the side of the boat. “What do you think she would’ve thought of this?” I waved my hand through the air. “Visiting the capital?”

“My, your mother would have eaten this up. I can’t tell you the number of times she tried to cross through to Celestria or Iluze when we were kids. Granted, that was back when it wasn’t against the law. She loved to make a ship out of blankets and pillows and pretend we were sailing off on adventures.” Morgana laughed and shook her head. “And, oh, that girl could talk .”

A smile tugged at my lips. I’d asked about my parents hundreds of times over the years, eager for any morsel of truth, any taste of their lives. I never got tired of hearing about them.

“She lit up any room when she walked in,” my aunt continued. “Yes, I think she would’ve enjoyed this trip very much. If she were here, she’d make fast friends with every person we came across. Now, your father, on the other hand…”

My shoulders tightened, then slowly loosened. I remembered bits and pieces of my father—his quiet laugh, his dark blue-gray eyes peering at me over thin spectacles as he read by the fire, his strong hands lifting me in the air. But every time I imagined him, something snagged at the recesses of my mind, something that sent ice snaking down my spine. It was like a veil hanging in front of a portrait, and if I could reach out and pull it away, I’d see?—

I swallowed as I quickly buried the ominous feeling deeper into that well inside me before my mind could tread any further. Morgana gave me a look, testing my features, and I nodded for her to keep going.

“He quite literally would have begged to stay home. I think that man could’ve lived in a cave and been happy. As long as he had his Ayla, of course. By the Fates, he loved your mother.” Morgana tucked an arm around my waist, and I stiffened at the contact before relaxing into her.

“I’m sorry you never got to know them well, dear. Especially your mother. But she loved you from the moment she found out she was carrying you. So, so much. ‘My little flower,’ she’d call you.” Her hold on me tightened, her voice cracking. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she suddenly said, wiping at her eyes and pulling away. “I suppose this whole ordeal is setting me on edge.”

“It’s fine. I—I like it when you talk about them.” I rubbed at the side of my neck, holding onto the brief image she’d given me. “It’s going to be alright. With Uncle Ragnar, I mean. He’s been preparing for months, and we’ve stocked him up on all the charms he could possibly need.”

“I know, dear. You’re right. We’ve done all we can do—it’s in the hands of the Fates now.” Morgana gave me a smile before trodding off to check on Ragnar and Beau.

I cast my gaze back to the water, the bright spot of land even closer than before. I could see trees dotting the edges of the coast, the unfamiliar buildings and docked ships of the port taking shape.

It’s in the hands of the Fates now . My aunt, the devout one. The one to find safety behind platitudes, to smile and shrug when things didn’t go her way. But I think my uncle and I both understood—we couldn’t stand aside and wait for something else to intervene. We made our own fate.

And that made it all the more sweet when it bent to our will.

My first impression of Veridia City was how bright it was.

Even though the sun was almost completely set, the docks were still busy welcoming guests into the capital. Lanterns hung every few feet, blinding me as I stepped off the gangway. Workers scampered about the deck to help secure incoming passenger and cargo ships, carrying crates of supplies to and from the storage units off the port. It smelled like fish and oranges, and the cool breeze coming from the water was so very different from the brisk, dry air in the forests of Feywood.

Our family was quickly ushered from the ship and to a small wooden outpost beyond the dock. The workers were orderly and efficient, having more than likely welcomed thousands of spectators coming for the Decemvirate. I barely had time to take in the multitudes of people before they’d found our assigned carriage and sent us on our way.

The driver greeted us kindly but swiftly, assisting Ragnar in loading our belongings.

“My name is Larson, and I will be your driver throughout your stay in Veridia City.” Larson gave a bow, extending his head low enough for me to see the balding spot in the center of his gray hair. “I am at your service to take you and your family anywhere you desire, except during your trials, of course, sir,” he added as he opened the door to the carriage. “It will be about an hour to the palace in the central sector, Master Gregor. With the influx in visitors, the main roads are busy, so we will be taking an alternate path.”

“Central sector?” Beau asked. “What does that mean? ”

Larson dipped his head to Beau before responding. “The capital is divided into five sectors: north, west, east, south, and central. You will more than likely be spending most of your time in the central sector, where the palace and busiest markets are.”

