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

14. Rose

14

Rose

I dreamt of butterflies.

Delicate blue wings laced with black and yellow fluttered onto the tip of my finger, a faint tickle making me shiver when it brushed against my skin.

In my dream, I smiled.

Until blood began to drip from the wings and down my hand.

Ruby red glistened over my skin, coating it in the thick, hot liquid. I jerked my hand back with a scream and the butterfly flitted away, but still, the blood came.

On both my hands now. The ground, my feet, my legs. I couldn’t run from it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I woke from my nightmare with a jolt. The sound of something scratching against the wood floor drew my attention to the door. My fingers instantly closed around the handle of my dagger beneath the pillow.

Squinting, I scanned the room by the faint light of the rising sun coming from the window. The knocking had stopped, and the air was silent once more, save for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I released the hold on my dagger and scrubbed a hand over my face with a groan. It’s too early for this .

Untangling my legs from the sheets, I climbed out of bed, stretching as I padded across the floor to the door. On the ground rested a folded envelope with the official seal of the Veridian Empire staring back at me. I cracked the door open to stick my head out and see if anyone was there, but the corridor was empty, except for Horace. His back was to me as he paced down at the end of the hall. Had he been there all night?

When he turned and caught my eye, he gave a grunt, then continued to ignore me.

Not a morning person either, I took it. I had a feeling we would get along splendidly.

A flutter of nerves erupted in my stomach as I shut the door with a soft snick and crouched to pick up the envelope, finding my name on the back in bold letters and the title Feywood Challenger written below it.

Today was the first trial.

I hadn’t had much time to think about what this challenge might be. The past couple of days had been such a whirlwind, but in hindsight, it was probably best that I wasn’t able to dwell on it for long. It would’ve only added to the unease and anxiety building in my mind.

Now that it was here, however, my thoughts raced, apprehension creeping in tenfold.

We had record books of the past Decemvirates; whether the tales told within them were entirely fact or fiction, I’d never know. One that stuck out in my mind was that two centuries ago, the head architect at the time had experimented on a reptilian Shifter and found a way to transform him into a mythical dragon, twenty times the size of any human, with claws that could shred skin and lungs that breathed fire. The challengers were tasked with escaping this beast before it burnt them to a crisp.

Another story was that the challengers were transported to the Shadowmere Wastelands of Tenebra, which were cursed by ancient spirits and corrupted shadow magic. Challengers slowly lost their minds, and if rumors were true, they had to cut the tournament short, as no one was fit to continue competing after that.

I didn’t necessarily believe everything I’d heard or read. People wove intricate stories over the years, turning the truth into larger-than-life tales of impossible quests.

Some of the more common trials that had been used often over the centuries included hidden magical objects the challengers had to find, dalliances with poisons, or being forced to escape from somewhere in an allotted period of time. Once, I’d read the challengers were all dropped in the middle of an enchanted forest without access to their magic and had to track their way out.

I had no idea what to expect of this Decemvirate. Lark had said the theme of the first trial would be to test our intellect. That could mean any number of things, and unfortunately, I doubted it would have anything to do with Alchemy—the only area I considered myself intelligent.

These other five challengers have had months, if not years, to train and prepare. To study past tournaments and develop strategies, to practice their magic and defensive skills.

I’d had twenty-four hours. And very little sleep.

I licked my lips as my fingers danced across the edge of the wax seal, my heart beating like wings in my chest. Hurriedly ripping the envelope open, I unfolded the letter.

And let out an annoyed exhale.

It was blank.

“What—” I flipped the paper over, examining every inch of it and the envelope it came in. Nothing.

“Is this supposed to be funny?” I muttered to myself.

What I didn’t expect was for the paper to answer me.

Ink blossomed on the cream surface, cursive letters forming as if an invisible hand were penning them before my eyes.

Hello, Rose Wolff.

I yelped and dropped the paper. It fluttered to the floor, the words disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. Blinking, I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand and peered down at it again.

Enchanted parchment. Hadn’t seen that before. Curiosity got the best of me and I knelt to retrieve it, running my fingers along the creases. This brand of magic was intriguing. How did it work? What kind of enchantment was used?

“Incredible,” I marveled in a whisper.

More words materialized in response.

Thank you. I am courtesy of Larken Everest, Head Architect of the Veridian Empire.

My eyes widened and I let out a small laugh. Magical and polite.

“Are you…here to help me?” I asked tentatively. This was a piece of paper. I was talking to a piece of paper .

And it was talking back.

I am here to instruct you on your first trial, a challenge of intellect, cunning, and intuition.

I waited for more, but it went silent. Pursing my lips, I said, “Great. So where exactly do I start?”

A moment passed, and then script materialized like magic to form long lines of poetry.

