Chapter 73: 73
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Carefully I pry the letter from Dawn's hand, turning the envelope over to see that, sure enough, the neat scrawl that addresses me by name is indeed Lilyana's hand. With deliberate and lingering slowness, perhaps still a little fearful that the letter could somehow be rigged by a warding spell or a charm, I place the letter in Ithuriel's sachet, tucking it alongside Soren's book- or diary. A prison is not a place to read such things- especially things from enemy lines. Not when there could be eyes anywhere.
I turn to Dawn and give her a faint and apologetic smile.
"I am sorry we could not do more for you. I promise I will do my best to find a way to get you out of here. Until then, keep a low profile, do not talk to anyone unless you are absolutely certain they are of no ill will. And if you see a white haired man with a scar across his chest, do not talk to him- he is bad news," I instruct firmly, dipping my head towards her in a semi bow. Dawn leans back from the bars, stretching and testing her wings against the arctic chill of the dungeon, and bows low, her white pixie cut falling over her eyes as she jerks upright.
"Yes, Miss Queen Serena," she replies, and straightening herself out again calls out, "And thank you!" To which I nod a solemn reply, and take my leave.
The walk out of the dungeon is perhaps more draining than the walk in, if only for the heavy stack of new information that now presses like a weight on our already weary minds. Pure, unadulterated silence passes between Ithuriel and I, only interrupted by the faint, steady drip of some unknown water source, and the groans of prisoners as they sleep, shuffling against the cold expanse of hard stone.
Silence, and yet inside our minds are spinning.
And here I was thinking that perhaps I had a chance at figuring things out, that I have been getting closer to my goal, to finding the flame wherever it lies in this wretched hellhole.
But now, I groan inwardly with a weighty sigh that draws the attention of Ithuriel, who is scampering hurriedly up the long corridors of winding steps ahead of me before bending out of sight, eager to be free from the darkness, now it only seems like I have gotten further away from my goal. With the news Dawn has shared, and the infrequent obstacles that keep cropping up just as soon as I manage to get round one, things have only become even more dangerous and infinitely more difficult. Lucky me.
On top of being married to the Prince in little more than a matter of weeks, I now have whatever devious tricks Azrael is up to to get around, and a letter from my people. Considering the hefty amount of other things that could have gone wrong in my stay here- being killed by a vampire being a main factor, I suppose I should be thankful that I am even still alive to make it this far and not some mangled corpse hanging limply from the trees in the forest, or the main course for a blood feast for hungry and lustful vampires.
I issue another sigh, running my fingers through my hair as the guards dotted around the seemingly never-ending corridors and staircases stare their disapproval, red eyes glowering like a blood moon under the blanket of the darkened night, a scarlet beacon in the sky, piercing, evil.
Ignoring their ardent stares of loathing, I try and justify the problem in my head, but the result is always the same: not only has Azrael proven himself to be even more malicious than I had first perceived, but now I had a letter from Lilyana, and a strange, ancient diary to worry about- not to mention the wrath of Soren if he ever discovers I found it in the first place. There is seemingly no good that can come of this. Perhaps I would be better off a corpse in the tree's after all. At least a corpse can't feel.
The weight of the eternal flame, my mission, presses into my mind, the constant nagging in the back of my head like some bitter memory that you haven't quite forgotten, resurfacing to plague your thoughts and waking hours in hopes to torment you into some form of half madness. I shake my head furiously.
So much to do, and so little time.
And so slowly as we descend back up into the light of day, the pale grey rays of sunlight streaming in through the towering arches of the windows and dousing the palace with a parlour not dissimilar to the vampires themselves, I begin to wonder if it would be easier not to find the flame at all.
