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

7. Rose

7

Rose

“ T he head architect will see you now,” a middle-aged woman with hair pulled into a bun said as she peeked her head out the opening of the grand wooden door.

I kneaded my forehead with my knuckles then pinched my cheeks, hoping to prick some life into my deadened features.

I was exhausted. It took longer and longer for me to come back from using so much magic, and I still hadn’t fully processed what had happened with the Shifter attack. I couldn’t believe my uncle was another victim of the Somnivae curse. It didn’t feel real.

After I found him, I vaguely remembered telling Morgana to come out of the carriage. My voice had been low and monotone, void of the emotions I’d managed to stifle and shove away in those precious seconds after the mysterious man had left. When my aunt saw Ragnar, she screamed for Beau, whose face went pale and gaunt. While they froze in their distress, I couldn’t seem to stop moving. Acting. Going through the motions like a puppet on a string, handling things in the only way I knew how.

Emotionless. Controlled. Hollow.

I wouldn’t have been able to function otherwise.

I used a levitation spell to lift Ragnar’s body into the carriage, ignoring Morgana’s sobs, then climbed into the driver’s box with that mutilated corpse at my side and followed the path until we hit a brick road. The gilded spires of the palace had come into view as we approached the entrance gates, but I was far too distant to take in the sight. I demanded the guards summon a stablehand to take the horse and carriage, a healer to take the dead body and my uncle, and a servant to take me to the Decemvirate’s head architect: Larken Everest. The one in charge of designing and implementing the tournament.

Action. Purpose. Movement.

Morgana wouldn’t leave Ragnar’s side, and Beau wouldn’t leave his mother’s. The two of them were so distraught, they didn’t even notice when I failed to follow them to the healer’s wing of the palace. As much as I didn’t want to be separated, neither of them were in the headspace to deal with the aftermath. Someone had to figure out what to do next.

I’d been waiting to speak with the head architect for hours. And with the waiting came the despair I’d forced aside, the panic I’d strangled in the face of necessity. It was all creeping back in, like spiders crawling beneath my skin.

This was going wrong. So horribly wrong. Nobody had woken from the Somnivae curse in twenty-seven years —the empire had all but lost hope the victims would ever be revived.

My uncle…he was as good as gone.

My mind swirled with endless, unanswerable questions. How would Morgana and Beau get through this? What would happen now that Feywood’s sole challenger could no longer compete? How could we go back home with the weight of our province’s magic on the shoulders of a lifeless heap of flesh?

Flowing beneath each worry was a single thought, like an undercurrent of darkness that seemed to follow me with every step I took.

Once again, someone had been taken from me. And once again, I hadn’t been able to stop it .

“Dear? Are you ready?” the woman asked again, breaking me from my spiral. I cleared my throat and nodded, rising from the wingback chair I’d been sitting in overnight and following her inside the chamber.

With everything going on, I hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the splendor of the palace. The dark mahogany floor, rich emerald rugs, and sparkling candelabras in the open room before me felt muted by a blanket of gray. I just needed to get through this. Tell Larken Everest what had happened and figure out how we could get another challenger from Feywood to the capital as quickly as possible.

In the center wall of the large chamber stood a desk with two upholstered chairs sitting before it. A pair of bookshelves was on either side of the desk, filled with leather bound tomes, framed maps, and other trinkets. Seated behind the desk, to my surprise, was a woman—probably only ten years older than myself, if that. Her long, black hair was plaited down her broad shoulder as she hunched over an open ledger. Eyes so dark they were almost black met mine when she looked up, a tight but not unkind smile breaking out across her deep brown face.

“Ah, Miss Wolff. I’m sorry you had to wait for so long. Please, have a seat,” she said, her voice strong as she motioned to the chairs in front of her desk.

This was Larken Everest? The head architect? She was…not what I expected.