Your first trial begins when the clock strikes nine.

An artifact of blood you then must find.

Hidden in truth across the eye

Six paths to victory each do lie.

Well you will stride if you fear not the flight,

Follow the imprint where paths unite.

One with the beasts of wild and wis e

A shift in heart will help you to rise.

Reality is not always the truth?—

Deception prevails where words do soothe.

The dawn of faith comes with new light

And glory often favors grace over might.

But navigate shadows with precision and care,

For one cannot seek that which is not there.

Find me with charm where bones and echoes reside;

It is cloaked in the day, and revealed in the night.

Only one shall reward you that which you seek,

And be wary of enemies alone you may meet.

By the midnight toll, you must claim your fate?—

Welcome, Rose Wolff, to the thirty-second Decemvirate.

It stopped, the black words gleaming like fresh ink.

A riddle.

I twisted my lips and gripped the parchment in my fist. I should’ve expected as much for a trial about intellect . A fight, I could prepare for. Or some sort of magical entrapment, perhaps. I was in my element when forced to think on my feet and react quickly. But riddles? Those required a patience I didn’t have. My fingers itched to act, to do something, to feel the familiar crunch of dried herbs and nettles, the smooth curves of vials and potions and stones.

Quickly rereading the lines, two things immediately stood out: one was that this was some sort of hunt for an artifact. The second was the last part— by the midnight toll, you must claim your fate . I only had until midnight tonight to find whatever it was I was supposed to search for.

Rolling my shoulders, I grabbed my travel bag and changed into a pair of thick leggings, a tight-fitting black shirt, and my dark green vest inlaid with numerous pockets. I slipped my dagger into one of the side pockets and rummaged through my pouches of herbs for what I needed to replace in my father’s little satchel. Instinctively, I went for my normal charms—thistle for banishing spells and curses, a vial of cedarwood oil for healing, and my special amaranth stems for protection, along with several other basics. All the while, I let my mind wander through the words on the paper.

Your first trial begins when the clock strikes nine. I glanced at the clock on my wall—it was a half hour till. An artifact of blood you then must find. That didn’t sound particularly pleasant. Blood made me think of violence, but surely the trial wouldn’t be asking us to harm someone?

I had no idea what “hidden in truth across the eye” meant. But six paths to victory…there were six challengers, of course. Six different kinds of magic. Six provinces. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Looking back at the riddle, I read it through again, taking time to focus on the longer middle section. It still read like a bunch of nonsense, but slowly, I began to pick up on certain words. Shadows and light, beasts, charms. There were references to all six of the magic types embedded in the poem. Clues for each of us, perhaps?

Only one shall reward you that which you seek. Only one what? Artifact? Clue? Impatience already burned under my skin, and it had only been a few minutes. I needed to act , not sit here rereading words on a paper. I hastily laced up my boots, grabbed the parchment, and hooked my herb pouch to my vest, comforted by its weight swinging against my hips as I strode to the door and twisted the handle.

It wouldn’t budge.

Forehead scrunching, I gripped the knob harder, pulling with more force. Still, the door refused to move.

I tugged as hard as I could, jiggling the handle and throwing my weight into it, then let out a frustrated sigh. Was this some sort of joke? Had someone locked me in? The locking mechanism on my side of the door was untouched—I turned it back and forth to be safe, but it stayed sealed shut .

Grumbling, I unlatched my pouch and took a pinch of crushed dandelion leaf and whispered the spell for opening. “ Vata lai.”

Nothing.

“Am I going to have to break down this door?” I muttered, flicking the end of my braid over my shoulder in irritation.

Movement on the parchment in my other hand caught my eye. The riddle faded away, replaced by something new.

Patience is a virtue of wisdom.

My lips thinned. I was being lectured by a piece of paper.

The clock read three minutes until nine. I flexed my hand, forcing myself not to reach for the door and try again. It was obvious this little condescending riddle master was keeping me prisoner in my own room until the clock struck nine.

Where was I going to go, anyway? The part of the clues that hinted at Alchemy spoke of “bones and echoes.” The only thing I could think of was some sort of graveyard—plenty of bones lived there. But I knew nothing about the capital. I would need a map, at the very least.

Maybe that’s where I would start. Find a record hall or library that would let me see maps of Veridia City.

My gaze flicked up to the clock, following the big hand as it ticked, ticked, ticked closer to nine o’clock. I looked down at the parchment one final time to catch new words scrolling across.

Let the Decemvirate begin.

The handle gave way beneath my touch, and I bolted out the door.

I barely made it down two hallways before I knew something was off .

The corridor was silent, the air heavy and strained. Every hair on the back of my neck rose as I turned another corner and reached into my satchel to place an amaranth stem of protection on my tongue.