***
"I wonder. Who is Fangorn?" Ithuriel asks as we pour over the letter and the diary between us, both of which are splayed out on the coffee table as we press ourselves into the armchairs, stiff from traipsing up and down dungeon stairs for the best part of a morning. Grimacing, I rub my neck with the back of my hand and lean in to the letter, peering at it with sore eyes to get a better look. From the sickening dizziness of my head that makes itself known from a mixture of pure tiredness and a morning's worth of malnourishment, the words almost appear to blur before me, weaving in and out of each other so that I can only fully comprehend one emboldened word on the page, shining out against the rest:
Fangorn…
The name does not sound at all familiar, a worry I express to Ithuriel only to be met by a poignant look. In fact, I ponder to myself, drawing the letter closer in to my face to aid the inconsistencies in my vision, it is not a name used in angel clans at all. But Lilyana and Elris both seem to know him- judging by the fact the letter reads:
Serena and Ithuriel,
We hope this letter reaches you in time. Things are getting dire over here, and angels are disappearing daily now. News has spread that the vampire Prince has found a girl- one of supposedly elven heritage. The angels are not sure whether to be horrified or rejoice. The council do not suspect your involvement, and prefer to believe the Prince is merely taking a young elf in for her blood, but Elris and I argue differently.
I told you once to play a game with the vampires, and it seems you have done just that, but I warn you to be careful- a vampire's company (even if only for the purpose of manipulation) is seldom more trouble than it is worth. We are all counting on you to bring back the eternal flame. Please be careful.
I have a recipient in the great forest, located just past the borders of the end, who is called Fangorn. He knows how to find the flame. You must find him and trust him, he will help you.
With any luck, Kal will have found some way to deliver this to you. The council do not know of our correspondence. They are becoming more monstrous daily, and the borders of our clan have practically been sealed. After Dawn, Igor's granddaughter left, he was distraught. There is talk that anyone who tries to leave- in your aid albeit, will have their wings removed. They are getting desperate.
Perhaps not coming back would be the safer option.
Stay safe,
Elris and Lilyana
I lean back, tapping my fingers nervously against the table, my eyes which have long since lost focus drilling holes into the piece of paper. I never realised things had gotten so dire. Letting out a long breath, I run my hands through my hair, screwing my eyes shut against the thoughts of what has become of things, as if that futile act would help at all, would let things melt away into the abyss where I could no longer strive to dwell on them.
Ithuriel moves to place a steady hand on my back, smoothing out the tension in my shoulders as he steadily shushes me, like a mother calming a pent up child, his gentle voice like the quiet of a breeze of the morning after a night ailed by a storm. After a while, the tension inside me begins to subside. Ithuriel's goes back to sit in the chair opposite, his hair streaked blue with the harsh colours of worry and pain. And although his face is still, and immovable mask of empty thought, his eyes are alight with a fresh found fear and fiery torment buried in the depths of his heart.
I offer him a small smile.
"It's okay Ithuriel, the council won't do anything bad before we find the flame, I am certain of it." I reassure him, feeling odd to be the one comforting him this time. Ithuriel had always been as strong as an ox in his resolve, never wavering, never faltering. Seeing his distress is unsettling at best. I always believed he out of the two of us would be the stronger one, but I suppose in retrospect that is a naïve thought really.
"I'm starting to wonder if our council is no better than the vampires here," he sighs, shaking his head and claws Soren's diary towards him, flicking over some of the pages which I half suspect he isn't really reading. He flexes his wings behind him.
"I mean, what sort of a council would remove the wings of their own people? I used to think it was perhaps understandable if they were conversing with enemy lines- it would stop them from committing treachery. But just for wanting to leave the borders..?" He sighs yet again. Anxiously, I fiddle with the pendant on my neck, my fingers tracing over the cold rim of silver and gold around a glass capsule of thick, volatile blood.
In all my life, the council had never been agreeable. To them, I was a figure head, a small girl who needed to be tamed, coerced into a mindset that would suit them, subject only to their whims to become not so much a Queen, but a puppet. Living in this Palace, being with Soren, testing the strength of my will every day against the creatures whose craving for blood and death is a constant risk to my mortal life, has taught me to live otherwise.
Here, I am a Queen. Here, I make the rules of my own games, play the board to how I see fit. Here, I am free.
So I find that, drawing my legs up to my chest while I continue to fiddle with the pendant at my neck, absently running my thumb over the dark glimmering blood enclosed within the glass, even if I was begged to go back, to the council, to my home, I do not think I would want to.