My thoughts must have shown on my features, for she gave a small smirk. “Before you ask: yes, I’m the youngest architect in two centuries. Yes, I’m a woman. And yes, I do, in fact, know what I’m doing. Does that answer any questions you may have, Miss Wolff?”

Twisting my hands in my lap, I swallowed. “I was surprised, that’s all.” And a bit embarrassed, not knowing the head architect was a woman . All of the past emperors had selected men for this position—and aged men, at that. The vast majority of architects were old enough to have witnessed multiple Decemvirates in their lifetime. Larken Everest probably only remembered one, maybe two.

Humming, she reached for a tea tray a servant had placed in front of her. “Would you care for some tea?” She held the ceramic pot in the air, gesturing toward me.

“No thank you, Miss Everest.”

“Please, call me Lark.” She poured a cup for herself and stirred in a sugar cube. “The guards filled me in on your situation, and I’m very sorry to hear about what happened to your family.” Her tone was genuine, remorseful. “I wish I could say attacks like that are abnormal, but unfortunately, we receive reports nonstop this close to the tournament. The emperor sends his guards to patrol, but it doesn’t seem to do much good, does it?”

My eyes widened as she took a sip of tea, her gaze watching me closely over her cup. Such a small statement, but even that was as brazen as I’d imagine someone could get toward the emperor, especially under his very roof.

“The attack isn’t what I’m here for, Miss—Lark. We got out of that unscathed.” Except for poor Larson. I closed my eyes as guilt gripped me. I’d scarcely thought of our elderly driver, how he’d lost his life simply for doing his job.

I was lucky not to have met the same end. I owed my life to the hooded mystery man, who my thoughts had wandered to several times in the hours since. How had he known we were in trouble? He had to be an Alchemist, or at least part Alchemist, with the way he’d cast to kill that Shifter. But who was he? Why had he been there?

Shaking away my thoughts, I continued. “My uncle fell under the Somnivae curse last night after we were attacked. He is— was the Feywood challenger.”

Lark nodded, slowly rubbing her finger along the cup’s rim. “Yes, I’m aware of who your uncle is.”

I waited for her to say more, to offer some trite condolence or solution, but she stayed quiet. I pressed on. “Then you know the difficult situation that puts us in. I came here to see what could be done about it. My entire province is relying on him to compete.”

Lark leaned back in her seat. “They are relying on someone to compete.”

I blinked, unable to get a good read on this woman. “Yes, and that someone is currently lying in this palace’s infirmary, unable to wipe the drool from his chin. Is there time to bring in another challenger from Feywood?”

Faint wrinkle lines appeared on her dark features when she frowned. “I’m afraid that would take far too long, first to get word to them, then to arrange passage from Feywood to here. The Decemvirate begins in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Then postpone the start. Can’t you do that?”

“Unfortunately, that’s out of my hands.”

Irritation bubbled beneath my skin. It was like she didn’t want Feywood to compete, didn’t want to work to find a solution for my people. I couldn’t think of a single instance in the history of the Decemvirate where a province failed to produce a challenger. What would happen to our magic if that happened? Even when people had died in past Decemvirates, their provinces still received a small amount of magic in honor of the challenger who had participated. But Feywood wouldn’t get the chance now. What if our magic wouldn’t be replenished because of this? What if it continued to weaken until it disappeared altogether?

“Alright, then we find someone from Feywood who’s here for the revelry ,” I offered, a bit of a bite to my tone. “There have to be plenty of people already in the city who could be at the palace within a couple hours.” And more than willing to wear the glory of the title.

“You’re right, there probably are,” Lark mused. She put her cup down and steepled her hands in front of her face. “What makes me curious is the fact that you have not yet volunteered.”

My mind went blank. “I—volunteered for what?”

“To take your uncle’s place. ”

Was she joking ?

I let out an involuntary snort, and her eyebrows quirked upward. “You find this suggestion funny?”

