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

19. Rose

19

Rose

H e must have followed me from the palace. That bastard . Didn’t he know he was wasting time not going after his own artifact?

Knowing his past, however, it shouldn’t surprise me. He’d lost the last Decemvirate due to someone sabotaging him—if I were him, I’d probably be more ruthless than ever.

Still. He was a bastard.

How was I supposed to get out of this? It wasn’t a spell I could simply banish. This was only the second time I’d even seen shadow magic.

Think, Rose . The door was the sole exit. I spun around in the dark, wondering why I could still partially see the room, when I remembered the window in the ceiling. Sunlight shone onto the ground, meaning Alaric’s shadows hadn’t extended to the roof.

Hope blossomed in my chest. I could get out of here.

Using wormwood and crushed henbane, I performed the same levitation spell I used to lift my uncle’s cursed body from the ground and into our carriage less than two days before. I’d never used it on myself , but the magic worked the same. Steadily, I began to rise. It felt like all my weight bubbled to the surface of my skin like water evaporating from a kettle. The magic tugged at me, pulling me higher and higher. Trying to guide myself the way I would guide a floating object while still keeping my balance made me teeter precariously in the air, but eventually, I reached the tall ceiling and the small circular window.

With my dandelion leaves, I muttered, “ Vata lai .”

Click . The window latch opened. Pushing against it, I ascended through the hole and above the mausoleum. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, taking in lungfuls of clean, fresh air and keeping my spell intact long enough to carry me over the roof. I bent my knees slightly as my feet slammed onto solid ground. The effort of using such magic winded me, leaving my energy depleted.

Glancing back at the building, I gritted my teeth at the sight of the solid pillar of shadows swaying in the breeze. How much time had this cost me? First the false artifact, then Alaric’s trick. By the sun’s position, I guessed it was well after noon. I wondered if anyone had reached their destination yet.

From my examination of the maps, I had two leads left: a cemetery in the east, and another to the north. Unless I found a carriage or a horse that would take me, I doubted I’d have time to try both locations on foot. I remembered the driver, Larson, saying he would be available to take Ragnar anywhere he wanted to go in the palace’s carriage, except for during his trials. I was left to my own devices to find a ride from someone else in the city.

Straightening, I forced back my exhaustion and took off through the thin forest surrounding the palace and into the central sector beyond.

Apparently word had not yet spread to the rest of the capital that there had been a change in challenger from Feywood. Unlike the lords and ladies from the palace, nobody in the main market of the central sector recognized me.

Signs of the Decemvirate were everywhere. Parchment with hand drawn portraits of each of the challengers—including my uncle—with their affiliated province were affixed to almost every storefront, every alleyway, every wooden post. Vendors sold scarves and flags from their booths in various colors of the provinces: light blue for Emberfell, burgundy for Drakorum, shades of black and gray for Tenebra. The dark green of Feywood flashed before me, along with Celestria’s familiar purple and the white and gold of Iluze. Everywhere I looked, people browsed past sporting their support for their favorite province. Whether they were visitors or capital natives who were simply rooting for someone of their own magic, I couldn’t tell.

Even pastries were decorated in honor of the tournament. A woman outside of a bakery had set up a table with mouth-watering cakes bearing the words “Welcome to the Decemvirate” in colorful frosting. At the end of the cobblestone street, a group of musicians played on their stringed instruments, the upbeat sound carrying for several blocks.

My eyes snagged on a building at the corner, next to the source of the lively music. A storefront made of brick was painted a dark green, with pink and cream flowers budding on small vines that twined their way up the iron handrail. Potted plants lined the black steps in front of the door. I ventured closer and spotted circular tables full of chatting families sitting in the outdoor lounging area, with smells of floral teas and delicious baked goods wafting through the air. The sign on the front read “Gershwin Tea House.” Something about it drew me in.

A bell above the door rang as I stepped inside. There was a neat counter and display bearing several scones and breads, with an entire wall behind full of clear tins of tea leaves. Lush greenery hung from the windows, foliage and flowers and herbs living in every nook and cranny. I took it all in with childlike wonder, feeling Alchemy magic pulse through me.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” a dark-skinned woman with deep gray tresses hanging over her apron asked from the counter.

“Yes, actually.” I cleared my throat and approached, catching sight of several crystals around her neck and wrists. These shop owners must be Alchemists. “I was wondering if you knew where I could hire a horse or carriage for the day?”

She raised an eyebrow. “On the first day of the Decemvirate? You’ll have a hard time finding one.” Leaning her elbows on the counter, she said, “Can I ask where you’re looking to go? I might be able to help.”

Did I tell her I was a challenger on a quest for the first trial? It wasn’t technically against the rules, and it wasn’t as if I were asking her to help me solve the riddle or find the artifact. Still, keeping some semblance of anonymity until the world discovered I’d taken Ragnar’s place seemed wiser. The less attention I drew, the less likely another challenger would find me—like Alaric.