Not anymore.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Carefully I pry the letter from Dawn's hand, turning the envelope over to see that, sure enough, the neat scrawl that addresses me by name is indeed Lilyana's hand. With deliberate and lingering slowness, perhaps still a little fearful that the letter could somehow be rigged by a warding spell or a charm, I place the letter in Ithuriel's sachet, tucking it alongside Soren's book- or diary. A prison is not a place to read such things- especially things from enemy lines. Not when there could be eyes anywhere.
I turn to Dawn and give her a faint and apologetic smile.
"I am sorry we could not do more for you. I promise I will do my best to find a way to get you out of here. Until then, keep a low profile, do not talk to anyone unless you are absolutely certain they are of no ill will. And if you see a white haired man with a scar across his chest, do not talk to him- he is bad news," I instruct firmly, dipping my head towards her in a semi bow. Dawn leans back from the bars, stretching and testing her wings against the arctic chill of the dungeon, and bows low, her white pixie cut falling over her eyes as she jerks upright.
"Yes, Miss Queen Serena," she replies, and straightening herself out again calls out, "And thank you!" To which I nod a solemn reply, and take my leave.
The walk out of the dungeon is perhaps more draining than the walk in, if only for the heavy stack of new information that now presses like a weight on our already weary minds. Pure, unadulterated silence passes between Ithuriel and I, only interrupted by the faint, steady drip of some unknown water source, and the groans of prisoners as they sleep, shuffling against the cold expanse of hard stone.
Silence, and yet inside our minds are spinning.
And here I was thinking that perhaps I had a chance at figuring things out, that I have been getting closer to my goal, to finding the flame wherever it lies in this wretched hellhole.
But now, I groan inwardly with a weighty sigh that draws the attention of Ithuriel, who is scampering hurriedly up the long corridors of winding steps ahead of me before bending out of sight, eager to be free from the darkness, now it only seems like I have gotten further away from my goal. With the news Dawn has shared, and the infrequent obstacles that keep cropping up just as soon as I manage to get round one, things have only become even more dangerous and infinitely more difficult. Lucky me.
On top of being married to the Prince in little more than a matter of weeks, I now have whatever devious tricks Azrael is up to to get around, and a letter from my people. Considering the hefty amount of other things that could have gone wrong in my stay here- being killed by a vampire being a main factor, I suppose I should be thankful that I am even still alive to make it this far and not some mangled corpse hanging limply from the trees in the forest, or the main course for a blood feast for hungry and lustful vampires.
I issue another sigh, running my fingers through my hair as the guards dotted around the seemingly never-ending corridors and staircases stare their disapproval, red eyes glowering like a blood moon under the blanket of the darkened night, a scarlet beacon in the sky, piercing, evil.
Ignoring their ardent stares of loathing, I try and justify the problem in my head, but the result is always the same: not only has Azrael proven himself to be even more malicious than I had first perceived, but now I had a letter from Lilyana, and a strange, ancient diary to worry about- not to mention the wrath of Soren if he ever discovers I found it in the first place. There is seemingly no good that can come of this. Perhaps I would be better off a corpse in the tree's after all. At least a corpse can't feel.
The weight of the eternal flame, my mission, presses into my mind, the constant nagging in the back of my head like some bitter memory that you haven't quite forgotten, resurfacing to plague your thoughts and waking hours in hopes to torment you into some form of half madness. I shake my head furiously.
So much to do, and so little time.
And so slowly as we descend back up into the light of day, the pale grey rays of sunlight streaming in through the towering arches of the windows and dousing the palace with a parlour not dissimilar to the vampires themselves, I begin to wonder if it would be easier not to find the flame at all.
