Fairydale a dark gothic.., p.56
Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance, page 56
"Maybe," Finn shrugs. "At this point I just want to finally be rid of him. I'll be able to sleep well at night again, without thinking we would be found out and..." he swallows hard. "You saw what they did to his supporters when he was accused. If we don't kill him, we are next, Kress."
"I know," he answers somberly. "I, more than anyone, know what's at stake."
"We need to deal with Darcy and make sure she has no knowledge of who or what Amon is. This entire operation hinges on the belief that Amon is an evil demon out to destroy humanity. If they find out that isn't true..." he trails off.
"Don't worry about it," he waves his hand. "Humanity's greatest folly is its unerring condemnation of that which it does not understand. That hive mentality will not perish anytime soon. We'll merely take advantage of their ignorance again."
"That doesn't mean..."
"Shh. Someone is coming," Kress stops Finn.
A few moments later, Rhiannon opens the door to the library, stepping inside.
"I'm so sorry about this, gentlemen," she says, her tone sad. "It seems it's not a good day for our family. But if you'll allow me to show you to your rooms," she gives them a smile.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Kress inclines his head. "And allow us to pay our condolences. It can't be easy to lose one so young."
Rhiannon shakes her head, her eyes glossy.
"He's been missing for a while now, but we always thought he would come back. He used to do this before. Leave for a couple of months and then return," she sighs, barely able to hold back her tears. "The funeral will be in a few days. You will have to excuse me if I'm not as present as I would have liked. We will discuss and plan for everything afterwards."
"Do not worry on our account. We are already more than grateful that you've received us in your home. Take as much time as you'd like."
"Thank you," Rhiannon murmurs.
They make small talk for a while longer before they all leave the library, closing the door behind them.
The moment the room is empty, I feel the air curl around me as it frees me. And before I can say anything, that warm presence is gone.
I'm frozen to the spot as I mentally go over everything I heard, my confusion mounting again.
Dear Lord, but this is more complicated than I could have ever thought. And if Amon is not a demon, what is he?
Somehow, the statement rings true in my mind, but my memory of the past is incomplete. I cannot remember anything about what or who Amon is.
Although I do know he used to be a General, and that he'd dedicated all his life to the army before, I do not know when and where. It seems to me that the only one who would have had the full version of the past was Sela. And though I have memories of my life as Elizabeth, Sela is a complete mystery.
I'd had that one vision in Ancient Rome and nothing more.
Moreover, what spell from the original codex was Kress talking about?
"Agh," I huff out loud. There are too many narrative threads for me to make sense of, and without all the information I feel like I'm running in circles.
The only way to understand everything is to go straight to the source.
Amon.
Anticipation courses through my blood as every little part of my body throbs with longing.
Opening the book, I look for the translation of the barrier.
With the family busy with the funeral, I might manage to find the time to infiltrate Rhiannon's quarters.
Flipping the pages in search of the letter b, I'm surprised to see something fly out of the book, landing on the floor.
The paper is worn, the edges yellowish.
Bending to pick it up, I note the beautiful penmanship as well as the name and date scribbled in the corner.
Lydia Creed, May 1835.
As my eyes scan the document, I realize it's a spell.
A spell to nullify the barrier.
My God!
I cannot believe what I'm seeing, or the fact that Lydia had written this more than a hundred years ago. She must have known I would need it in the future.
"My Didi," I whisper, my lashes coated with tears.
Is she here, I wonder?
Rhiannon had said there are ghosts, but is Lydia here, too?
God, but what I wouldn't give to talk to her again. Tell her I'm sorry about everything that happened...
A sob escapes my lips and I wipe the tears off my face with the sleeve.
"Thank you, Didi," I tell her, hoping she will somehow be able to hear me.
Folding the piece of paper and slipping it into my blouse, I place the book back in its place and go back to my room.
Once nightfall comes, I prepare myself to proceed.
My heart threatens to burst in my chest thinking I might see Amon soon, yet I don't want to put my hopes up in case it doesn't work.
I'm already dying to touch him again, to hear his voice and feel his skin against mine. If I don't succeed, the disappointment would prove too much.
Dressed in my best gown, I put on some make-up and arrange my hair in loose curls around my shoulders.
My cheeks are already red with shame at being so vain while my beloved is suffering. But I don't want him to see me ragged or unkempt. Somehow, his opinion of me matters too much.
Smoothing my hands over the dress, I hide the spell inside my brassiere as I compile a small basket of items for him, too. I don't know what state I might find him in, so I need to be prepared for every eventuality.
I pack a few towels, medicine and even some food as well as a few weapons that might be helpful later on.