“Sounds wonderful, Larson. Thank you,” Ragnar said, shaking the elderly man’s hand before helping Morgana and myself into the carriage.

“It’s my pleasure, sir.” Larson gave another bow and shut the door with a snip . A moment later, the carriage rustled as he situated himself in the box. I heard the sharp snap of reins and we were off, heading east through the bustling port.

As I’d done the previous day leaving Feywood, I now found myself gazing out the glass window, transfixed by the foreign, outside world. We passed through a village with the brightest colored buildings I'd ever seen—white and pink, orange and yellow, blue and purple. The rainbow of stucco shops and houses assaulted my senses, so different from the dark wood and brick structures in Feywood. Citizens still roamed the streets, finishing up their shopping or mingling as the last of the sunrays finally set beyond the horizon. Even their clothing was different from ours, with their cropped linen tops and flowing pants or skirts, showing far more skin than our colder province would ever allow. My thick sweater and leggings were already sticking to my skin with sweat despite the slight breeze of the autumn evening.

Slowly, the bright cobblestone path turned to rocky gravel road as we left the portside town behind and ventured deeper into the woods. These trees weren’t the same tightly packed pines I was used to, with sharp needles and bristly branches. The leaves here were broader, their branches wider and higher, like a vast canopy opening up above our heads. I could hardly see the shrubbery surrounding us. The soft glow of the lanterns attached to the side of the carriage was the only light illuminating the ground.

Shadows crept along the path like snakes, crawling their way from the dense greenery. The sound of crickets and owls created a symphony through the brush of leaves. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of a long, dark tail slithering through the grass, but when I trained my eyes on the spot, it had vanished.

I leaned my head against the leather interior and closed my eyes, longing for a warm bath and a bed.

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a stop. I threw my hand out to stop my body from careening into my aunt.

Ragnar cursed under his breath, rapping his knuckles against the small sliding door between us and the driver’s box. “Larson?”

A thud sounded on the other side.

Ragnar stiffened, and he and I both instantly reached for our respective pouches of herbs. In a breath, I had an amaranth stem mixed with mistletoe and blackthorn ash on my tongue, the sweet, nutty flavor bursting through my mouth, preparing to cast a spell.

“Stay here,” my uncle commanded the three of us. Beau tried to protest, but the look on Ragnar’s face silenced him. Soundlessly, Ragnar eased open the carriage door, and the curiosity and adrenaline pumping through my veins made me instinctively rise from my seat and follow on his heels, ignoring Morgana’s pull on my cloak.

My heart pounded faster at the loud shout and the sound of boots scuffling along rocks. I turned to find Morgana clutching her son’s arm, looks of alarm blaring across their faces. Before they could move, I took a pinch of blackthorn ash and blew it toward them, watching it coat their bodies with a gray shimmer.

“ Slentium. ” I felt the spell for silence stretch and snap into place, momentarily stealing my breath. “I’ll be back,” I whispered before they could argue, then slipped out the door.

Creeping around the side of the carriage, I saw our two horses pawing the ground anxiously. Rough voices mixed with my uncle’s, making me pause to assess instead of jumping into view.

“Nice night for a ride, isn’t it?” a low, gravelly male voice said.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Ragnar responded. Keeping my body hidden by the carriage, I peered around the corner to find my uncle standing off against three men in black cloaks. A glint of silver in the hand of the middle man caught my eye. A knife .

Not a friendly visit, then.

The amaranth still lingering on my tongue burned in anticipation, my fingers fluttering at my side.

“Fancy carriage like this, with a personal driver and everything. Who do we have here, Sawyer?” The man in the middle whistled and nudged the one to his right. “Think we found ourselves a challenger?”

Swallowing, I quietly reached up to the door of the box and cracked it open. “Larson?” I whispered.

Something heavy fell against the door, and it took all my restraint to hold in a scream.

Larson’s head leaned into the wood, four brutal claw marks weeping blood down the front of his face. One had cut through his nose, flaying it in half, his cheeks a mangled mess of flesh and fat.

I shut the door and pressed my back into the side of the carriage, forcing down bile and letting out a shaky breath. It looked like an animal had ripped through his head. Shifters . These men must be Shifters, either from Drakorum or the capital—nobody else could leave marks like that.