***
"I wonder. Who is Fangorn?" Ithuriel asks as we pour over the letter and the diary between us, both of which are splayed out on the coffee table as we press ourselves into the armchairs, stiff from traipsing up and down dungeon stairs for the best part of a morning. Grimacing, I rub my neck with the back of my hand and lean in to the letter, peering at it with sore eyes to get a better look. From the sickening dizziness of my head that makes itself known from a mixture of pure tiredness and a morning's worth of malnourishment, the words almost appear to blur before me, weaving in and out of each other so that I can only fully comprehend one emboldened word on the page, shining out against the rest:
Fangorn…
The name does not sound at all familiar, a worry I express to Ithuriel only to be met by a poignant look. In fact, I ponder to myself, drawing the letter closer in to my face to aid the inconsistencies in my vision, it is not a name used in angel clans at all. But Lilyana and Elris both seem to know him- judging by the fact the letter reads:
Serena and Ithuriel,
We hope this letter reaches you in time. Things are getting dire over here, and angels are disappearing daily now. News has spread that the vampire Prince has found a girl- one of supposedly elven heritage. The angels are not sure whether to be horrified or rejoice. The council do not suspect your involvement, and prefer to believe the Prince is merely taking a young elf in for her blood, but Elris and I argue differently.
I told you once to play a game with the vampires, and it seems you have done just that, but I warn you to be careful- a vampire's company (even if only for the purpose of manipulation) is seldom more trouble than it is worth. We are all counting on you to bring back the eternal flame. Please be careful.
I have a recipient in the great forest, located just past the borders of the end, who is called Fangorn. He knows how to find the flame. You must find him and trust him, he will help you.
With any luck, Kal will have found some way to deliver this to you. The council do not know of our correspondence. They are becoming more monstrous daily, and the borders of our clan have practically been sealed. After Dawn, Igor's granddaughter left, he was distraught. There is talk that anyone who tries to leave- in your aid albeit, will have their wings removed. They are getting desperate.
Perhaps not coming back would be the safer option.
Stay safe,
Elris and Lilyana
I lean back, tapping my fingers nervously against the table, my eyes which have long since lost focus drilling holes into the piece of paper. I never realised things had gotten so dire. Letting out a long breath, I run my hands through my hair, screwing my eyes shut against the thoughts of what has become of things, as if that futile act would help at all, would let things melt away into the abyss where I could no longer strive to dwell on them.
Ithuriel moves to place a steady hand on my back, smoothing out the tension in my shoulders as he steadily shushes me, like a mother calming a pent up child, his gentle voice like the quiet of a breeze of the morning after a night ailed by a storm. After a while, the tension inside me begins to subside. Ithuriel's goes back to sit in the chair opposite, his hair streaked blue with the harsh colours of worry and pain. And although his face is still, and immovable mask of empty thought, his eyes are alight with a fresh found fear and fiery torment buried in the depths of his heart.
I offer him a small smile.
"It's okay Ithuriel, the council won't do anything bad before we find the flame, I am certain of it." I reassure him, feeling odd to be the one comforting him this time. Ithuriel had always been as strong as an ox in his resolve, never wavering, never faltering. Seeing his distress is unsettling at best. I always believed he out of the two of us would be the stronger one, but I suppose in retrospect that is a naïve thought really.
"I'm starting to wonder if our council is no better than the vampires here," he sighs, shaking his head and claws Soren's diary towards him, flicking over some of the pages which I half suspect he isn't really reading. He flexes his wings behind him.
"I mean, what sort of a council would remove the wings of their own people? I used to think it was perhaps understandable if they were conversing with enemy lines- it would stop them from committing treachery. But just for wanting to leave the borders..?" He sighs yet again. Anxiously, I fiddle with the pendant on my neck, my fingers tracing over the cold rim of silver and gold around a glass capsule of thick, volatile blood.
In all my life, the council had never been agreeable. To them, I was a figure head, a small girl who needed to be tamed, coerced into a mindset that would suit them, subject only to their whims to become not so much a Queen, but a puppet. Living in this Palace, being with Soren, testing the strength of my will every day against the creatures whose craving for blood and death is a constant risk to my mortal life, has taught me to live otherwise.
Here, I am a Queen. Here, I make the rules of my own games, play the board to how I see fit. Here, I am free.
So I find that, drawing my legs up to my chest while I continue to fiddle with the pendant at my neck, absently running my thumb over the dark glimmering blood enclosed within the glass, even if I was begged to go back, to the council, to my home, I do not think I would want to.