Maybe I'm silly about it since I don't know what someone as powerful as Amon might need. But just thinking about him not having basic items makes my blood boil and my heart hurt.
If it weren't for the weight, and the fact that I'm not that physically strong, I would have taken with me an entire infirmary.
With everything ready, I take a deep breath and open my door, stepping into the hallway. I do my best to be quiet as I move about the house. The last thing I need is for Kress or Finn to catch me and interrogate me on my whereabouts so late at night.
Taking the servants' staircase, I head to the kitchen where the entrance to the catacombs is.
As expected, the Hales had somehow locked the door.
Sighing, I bring my candle next to the lock, examining it closely and noting it's not something I'm likely to unlock on my own. Instead, I'll have to find some way to break it—but without drawing any attention to myself.
Removing a screwdriver from my basket, I jam the pointy tip inside the lock.
It might not open it, but it should definitely break it.
I struggle for minutes on end to push it inside when, suddenly, I hear a small click and the door opens on its own.
Blinking in surprise, I withdraw the screwdriver and dump it in the basket.
"Thank you," I whisper in a low voice as I take a step inside, closing the door behind me and going down the stairs.
The candles allow for some light, but the entire area is pitch dark.
I swallow hard against a wave of discomfort that hits me, just as a small shiver of fear goes down my back.
It would be fair to say that after a while in Fairydale I've developed a certain distaste of dark places that might be rife with the supernatural.
But even as that thought crosses my mind I force myself to focus.
This is for him—all for him.
I walk for a couple of minutes before I come across the invisible barrier from before.
Taking out the piece of paper from my brassiere, I bring the light over it as I clear my throat and start reading.
The words are all in Latin, and although I can't be sure my pronunciation is on point, I hope it will still work.
I channel all my hope in the words I'm saying—all the love and longing in my heart.
When I'm done, I find myself completely out of breath.
Peering up, I expect to see something happening, yet the tunnel is just as before—dark and foreboding.
My heart hammering in my chest, I take a tentative step forward.
Then another.
My lips tremble as they tip up in an optimistic smile the more I walk, the path clear for me.
From hesitant steps, I slowly pick up speed until I'm running for my life.
Adrenaline dances in my veins as my feet take me closer and closer to him. My skin tingles with every moment, my body humming with something utterly indescribable.
A blinding light suddenly appears before me.
Blinking, I slowly accommodate to the light as I take in the new surroundings. The tunnel funnels into a wide space that looks like a chamber. The walls are a light color, the area clean and tidy—clearly indicative of someone living here. A bed rests against the northern wall, some books piled on top of the blankets. There are various items around, all well-kept and unusually clean considering the circumstances.
And there...right before me, it's him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Amon," I whisper through misted eyes.
He's standing before me, eyes wide, features gaunt and filled with pain.
For a second, I simply take him in, drink in the sight of him and bask in the sheer magnetism of his presence. A few feet apart and I still feel it—the way the air crackles around us, the atmosphere heavier than it's ever been.
My heart hammers in my chest.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound would be deafening if not for the loudness of my thoughts—the way my entire being is screaming with happiness.
He is just as handsome as I remembered, with his chiseled features, full mouth and mesmerizing eyes. He's wearing a black fitted shirt and a pair of loose pants that only serve to emphasize the muscular build of his upper body.
His white hair flows down his back unrestrained—a contrast to his dark clothes.
But it's his eyes that have me riveted to the spot as they shift color under my very gaze.
Blue. Red. Black. Then Red again.
The colors of his eyes are the evidence of his volcanic emotions—as out of control as mine. He gazes upon me as if I'm a mere mirage, something he's conjured up in his mind.
His eyes slowly move over my form, blinking as he swallows hard, a torrent of longing written on his face.
My breath hitches as our gazes connect, an invisible tether irrevocably tying us together.
In that moment I know.
I simply know that this is what I'd been searching for my entire life. His absence is the reason for that restlessness that simmered in my blood for so long. And his presence...
His presence makes my essence sing.
Without him, I was lost. With him, I am found again.
Instinct takes over as I move. The basket drops to the ground as I fling myself forward.
One step.
Two.
On the third I am in his arms, his heat penetrating my skin and telling me this is real. That I am not imagining it, just as he isn't imagining it.
"Amon, my Amon," I whisper as I hold tightly onto him, almost wishing I could become one with him so he could never be apart from me. So this moment would survive in all eternity. Just the two of us like this.
Together. Touching. Feeling.
Being as we were always meant to be—two, never one.
"You're here," he whispers, his voice bleeding hope and anguish. "You're here," he repeats as he draws back.
