Chapter 49: 49
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(Serena)
In retrospect, I should never have gone back into the Great Forest. But it's too late for that now.
I pass Soren in the hallway in the morning, feeling disgruntled, uneasy, and all together thoroughly annoyed. Stupid Prince and his stupid good looks. Why did he have to ruin everything last night? He could have not tried to bite me any everything would have been just fine, but noooo. Apparently my blood is too much of a delicacy not to resist.
The smirk on the Prince's face is evident as I shove past him, taking precise care to knock into his shoulder as I do.
Payback, I think spitefully, for trying to bite me yesterday.
Silently, and perhaps a little bitterly, I hope it hurts him just as much as it hurts my own shoulder. Perhaps walking head first in to a vampire- who in comparison to any mortal body has just about the same rigidity as a tower of stone and wintery walls of ice was not the best idea after all. That said, I never had been the best at clever ideas.
As I continue to pace my way down the corridors, my mind flickers back and forth between the happenings of last night, lost in the turmoil of the situation and a million worries floating in the back of my mind. I barely even notice the claws of the vampires reaching out to touch me, to feel my skin and the throbbing of my beating pulse under a network of veins.
I do not hear their angry hisses or see the sinister glow lingering in the depths of their eyes, or the death threats that issue from their cold dead lips- that if the Prince hadn't favoured me so, my body would be theirs to drain and theirs alone.
Perhaps on my first arrival at the palace, I would have been frightened by such things, scared by the prospect of what these vampires may do, driven on by the erratic beat of my own heart. But as I lean down to jingle the silver sword at my him, an action which has since become a force of habit, the vampires shrink back a little, receding into themselves the way a snail recoils into itself- timid and cautious, and I realise not for the first time that Soren is not the only one to have sway in the palace.
I do too.
I had spent a large proportion of my night pouring over my books, flicking through pages and pages of ancient scripture about vampires, their powers, the ways in which previous princes and princess have chosen their mates in former ceremonies: blood sharing, sacrifices, or a wild night of- at that point I had closed the book.
It soon became clear in the early hours of the morning, as I rubbed away the sleepy dust from my eyes, and Ithuriel had brought me an apologetic cup of mint tea which I had graciously accepted, that my own books would not be enough.
As it turns out, the Palace has a library: A big one. One so large that if you stare up through the endless reams of loose pages and shelves of books, past each floor tiered up upon the other, you might just think you are staring up into the heavens.
A part of me laughs as I scour each shelf for my sources, trailing my fingers across the spines of the books, wiping away the dust of those which have been unread. And here I thought vampires were nothing but flirtatious bloodsuckers who liked to dance. Apparently, they like to read too.
My eyes scan over the expanse of the well stocked library. Fortunately for me, not many though. Ithuriel helps me search, bounding from shelf to shelf, beady fox eyes scanning over each line of antiqued books, pausing here and there to drag one down using a magical surge that bursts from his antennae. I stare at him quietly.
An unspoken apology had fallen between us since last night. It had been of no surprise to me that when I got back into our room he was waiting for me, but the frustration on my face- or perhaps in my aura- had spoken for me, and he didn't say a word about it. About Soren. Instead he had helped my look through my books about psyche tractatori, though in the end, our search had been futile.
Serena.
Ithuriel's voice in my mind calls. I wipe my fingers on the front of my trousers and glance over with a tilt of my head.
I have found something.
My eyebrows knit together as I slowly plod over, half dazed from tiredness. A young vampire with shocking red hair watches me pass from a desk at the opposite end of the room, their eyes glowing coldly, seeing without emotion. His distaste is almost tangible.
I can imagine he isn't too pleased having an elvish girl roaming the palace libraries, not to mention her woodfox, too. But even so he says nothing, as though under some strange force that obligates him into silence. I read the titles that Ithuriel has pulled onto the floor, trailing a pale finger delicately over the shining golden words:
The five souls of power
And then:
A map of Sezeria
I raise an eyebrow at Ithuriel questioningly.
"The five souls of power?" I ask, thumbing quickly through the pages, my eyes scanning over each too quickly to take anything in. In all my life I had never heard of anything like it before. To have power- magic, is an innate ability, and some creatures of Faey happen to born with more than others- at least that is what the council always said.
Supposedly my magic, the heavenly magic of royal angels, had been passed down through my family for generations. In fact, I recall, sliding my fingers over the shiny gold lettering on one particular page, many royal beings share a similar founding. I grin a little to myself.
Likely even the mighty Soren's own magic is likely a result of royal inheritance- the merging of two magical beings into one greater one. Occasionally, an individual may be born with exceptional talents, like Ithuriel, and hailed to be a blessing from the gods. But I had never given much thought to the matter anyway. Magic had always been magic, souls were never a part of the question.