This whole situation was the furthest thing from “funny” I could imagine. Stumbling over my own tongue, I said, “I—I can’t do that. I can’t compete. I’m not—” My mouth hung open, words escaping me.

“You’re not what?” Lark leaned forward, her ample chest flush with the desk. “From what your uncle tells me, you’re very much like him in many regards.”

The hair on the back of my neck raised, my lips parting on a shocked exhale. “When have you spoken with my uncle?” What was going on?

She stayed silent. With a flick of her wrist, shadows billowed from the desk. I sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar display of power. Darkness tumbled over itself as some shadows solidified and sealed themselves in the cracks of the chamber door and others raced along the windows behind the desk, blocking the morning sun that peeked in through the curtains.

In an instant, the entire room was as dark as night, the only light coming from two flickering candles on Lark’s desk.

A Shadow Wielder. I’d never met one before. The way her shadows moved…it was like they were breathing. A living extension of her. It was incredible .

I snapped from my daze and leapt out of the chair, reaching for my pouch of herbs. “What are you?—”

“I’m not going to harm you, Miss Wolff,” Lark said, standing and holding her arms up in a sign of peace. The movement cast shadows that danced eerily in the candlelight.

Eyeing the darkness creeping at her heels, I said dryly, “Consider me comforted.”

“You may not know who I am, but I know you . Ragnar speaks very highly of you. An accomplished Alchemist from a young age, with a will and a bite as strong as his own.” She chuckled at that, and my eyes widened in stunned silence. “I suppose I should take your shock as proof of his discretion.”

My mind reeled. It felt like I had walked into a different world, one I didn’t understand. How did Ragnar have connections in the palace? “What are you talking about?”

She crossed to the front of her desk and faced me, resting the heels of her palms on top of the sturdy wood. “What are you willing to do to save your uncle?”

I licked my lips. This woman obviously knew Ragnar—how, I wasn’t sure. Was he working for the emperor? Did he help design something for the tournament? I couldn’t believe he didn’t tell us. Countless questions burst into my thoughts, vying for attention.

But he couldn’t answer them. He was gone.

“We—we can’t save him,” I stammered. “There’s no cure.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to hold back a retort. “Anything,” I grounded out. “I would do anything to save him.”

A beam broke out across her lips. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because there may be a way, Miss Wolff. In fact, it was the very reason your uncle came here in the first place.”

My eyes darted around the room, still wary of her shadows and being confined in this chamber, but I couldn’t deny the fact that she’d piqued my interest. I kept my fingers hooked around the opening of my satchel as I nodded for her to continue.

“I’ve been in contact with your uncle for quite some time trying to find a way to break the Somnivae curse, among other things. He’s been studying the nature of curses, and his insight has proven to be quite valuable. Tell me, Rose—what do you know of it? The Somnivae curse?”

Her question made me open and close my mouth in confusion. I wasn’t sure what to make of the direction this had gone. What did the curse have to do with the tournament?

I bit my bottom lip, taking a moment to respond. “Well, I know it began twenty-seven years ago, when Emperor Aris’ wife gave birth to twins. Theories say since Branock Aris was an Alchemist, he brought it upon the empire himself. That it was the price he paid for his wealth and success?—”

“No,” Lark interrupted with a shake of her head, her braid swinging behind her back and sending a burst of wind scattering over the candle flames. “I don’t want to hear about the history. Tell me what you know about the curse itself.”

My jaw ticked. “It makes its victims fall into a slumber, one they can’t wake up from. Their bodies stay healthy and intact, and they don’t age or show any passage of time at all. The only marker is their eyes—they turn a deep red, like blood.”

As I spoke, Lark nodded. “And what of curses in general? You’re an Alchemist, like your uncle. What can you tell me about that brand of magic?”

I had an inkling she already knew anything I could possibly say, and this little test was purely to humor her. Even so, my curiosity won out over my annoyance—I wanted to know where this was heading. “Curses can be cast with the proper potion or charm, but they can also be consequences of other spells. Someone could unintentionally create a curse if they tried to cross boundaries of natural magic or used too much of their power in one go. There are common curses that most Alchemists know, but they can also be created for a specific purpose.”