My eyes caught on something at the edge of the trees—a tail. Similar to the one I’d seen crawling on the ground before. Was it a Shifter? Someone working with these men?

“Gentlemen,” my uncle stated evenly, drawing my attention back to the scene. “Challengers are protected under Veridian law until midnight on the start of the Decemvirate, which is not for another twenty-seven hours. Should word get back to the architects of your interference, you could be held in contempt of?—”

“ Of course , we had to go and pick a talker,” the one to the right said with a scratchy scoff. “Enough of this.”

My jaw dropped as the man threw his cloak and lunged, transforming mid-air into a roaring snow leopard.

One hundred pounds of dense muscle, sharp claws, and white fur soared for my uncle, its knifelike teeth bared at his throat. I sucked in a breath and lurched out from the side of the carriage, an incantation on my lips, when suddenly—my uncle disappeared .

“I tried to handle this with diplomacy, yet here we are.” Ragnar tutted from the treeline behind the remaining two men, rolling up the sleeves of his button down shirt.

“He’s a filthy Strider,” one of the men spat.

“Not a Strider, no.” My uncle’s lips curled upward. “An Alchemist.”

In the blink of an eye, he flicked his wrist and a dark purple shimmer fell over their bodies. Ragnar’s lips moved soundlessly. The two men howled in agony, collapsing to the ground as everywhere the wolfsbane powder touched burned their flesh to ash. One of them shifted, his hunched body elongating and thinning until yellow and black scales of a serpent shone under the moonlight. Dark spots dotted its skin from the burns as it hissed and raised its head, coiling to strike.

“I don’t want to kill you, Shifter,” Ragnar warned, pressing a finger to his tongue.

The snake struck.

“ Incendar. ”

Before it could sink its fangs into my uncle, the tail of the serpent caught fire, blazing a trail up its long body, consuming it inch by inch until it was nothing but ash and burnt scales falling to the forest floor.

My eyes were glued on the remaining man, and I almost didn’t hear Ragnar’s cry.

“Rose!”

A growl erupted behind me. I whirled to find myself face-to-face with the snow leopard, mouth ajar and teeth glinting.

I bit down on the amaranth still clinging to my tongue and threw up my hands, muttering, “ Aegesis nova!”

The sensation of air being ripped from my lungs and pulled taut as a bowstring fell across my skin as the snow leopard leapt toward me. He instantly slammed into an invisible barrier, and I watched in both horror and morbid fascination as my spell took its effect.

Chunks of flesh tore themselves from his shoulder, as if caught in the snare of his own sharp jaws. He yowled and collapsed to the ground, blood oozing from the wound as he struggled to find his footing.

I panted from the exertion of such a strong spell. Turning back to my uncle, I searched for the third man, only to find the coward had disappeared—sprinting off into the darkness, not even sparing a look for his companion . Blood rushed in my ears as I scanned the darkness for Ragnar.

And then I saw him.

My stomach plunged to my feet.

“ Uncle, ” I breathed, the energy in my body dissipating as I rushed to his side. He lay crumpled on the leaves and dirt, motionless but still breathing. My eyes roved his body for signs of injury—had the last man attacked when I was distracted?

But I could find no wound. His breaths were strong and even, his pulse thumping beneath my touch.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

A rustling in the grass made me whip my neck around, but all spells fled my mind as the injured snow leopard stalked toward me and my unconscious uncle. Before I could think, the air around me tightened. My lungs constricted—burning, aching, tugging. A spell .

But who was casting it?

The beast reared up on its strong back legs, preparing to lash at me, when suddenly, it let out a strangled cry. I heard the snap of its neck and it fell to my side, dirt scattering beneath its weight.

It was dead.

And in its place stood brown boots. Tight, black pants. A dark tunic and gray cloak. My eyes traveled the length of the stranger’s body to meet a sharp jawline shadowed by the hood of a cloak, glittering onyx eyes the only thing visible in the darkness as he stared down at me.

“Watch your back,” was all he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine .

Warning bells rang in my head, but I didn’t care. My uncle was?—

I turned to Ragnar’s still form. “Can you help me?” I asked the stranger, looking back with a plea on my lips.

He was gone.

My hand covered my mouth as I gently lifted my uncle’s eyelids, already knowing what I would find.

Eyes as red as blood

My uncle was cursed.