So what does this mean then?
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(Serena)
In retrospect, I should never have gone back into the Great Forest. But it's too late for that now.
I pass Soren in the hallway in the morning, feeling disgruntled, uneasy, and all together thoroughly annoyed. Stupid Prince and his stupid good looks. Why did he have to ruin everything last night? He could have not tried to bite me any everything would have been just fine, but noooo. Apparently my blood is too much of a delicacy not to resist.
The smirk on the Prince's face is evident as I shove past him, taking precise care to knock into his shoulder as I do.
Payback, I think spitefully, for trying to bite me yesterday.
Silently, and perhaps a little bitterly, I hope it hurts him just as much as it hurts my own shoulder. Perhaps walking head first in to a vampire- who in comparison to any mortal body has just about the same rigidity as a tower of stone and wintery walls of ice was not the best idea after all. That said, I never had been the best at clever ideas.
As I continue to pace my way down the corridors, my mind flickers back and forth between the happenings of last night, lost in the turmoil of the situation and a million worries floating in the back of my mind. I barely even notice the claws of the vampires reaching out to touch me, to feel my skin and the throbbing of my beating pulse under a network of veins.
I do not hear their angry hisses or see the sinister glow lingering in the depths of their eyes, or the death threats that issue from their cold dead lips- that if the Prince hadn't favoured me so, my body would be theirs to drain and theirs alone.
Perhaps on my first arrival at the palace, I would have been frightened by such things, scared by the prospect of what these vampires may do, driven on by the erratic beat of my own heart. But as I lean down to jingle the silver sword at my him, an action which has since become a force of habit, the vampires shrink back a little, receding into themselves the way a snail recoils into itself- timid and cautious, and I realise not for the first time that Soren is not the only one to have sway in the palace.
I do too.
I had spent a large proportion of my night pouring over my books, flicking through pages and pages of ancient scripture about vampires, their powers, the ways in which previous princes and princess have chosen their mates in former ceremonies: blood sharing, sacrifices, or a wild night of- at that point I had closed the book.
It soon became clear in the early hours of the morning, as I rubbed away the sleepy dust from my eyes, and Ithuriel had brought me an apologetic cup of mint tea which I had graciously accepted, that my own books would not be enough.
As it turns out, the Palace has a library: A big one. One so large that if you stare up through the endless reams of loose pages and shelves of books, past each floor tiered up upon the other, you might just think you are staring up into the heavens.
A part of me laughs as I scour each shelf for my sources, trailing my fingers across the spines of the books, wiping away the dust of those which have been unread. And here I thought vampires were nothing but flirtatious bloodsuckers who liked to dance. Apparently, they like to read too.
My eyes scan over the expanse of the well stocked library. Fortunately for me, not many though. Ithuriel helps me search, bounding from shelf to shelf, beady fox eyes scanning over each line of antiqued books, pausing here and there to drag one down using a magical surge that bursts from his antennae. I stare at him quietly.
An unspoken apology had fallen between us since last night. It had been of no surprise to me that when I got back into our room he was waiting for me, but the frustration on my face- or perhaps in my aura- had spoken for me, and he didn't say a word about it. About Soren. Instead he had helped my look through my books about psyche tractatori, though in the end, our search had been futile.
Serena.
Ithuriel's voice in my mind calls. I wipe my fingers on the front of my trousers and glance over with a tilt of my head.
I have found something.
My eyebrows knit together as I slowly plod over, half dazed from tiredness. A young vampire with shocking red hair watches me pass from a desk at the opposite end of the room, their eyes glowing coldly, seeing without emotion. His distaste is almost tangible.
I can imagine he isn't too pleased having an elvish girl roaming the palace libraries, not to mention her woodfox, too. But even so he says nothing, as though under some strange force that obligates him into silence. I read the titles that Ithuriel has pulled onto the floor, trailing a pale finger delicately over the shining golden words:
The five souls of power
And then:
A map of Sezeria
I raise an eyebrow at Ithuriel questioningly.
"The five souls of power?" I ask, thumbing quickly through the pages, my eyes scanning over each too quickly to take anything in. In all my life I had never heard of anything like it before. To have power- magic, is an innate ability, and some creatures of Faey happen to born with more than others- at least that is what the council always said.
Supposedly my magic, the heavenly magic of royal angels, had been passed down through my family for generations. In fact, I recall, sliding my fingers over the shiny gold lettering on one particular page, many royal beings share a similar founding. I grin a little to myself.
Likely even the mighty Soren's own magic is likely a result of royal inheritance- the merging of two magical beings into one greater one. Occasionally, an individual may be born with exceptional talents, like Ithuriel, and hailed to be a blessing from the gods. But I had never given much thought to the matter anyway. Magic had always been magic, souls were never a part of the question.