Not anymore.
Carefully I pry the letter from Dawn's hand, turning the envelope over to see that, sure enough, the neat scrawl that addresses me by name is indeed Lilyana's hand. With deliberate and lingering slowness, perhaps still a little fearful that the letter could somehow be rigged by a warding spell or a charm, I place the letter in Ithuriel's sachet, tucking it alongside Soren's book- or diary. A prison is not a place to read such things- especially things from enemy lines. Not when there could be eyes anywhere. I turn to Dawn and give her a faint and apologetic smile."I am sorry we could not do more for you. I promise I will do my best to find a way to get you out of here. Until then, keep a low profile, do not talk to anyone unless you are absolutely certain they are of no ill will. And if you see a white haired man with a scar across his chest, do not talk to him- he is bad news," I instruct firmly, dipping my head towards her in a semi bow. Dawn leans back from the bars, stretching and testing her wings against the arctic chill of the dungeon, and bows low, her white pixie cut falling over her eyes as she jerks upright."Yes, Miss Queen Serena," she replies, and straightening herself out again calls out, "And thank you!" To which I nod a solemn reply, and take my leave.The walk out of the dungeon is perhaps more draining than the walk in, if only for the heavy stack of new information that now presses like a weight on our already weary minds. Pure, unadulterated silence passes between Ithuriel and I, only interrupted by the faint, steady drip of some unknown water source, and the groans of prisoners as they sleep, shuffling against the cold expanse of hard stone.Silence, and yet inside our minds are spinning.And here I was thinking that perhaps I had a chance at figuring things out, that I have been getting closer to my goal, to finding the flame wherever it lies in this wretched hellhole. But now, I groan inwardly with a weighty sigh that draws the attention of Ithuriel, who is scampering hurriedly up the long corridors of winding steps ahead of me before bending out of sight, eager to be free from the darkness, now it only seems like I have gotten further away from my goal. With the news Dawn has shared, and the infrequent obstacles that keep cropping up just as soon as I manage to get round one, things have only become even more dangerous and infinitely more difficult. Lucky me.On top of being married to the Prince in little more than a matter of weeks, I now have whatever devious tricks Azrael is up to to get around, and a letter from my people. Considering the hefty amount of other things that could have gone wrong in my stay here- being killed by a vampire being a main factor, I suppose I should be thankful that I am even still alive to make it this far and not some mangled corpse hanging limply from the trees in the forest, or the main course for a blood feast for hungry and lustful vampires. I issue another sigh, running my fingers through my hair as the guards dotted around the seemingly never-ending corridors and staircases stare their disapproval, red eyes glowering like a blood moon under the blanket of the darkened night, a scarlet beacon in the sky, piercing, evil.Ignoring their ardent stares of loathing, I try and justify the problem in my head, but the result is always the same: not only has Azrael proven himself to be even more malicious than I had first perceived, but now I had a letter from Lilyana, and a strange, ancient diary to worry about- not to mention the wrath of Soren if he ever discovers I found it in the first place. There is seemingly no good that can come of this. Perhaps I would be better off a corpse in the tree's after all. At least a corpse can't feel.The weight of the eternal flame, my mission, presses into my mind, the constant nagging in the back of my head like some bitter memory that you haven't quite forgotten, resurfacing to plague your thoughts and waking hours in hopes to torment you into some form of half madness. I shake my head furiously.So much to do, and so little time.And so slowly as we descend back up into the light of day, the pale grey rays of sunlight streaming in through the towering arches of the windows and dousing the palace with a parlour not dissimilar to the vampires themselves, I begin to wonder if it would be easier not to find the flame at all.