That’s how I’d discovered my dual protect and attack charm when experimenting with old spells and herbs—it was a protection spell combined with a curse that caused an assailant’s intended actions to backfire on them the moment they tried to harm me. The snow leopard’s mangled shoulder popped into my mind.

“Hmm.” Lark tilted her head and crossed her arms. “And is it possible to reverse a curse?”

“Well, yes,” I started, that same frustration rising again. Over the past twenty-seven years, a countless number of people had tried to reverse the Somnivae curse. Alchemists were still working on it. So far, it had been hopeless. “You have to know the original curse that was used—all incantations and ingredients. And it can only be reversed by the one who cast it.”

A curse could also be dispelled if the original caster died, I supposed. But none of this mattered, because nobody knew for sure who cast the Somnivae curse. The vast majority once believed it to be Emperor Branock Aris, whether intentional or accidental, and he had died fifteen years ago. Yet the sleeping curse lived. So someone else must have cast it.

“I’m sorry, but what does any of this have to do with my uncle or the tournament?” I finally asked.

“I’m getting there.” A slow smile unfurled on her face, one that spoke of mischief and resolve. “What if I told you I know who cast the curse?”

I clenched the back of the chair in front of me. That was impossible. “You’re lying.”

Her eyes shone with eager triumph. “I’m not. And your uncle knew, too. That is why he competed to become the Feywood challenger, so he could use it as a means to come to the capital and help put an end to it. The Decemvirate, the tournament”—she brandished a hand in the air as if batting something away—“none of that matters as much as this . What your uncle came here to do—uncover the person who cast it and reverse the curse.”

If that was true, if Ragnar had hid his true motive for coming to Veridia City, if he was using the tournament as a cover…that meant the person behind it all was still here .

Trepidation trickled over me, clinging to my skin. “Why should I believe any of this?”

Lark didn’t seem offended by my distrust. Instead, she actually grinned. “I thought you might ask.” She swiftly moved behind her desk and, using the candle to illuminate her drawers, pulled out a stack of parchment tied with twine.

“Letters,” she said, setting them on top of her desk. “From your uncle.” When I made no move to grab them, she gestured toward me. “Please, read them. I have nothing to hide from you.”

My eyes slowly fell from her to the papers as I stepped closer to see the fading ink by the glow of the firelight. The pile was large, indicating months and months of correspondence, if not years.

The slanted letters, the way the words bled into the next sentence as if the writer’s thoughts were moving quicker than his fingers…it was my uncle’s handwriting. There was no doubt. I would recognize it anywhere.

I grabbed the bundle and flipped through the pages, seeing his scribbled signature at the bottom of each. They even smelled faintly of Feywood—crumpled leaves and spice. I paused to read a couple, my forehead creasing with each paragraph. One simply spoke of the weather and how Ragnar wished for the balmy seasons of the capital. Another talked about recipes for a new potion he was trying.

“Is this all some sort of code?” I asked, glancing back up at Lark.

She smirked. “We couldn’t very well spill our secrets on paper for inquiring minds to read.”

“But you’re trying to get rid of the curse. That’s a good thing. Why do you have to hide it?”

Her lips fell into a thin line. She took her time answering, thinking through her words. “There are very few people in this world I trust anymore, Miss Wolff.”

“If that’s true, then I don’t understand why you’re telling me any of this.”

“Because in the years I’ve known him, your uncle has only ever inspired the highest confidence in you. Because he trusts you. And I trust him.” Her voice softened, and she paused. It was strange, seeing how this person I’d never met in my life was so affected by my uncle’s condition. I could tell she truly had known him. Truly had cared about him. It made my exasperation fade ever so slightly.

Lark cleared her throat. “And because Feywood is now in need of a challenger. Someone who can follow in his footsteps.”