Where was Horace? He’d been there this morning when I peeked my head out the door, but now he was nowhere to be found. I quickly retraced my steps back to my room, thinking I’d gone the wrong direction to get to the main stairwell, when I saw?—

Was that blood ?

Small beads of red were splattered across the dark floor mere feet from my door, creating a crimson path leading down the hall and to a small alcove on the left. With alarm singing in my veins, I followed the blood with my dagger in hand until…

I saw him.

Black boots peeked out from the shadowed nook of the corridor. My hand trembled as I crept forward. Inch by inch, my eyes trailed over the length of the body, over the familiar silver guard’s uniform and long blonde beard smothered in blood. A pool of it rested by his head.

Red leaked from his slit throat.

The edges of Horace’s body seemed to flicker as my stomach fell to my feet, a memory resurfacing. His form was replaced with another, more familiar one?—

I backed away quickly, bile rushing up my throat. Who would have done this? And right outside my room—it must have been seconds after I left. What if they’d been targeting me?

My breaths came out ragged as I turned to race down the hallway, only to find myself face to face with a haughty smirk. Smooth hands grasped my elbows while a cruel chuckle echoed off the walls.

“Where are you heading so quickly, Feywood?”

I glared into the dark eyes of Callum, the Iluze challenger I’d almost suffocated the day before. Rage burned in my core.

“Did you do this?” I snarled, yanking out of his grasp. “Did you kill that guard?” Without realizing it, my blade was already aimed at his chest, the sweet amaranth charm on my tongue itching to be put into action.

“What are you talking about, girl?” a gruff voice said.

The air left my lungs. I spun around to find Horace standing behind me, not a speck of blood on him, his face twisted in confusion as his beady eyes flashed between Callum and me.

My pulse pounded in every inch of me. The shock of seeing his throat slit and bleeding to him appearing as good as new in the span of a heartbeat was making my head spin, unable to keep up with reality.

It was an illusion .

Horace must have seen something in my features, for he swiftly side-stepped me and put himself between my body and Callum’s. I couldn’t turn around to watch, couldn’t make my limbs move, couldn’t hear past the ringing in my ears. It was like I was frozen in place, burrowing in on myself as my thoughts tunneled down the pit I worked so hard to keep covered. The pit I never let myself remember.

I was five years old, playing with my favorite stuffed doll in our front yard. Papa had told me to come back inside as soon as the sun started to go down, but I still had a few minutes left. I twirled around with her small hand in mine, the wind rustling through the skirt of my dress.

Suddenly, a blue butterfly appeared on my arm. I giggled as its wings tickled my skin, then gasped in delight. It started to change color, going from blue to pink to yellow every time I blinked.

Three more just like it flew from beneath my hair, and, gaping at them in wonder, I shook my head to see if more would come out.

They were so pretty. Papa would love to see these. I reached out a hand to try and catch one, but they flew away too fast. Letting out a giggle, I chased them around the yard, clapping as they shifted from one bright color to the next.

The butterflies led me to the big tree a little ways from the house. I stopped when they flew straight toward two strange men. The biggest one held his finger out and let the pretty butterflies rest on top before they all disappeared in the blink of an eye.

He looked at me and smiled.

I clutched my dolly to my chest, turning my head back to the house. Papa was going to be mad at me. I ran too far away.

“Hi there, Rose,” the one who’d had the butterflies said. “Is your father home? We’re good friends of his, and we wanted to come by to surprise him.”

I smiled shyly and swayed on my feet. He knew my name—Papa probably told him, if they were friends. Twisting a strand of hair around my finger, I said, “He’s home. I’m s’posed to get back before the sun goes down, so I have to hurry!”

“Well then, let’s go!” the other man said cheerfully, his grin wide and playful. “We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

I nodded enthusiastically and turned on my heel, dashing back to the house. I hoped Papa wouldn’t be too mad that I was late.

When I burst through the front door, my papa looked up at me from his chair by the fire.

“Papa! Some friends of yours came by to see you!” I said, setting my dolly on the table in the entry.

He scrunched his forehead. “Rose, sweetheart, what are you talking ? —”

The door behind me swung open, and Papa jumped to his feet. A big hand grabbed me by the waist and covered my mouth before I could scream.

Papa’s face was like an angry cloud when he shouted my name. I kicked against the man holding me as my chest suddenly felt too tight, like someone was squeezing the breath out of me. In a second, it was over, and I felt a huge blast of magic fill the room, knocking the scary men to their feet. I fell to the ground and Papa scooped me up. He wiped the tears from my cheeks as I cried against him.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he said, hurrying through the house with me clinging to his neck. We passed the kitchen and my bedroom, then turned toward Papa’s office. “Until I come get you, I want you to stay hidden in here. Alright, sweetheart? ”

He set me down on my feet, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes, I promise. Can you be a big girl for me? Be my brave Rose?”