“I want to visit these cemeteries,” I answered vaguely, pulling the maps out and showing her the ones to the east and north. “They seem a bit far to get to on foot.”

She hummed. “You’re right, you’d need transportation if you want to see both of them today.” With a kind smile, she asked, “Not from around here, I take it?”

I chuckled. “You could say that.”

“If you know who you’re trying to visit, you could look their name up in the city archives.” She gestured to my maps when I furrowed my brow. “To see which cemetery they were buried in.”

Realization dawned. She thought I was looking to visit someone’s gravesite. “Actually, I’m not sure of the exact name of the person I’m looking for. It’s an…old ancestor I wanted to find. That’s why I was going to try both.”

Her lips twitched. I couldn’t tell if she was buying my story, but she didn’t press the matter. “Well, depending on how old the ancestor is, there’s another place you may want to try, too.” Pulling the book of maps between us, she pointed to a small icon in the west sector. “The Battle of the Dead Lands memorial also has burial grounds for some who fought in the war.”

I leaned forward, interest piquing. “The War of Beginnings?”

She nodded. “How much do you know about it? ”

“As much as they’re willing to teach us in Feywood,” I responded dryly. The war occurred three hundred and fifty years ago between the Veridian Empire and the Kingdom of Mysthelm to the southwest. It was a brutal struggle over the ancient magic that lived in the capital, which, at the time, was unoccupied. Magic given by the Fates, free for the taking.

If you were willing to fight.

The two civilizations had coexisted peacefully until the three Fates sent a prophecy saying whoever could conquer the magic would be given power beyond comprehension. That sparked the beginning of the end.

The five-year war concluded with my people overpowering Mysthelm and laying claim to the magic. Mysthelm was left with nothing—a magicless society forced back to their continent.

We hadn’t heard from Mysthelm in three centuries. At least, that us common people knew of. The idea of an entire kingdom existing beyond our borders fascinated me. It was a land I’d more than likely never get to see, and part of me longed to know what it was like. A world without magic and the obsession it created. How the people lived, how they ran their kingdom, if they were as divided and hostile as we were. I wondered if they resented us for stealing their chance at this ancient power, or if they would ever take up arms again and invade our land for what they’d lost.

But we were taught next to nothing about them, nor about the specifics of the war. I had never even heard of this Battle of the Dead Lands the woman spoke of.

“It was the deadliest, bloodiest battle fought during the war, and it happened right here on Veridia City soil,” she began. “Veridians caught Mysthelm soldiers crossing the Eldertide Ocean to try and get to the island, and they raced to meet them.” Her lips turned down. “Thousands of people died. They say it was one of the final battles before Veridians overpowered them. The memorial was erected in honor of those who suffered, and it’s still over in the west sector today.”

I examined the map and saw the icon she’d pointed out was only several miles from the port my family and I had arrived at. Less than an hour’s ride by carriage.

Now I had three options. Two cemeteries and the memorial. After learning the history behind the memorial, my instincts were leaning that direction—it was symbolic of the Decemvirate and all that had been sacrificed to put us in this position of power. It felt exactly like somewhere they’d lead me. But I couldn’t afford to keep choosing incorrectly.

The bell above the door chimed behind me. “Thank you for your help,” I said, not wanting to take up any more of her time.

I turned to head back to the entrance when the two women who had just walked in noticed me and stopped in their tracks.

“Are you Rose?” one of them asked excitedly. “The new Feywood challenger?”

I stifled a groan. They must have a connection to the palace. So much for anonymity. Nodding tightly, I tried to sneak away before others were drawn in, when the shop owner called my name.

“Rose, is it?” When I stayed still, she beckoned me with a crooked finger back to the counter. Her dark eyes gleamed, a smile forming on her lips. “ You’re the Feywood challenger? Why didn’t you say anything?” She lowered her voice. “My parents moved us here from Feywood over five decades ago. I might have been a young girl, but I remember it fondly. I say it’s high time they deserve a win, don’t you think?”

I held my breath, refusing to believe my luck. Turning, she pulled a thin vial of amber liquid from one of her shelves, discreetly covering it with her hand as she passed it across the counter and into my fingers.

“Family recipe. I always have one handy in case any troublemakers come along, if you know what I mean.” She winked. “Show them what we’re capable of, yes?”

I grinned, grasping the vial and clutching her hand between both of mine in thanks.

“And, Rose? If you need to get somewhere quickly, take my horse. ”

I started to shake my head. “I couldn’t possibly?—”

“I insist. Just promise to come back and buy plenty of charms once you win this trial.”

“Of course, I will,” I said with a laugh. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me, Miss…”

“Rothy. Call me Rothy.” I nodded my thanks as she led me out the back door and to a little paddock fence where two horses grazed. I checked my map and mounted the white and brown speckled mare, which Rothy called Colette, adjusting to her tall frame and grabbing the reins.

I took off through the opening of the fence, barely hearing Rothy call out behind me, “Oh, and don’t get too close to that potion when you use it!”

Tucking the vial into one of my pockets, I snapped the reins and followed my gut to the west.