So what does this mean then?
SerenaIn retrospect, I should never have gone back into the Great Forest. But it's too late for that now.I pass Soren in the hallway in the morning, feeling disgruntled, uneasy, and all together thoroughly annoyed. Stupid Prince and his stupid good looks. Why did he have to ruin everything last night? He could have not tried to bite me any everything would have been just fine, but noooo. Apparently my blood is too much of a delicacy not to resist.The smirk on the Prince's face is evident as I shove past him, taking precise care to knock into his shoulder as I do.Payback, I think spitefully, for trying to bite me yesterday. Silently, and perhaps a little bitterly, I hope it hurts him just as much as it hurts my own shoulder. Perhaps walking head first in to a vampire- who in comparison to any mortal body has just about the same rigidity as a tower of stone and wintery walls of ice was not the best idea after all. That said, I never had been the best at clever ideas.As I continue to pace my way down the corridors, my mind flickers back and forth between the happenings of last night, lost in the turmoil of the situation and a million worries floating in the back of my mind. I barely even notice the claws of the vampires reaching out to touch me, to feel my skin and the throbbing of my beating pulse under a network of veins.I do not hear their angry hisses or see the sinister glow lingering in the depths of their eyes, or the death threats that issue from their cold dead lips- that if the Prince hadn't favoured me so, my body would be theirs to drain and theirs alone.Perhaps on my first arrival at the palace, I would have been frightened by such things, scared by the prospect of what these vampires may do, driven on by the erratic beat of my own heart. But as I lean down to jingle the silver sword at my him, an action which has since become a force of habit, the vampires shrink back a little, receding into themselves the way a snail recoils into itself- timid and cautious, and I realise not for the first time that Soren is not the only one to have sway in the palace.I do too.I had spent a large proportion of my night pouring over my books, flicking through pages and pages of ancient scripture about vampires, their powers, the ways in which previous princes and princess have chosen their mates in former ceremonies: blood sharing, sacrifices, or a wild night of- at that point I had closed the book. It soon became clear in the early hours of the morning, as I rubbed away the sleepy dust from my eyes, and Ithuriel had brought me an apologetic cup of mint tea which I had graciously accepted, that my own books would not be enough.As it turns out, the Palace has a library: A big one. One so large that if you stare up through the endless reams of loose pages and shelves of books, past each floor tiered up upon the other, you might just think you are staring up into the heavens. A part of me laughs as I scour each shelf for my sources, trailing my fingers across the spines of the books, wiping away the dust of those which have been unread. And here I thought vampires were nothing but flirtatious bloodsuckers who liked to dance. Apparently, they like to read too. My eyesscan over the expanse of the well stocked library. Fortunately for me, not many though. Ithuriel helps me search, bounding from shelf to shelf, beady fox eyes scanning over each line of antiqued books, pausing here and there to drag one down using a magical surge that bursts from his antennae. I stare at him quietly. An unspoken apology had fallen between us since last night. It had been of no surprise to me that when I got back into our room he was waiting for me, but the frustration on my face- or perhaps in my aura- had spoken for me, and he didn't say a word about it. About Soren. Instead he had helped my look through my books about psyche tractatori, though in the end, our search had been futile.Serena.Ithuriel's voice in my mind calls. I wipe my fingers on the front of my trousers and glance over with a tilt of my head.I have found something.My eyebrows knit together as I slowly plod over, half dazed from tiredness. A young vampire with shocking red hair watches me pass from a desk at the opposite end of the room, their eyes glowing coldly, seeing without emotion. His distaste is almost tangible. I can imagine he isn't too pleased having an elvish girl roaming the palace libraries, not to mention her woodfox, too. But even so he says nothing, as though under some strange force that obligates him into silence. I read the titles that Ithuriel has pulled onto the floor, trailing a pale finger delicately over the shining golden words:The five souls of powerAnd then:A map of SezeriaI raise an eyebrow at Ithuriel questioningly."The five souls of power?" I ask, thumbing quickly through the pages, my eyes scanning over each too quickly to take anything in. In all my life I had never heard of anything like it before. To have power- magic, is an innate ability, and some creatures of Faey happen to born with more than others- at least that is what the council always said. Supposedly my magic, the heavenly magic of royal angels, had been passed down through my family for generations. In fact, I recall, sliding my fingers over the shiny gold lettering on one particular page, many royal beings share a similar founding.I grin a little to myself. Likely even the mighty Soren's own magic is likely a result of royal inheritance- the merging of two magical beings into one greater one. Occasionally, an individual may be born with exceptional talents, like Ithuriel, and hailed to be a blessing from the gods. But I had never given much thought to the matter anyway. Magic had always been magic, souls were never a part of the question.So what does this mean then?