Someone who can take on this task , was what she didn’t say.

“I understand Feywood needs someone to compete. But why do you need a challenger for this…this mission? Why was my uncle involved at all?” I held out a hand to her. “You seem more than capable all on your own.”

Lark ran her tongue along her teeth. I could tell there were things she was trying to keep private, only certain parts of her plan she was ready to convey. But if she was expecting me to risk myself for this cause, I needed to understand.

“There are…liberties I am granted in this empire, yes,” she said slowly. “To remain here in a position of power in order to help others, however, there are places I cannot go. People I cannot cross. I want to tell you more, I truly do—but you can still walk away from this. I haven’t divulged enough yet to put you or myself in any danger. Once you cross that line, once you agree, there’s no going back. So I’m giving you a choice, Rose.” She let out a deep breath. “I know it’s not fair after everything that’s happened to you in the last hours. But we are running out of time.”

I rubbed at my temple. This was ludicrous. So completely out of the realm of possibility. I couldn’t compete. I couldn’t stop this curse. I wasn’t…

What? What wasn’t I?

I wasn’t unskilled , I supposed. Not nearly as powerful as Ragnar, but my bloodline was strong, even though it had been dampening over the past years with our weaker magic. I’d learned many useful lessons from my uncle and my parents’ Grimoires. Strike where it hurts. Observe everything. Be merciless when you can, and merciful when it’s hardest.

And…I wasn’t frightened . Not of this tournament or what the other challengers could do to me, at least. I was used to defending myself. But Ragnar’s true purpose was different. What would be required of me? Would I even be able to find the original caster and figure out how to reverse the curse? Because failure… that frightened me.

In the end, so much was at stake. Not just the magic of my people, but also the chance to save thousands of lives. To end this plight that had taken over my empire .

I was desperate. And perhaps a bit prideful. The image of me in the tournament, proving to those Drakorum bastards and everyone else that Feywood was not to be overlooked, breaking the curse and bringing back everyone who had suffered…it steeled something within me.

My heart pounded in my chest, its beat ringing through my ears. Fates, I didn’t know what I was doing, but I feared I was in too deep to stop now.

“I’ll do it.”

Those three little words hung heavy in the air, sealing my fate. I wasn’t even sure they’d come from my lips. Was I really ready to do this?

Did I have a choice? This could change everything .

She smiled, and the shadows around us seemed to swirl in excitement. She took a step toward me. “Excellent. Because we have no time to waste. I need you to do something for me.” The darkness tightened, and her tone gave me the foreboding sense that I had barely scratched the surface of this mission. “I need you to get close to the man who cast the Somnivae curse. Uncover how he cast it, and what we need to reverse it.”

Unease gripped my insides. The only way I’d be able to do that was by finding the Grimoire of the Alchemist in question, and that was nearly impossible. Grimoires were the most valuable item an Alchemist possessed—I couldn’t simply waltz into someone’s house and take a quick peek. Most, like myself, had a plethora of defensive charms in place around theirs, only accessible by those they trusted.

“Who?” I asked curtly, trying to hide my worries.

Lark’s eyes flashed as she backed away. “That’s the main reason we needed Ragnar in the tournament. The reason we need you . As a challenger, you are afforded more freedoms both in the city and the palace. You’ll have eyes upon you, yes, but not eyes of suspicion. They’ll never suspect someone like you. It will be much easier for you to get closer this way. ”

Gritting my teeth, I leveled her with an irritated glare. “Get closer to who ?”

“You haven’t worked it out yet?” Her head cocked. “Branock Aris didn’t cast the Somnivae curse, Miss Wolff. It was his right-hand man. The most powerful Alchemist in the empire, and someone the Aris family trusted with their lives.”

Shadows caressed my ankles, leaning in closer as if they wanted to hear her words, too.

“I need you to steal the Grimoire of Emperor Theodore Gayl.”