I sniffled and nodded, and he swiped another tear away. Down the hall, the sound of scuffling and footsteps grew closer. The bad men were coming.

When my father stood, I wrapped my arms around his leg, unable to stop the tears dripping off my nose. “Papa, no! Don’t go!” I cried. I wanted to be brave like he said, but I was so scared. Why were those people here? Were they going to hurt us?

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.” He unwound my hands from his leg and pulled me into a tight hug, kissing my forehead. “I love you, Rose. Stay here.”

Before I could argue, he strode out the door and shut it behind him. I felt that same pressure and burst of magic, like what happened when he did a spell.

I hurried backward and ran beneath Papa’s desk, huddling close to the wall. Every shout, every clatter, every thump made me squeeze my eyes tighter. The men shouted and something banged against the door, and I heard it creak open.

Peeking out from under the desk, I squinted through puffy eyes to see if anyone was there, but the loud noises had stopped. I rubbed at my face and slowly crawled out.

“Papa?” I whispered once I reached the door. When nobody answered, I slipped through the small opening, then looked down the hallway.

There were black marks like smoke all along the floor. The air smelled like it did when Papa would light a fire in the backyard, and I’d fall asleep listening to him and Aunt Ana and Uncle Ragnar talking. Some of the pictures that used to hang on the walls were smashed on the ground.

My hands shook as I walked closer to the living room. Something smelled funny. Like copper that stung my nose. Where was Papa? He said it would only be a few minutes.

Right as I made it to the corner, I heard a choking sound.

My feet stopped.

There was a shadow of someone tall on the ground in front of me. Leaning forward to peer around the corner, I saw the man with the butterflies standing in front of the fireplace, pushing my papa against the mantle.

I almost stepped out of my hiding spot to run for him when Papa saw me. His eyes widened and he whispered something I couldn’t hear, but then the air felt too heavy on my chest. It was hard to breathe. He must have cast a spell.

“Branock Aris sends his love,” the man holding Papa said in a scary voice, before pulling out a knife and ? —

“Papa!” I shrieked, my hands reaching out to him as I tried to run forward. But I couldn’t. My skin hit something solid, an invisible wall blocking my path. I kept crying for him, hot tears burning my cheeks, my throat already sore and my body aching from the effort of trying to push past his spell.

I watched, unable to move, as my papa slumped to the ground. Blood poured from his neck where the man had cut. I could barely see through my thick tears, but I swore the man looked back in my direction, his eyes brushing over where I stood as if he had no idea I was there. Then, he and the second man turned and ran out the front door, leaving me alone.

Papa choked, a horrible, gurgling sound, and then the invisible wall went away. I dashed to his side and saw the gash on his neck, the thick, red blood streaming from it like a river, covering the floor in front of the fireplace.

I fell to my knees with a scream.

“Wolff? Wolff?” A hand shook my shoulder, turning me. “Was this man hurting you?” Horace asked, gesturing to Callum.

“What would it matter if I was?” Callum sneered. “The first trial has begun. There are no rules.”

I gasped as their exchange ripped me from the memory, forcing my breaths to even out as I met Callum’s smirk.

“What’s wrong, Feywood?” he asked. “Can’t handle a little trick? ”

A sinking weight settled on my chest, adrenaline pumping through me as the image of my father’s murder burned on the backs of my lids. Wiping any hint of emotion from my features, I held Callum’s gaze, unwilling to give the reaction he sought.

“He’s right,” I said, voice steely. “There are no rules. I’m fine, Horace.”

I couldn’t deal with this right now, the mind games and retaliation. With the small hint of amaranth still on my tongue, I whispered a spell for protection and strode past Callum, getting away as swiftly as I could while promising to make him regret this once I could think again. Once I could breathe.

Once I wasn’t falling apart.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he called after my back, and I thought I heard Horace say something in response, but I was too far down the hall to care.

The pounding in my ears grew louder, my vision graying around the edges as I twisted the knob of the closest door I could find. Locked . The next one was, too. My thoughts spiraled as I tried to find a private place to collect myself.

I stumbled to the end of the corridor, spotting a narrow staircase spiraling to the floor above. Without thinking, I forced myself up the steps, my hands seeking out the grooves in the stone as I climbed. The cold, rough edges on my fingers kept the dizziness at bay and helped me stay grounded until I reached the next landing.

Before I could catch my breath, I collided with a hard body.

“Careful, there,” a deep voice said, and I looked up to find a pair of eyes.

A pair of strikingly familiar onyx eyes.

I stiffened. It was him.

The man from the forest.