***"I wonder. Who is Fangorn?" Ithuriel asks as we pour over the letter and the diary between us, both of which are splayed out on the coffee table as we press ourselves into the armchairs, stiff from traipsing up and down dungeon stairs for the best part of a morning. Grimacing, I rub my neck with the back of my hand and lean in to the letter, peering at it with sore eyes to get a better look. From the sickening dizziness of my head that makes itself known from a mixture of pure tiredness and a morning's worth of malnourishment, the words almost appear to blur before me, weaving in and out of each other so that I can only fully comprehend one emboldened word on the page, shining out against the rest:FangornThe name does not sound at all familiar, a worry I express to Ithuriel only to be met by a poignant look. In fact, I ponder to myself, drawing the letter closer in to my face to aid the inconsistencies in my vision, it is not a name used in angel clans at all. But Lilyana and Elris both seem to know him- judging by the fact the letter reads:Serena and Ithuriel,We hope this letter reaches you in time. Things are getting dire over here, and angels are disappearing daily now. News has spread that the vampire Prince has found a girl- one of supposedly elven heritage. The angels are not sure whether to be horrified or rejoice. The council do not suspect your involvement, and prefer to believe the Prince is merely taking a young elf in for her blood, but Elris and I argue differently. I told you once to play a game with the vampires, and it seems you have done just that, but I warn you to be careful- a vampire's company even if only for the purpose of manipulation is seldom more trouble than it is worth. We are all counting on you to bring back the eternal flame. Please be careful.I have a recipient in the great forest, located just past the borders of the end, who is called Fangorn. He knows how to find the flame. You must find him and trust him, he will help you.With any luck, Kal will have found some way to deliver this to you. The council do not know of our correspondence. They are becoming more monstrous daily, and the borders of our clan have practically been sealed. After Dawn, Igor's granddaughter left, he was distraught. There is talk that anyone who tries to leave- in your aid albeit, will have their wings removed. They are getting desperate.Perhaps not coming back would be the safer option.Stay safe,Elris and LilyanaI lean back, tapping my fingers nervously against the table, my eyes which have long since lost focus drilling holes into the piece of paper. I never realised things had gotten so dire. Letting out a long breath, I run my hands through my hair, screwing my eyes shut against the thoughts of what has become of things, as if that futile act would help at all, would let things melt away into the abyss where I could no longer strive to dwell on them. Ithuriel moves to place a steady hand on my back, smoothing out the tension in my shoulders as he steadily shushes me, like a mother calming a pent up child, his gentle voice like the quiet of a breeze of the morning after a night ailed by a storm. After a while, the tension inside me begins to subside. Ithuriel's goes back to sit in the chair opposite, his hair streaked blue with the harsh colours of worry and pain. And although his face is still, and immovable mask of empty thought, his eyes are alight with a fresh found fear and fiery torment buried in the depths of his heart.I offer him a small smile."It's okay Ithuriel, the council won't do anything bad before we find the flame, I am certain of it." I reassure him, feeling odd to be the one comforting him this time. Ithuriel had always been as strong as an ox in his resolve, never wavering, never faltering. Seeing his distress is unsettling at best. I always believed he out of the two of us would be the stronger one, but I suppose in retrospect that is a nave thought really. "I'm starting to wonder if our council is no better than the vampires here," he sighs, shaking his head and claws Soren's diary towards him, flicking over some of the pages which I half suspect he isn't really reading. He flexes his wings behind him."I mean, what sort of a council would remove the wings of their own people? I used to think it was perhaps understandable if they were conversing with enemy lines- it would stop them from committing treachery. But just for wanting to leave the borders..?" He sighs yet again. Anxiously, I fiddle with the pendant on my neck, my fingers tracing over the cold rim of silver and gold around a glass capsule of thick, volatile blood.In all my life, the council had never been agreeable. To them, I was a figure head, a small girl who needed to be tamed, coerced into a mindset that would suit them, subject only to their whims to become not so much a Queen, but a puppet. Living in this Palace, being with Soren, testing the strength of my will every day against the creatures whose craving for blood and death is a constant risk to my mortal life, has taught me to live otherwise.Here, I am a Queen. Here, I make the rules of my own games, play the board to how I see fit. Here, I am free. So I find that, drawing my legs up to my chest while I continue to fiddle with the pendant at my neck, absently running my thumb over the dark glimmering blood enclosed within the glass, even if I was begged to go back, to the council, to my home, I do not think I would want to.Not anymore.