Tentatively, his hands reach for my cheeks, cradling my face between his big palms.
He swirls his thumbs over my skin—slow languorous movements that make me want to purr out loud and present myself to him in an ancient mating ceremony.
"Darcy," he groans. My name on his lips is quite possibly the greatest joy I've ever known.
"I'm here. I've come for you," I tell him fervently. "I would always come for you. I'm just sorry it took me so long," I say as tears fall down my cheeks.
Before I know it, his lips are on my skin, his tongue catching my tears before he kisses my eyes. Every touch is slow, tentative, as if he's still convincing himself this is real.
"I would have waited an eternity for you," he murmurs. "Knowing you would come for me is the only thing that kept me sane."
I hug him harder, wrapping my arms around his midriff and burying my face in his chest.
A low hum vibrates in his chest and he winces as I tighten my hold.
Immediately, my eyes widen as I step back, assessing him with questioning eyes.
His hand goes to his ribs as his cheek twitches in pain.
"You're hurt," I state plainly. Before he can deny it, I grab the hem of his shirt and slide it up his torso, the ugly sight making me gasp.
His entire upper body is purple, gashes running from his pectorals all the way to his belly.
"It's not that bad," he gives me a tight smile.
"This is not bad?" I demand, horrified. "Amon, you're hurt all over. It's from that blast isn't it?"
He shakes his head.
"It's really not bad. It will heal," he nods, his eyes big and round as he looks at me as if he'd like nothing better for me to drop the issue.
Just as I open my mouth to speak, though, he grips his midriff as a coughing fit assails him, blood splattering all over his hands and trickling down his chin.
Panic erupts in my chest.
"That is not bad?" I ask numbly.
"I'm...fine," he says between coughs and more blood.
I shake my head at him.
"You're not fine. You need to sit," I tell him, taking his hand and leading him to the bed.
He doesn't protest, merely staring at me. Either he's too weak from his injuries, or he's simply abiding to my wishes to please me. That thought alone makes me lean in to kiss his brow before panic takes hold of me anew and I pull at his shirt.
"Tell me the truth, please," I murmur as I slide the shirt off his body, only to discover more wounds, some deep and bleeding while others faded and in the process of healing.
His face is the only area on his body that isn't injured.
God, but I didn't imagine he'd be so hurt, and to this degree. This isn't just from the blast, is it?
It can't possibly be.
Recovering my basket, I place it by his side as I remove some of the items I'd brought.
"Why are you like this, Amon?" I ask, hurting just looking at the state he is in.
His lips flatten in discomfort just as his hands come atop of mine, stopping my fretting.
"It's the price I pay for leaving this place," he tells me in a soft voice.
"Wh-what?"
"This," he nods to the area around, "is a prison with a mind of its own. And just like any other prison, it punishes its inmates when they try to escape."
"You mean..." I wet my lips, my forehead creasing with worry.
He nods.
"I can go out for limited periods of time, but that always comes with a price."
"This?" I can only stare at him flabbergasted. "You... Please explain."
His hands tighten over my own.
"It took me decades to gather the strength to fight against it. Eventually I managed to get out, but it's only for a limited time and within the town radius. But the prison always fights back."
"Tell me more specifically. What is the exact price," I demand softly.
"I'm not sure what their policy is," he gives a dry laugh, "but one day out usually equals about a thousand lashings."
I gulp down against a wave of nausea that threatens to overtake me.
"A thousand lashings? But who..."
"The spell that trapped me is not static. Just like action and reaction, it responds to any disturbance."
My eyes widen.
"Then what about my being here? Please don't tell me that's going to get you punished again."
He smiles.
"No. You're not the first one to come down here. There is no side effect of you being here," he assures me quietly, but all I can think of is the fact that I'm not the first one here with him.
"Who was it?" I bite out, jealousy unlike I've ever experienced fueling my words.
He chuckles, and bringing his hand to my cheek he caresses me lightly.
"Lydia," he answers.
"L-Lydia?"
He nods.
"She used to come visit me often until she passed. She is the one who put the barrier spell in the tunnel so no one else could come here—no one but you."
"Oh, Amon," I take his hand, bringing it to my mouth for a kiss. "I'm so happy she was there for you."
His features turn sad, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.
"It was the most unusual thing, Darcy, to watch my child grow old and die. I suppose I should have known it was going to happen eventually, but I never realized how hard it would be."
"She was happy, was she not?"
He nods, his lips tipping up in a slight smile.
"She came to ask me for permission before she married Hale. She was so happy and in love that I could only encourage her to follow her heart. But because I was here, she decided to move back with her family," he relates fondly. "She was devastated when you died..." he trails off as his voice breaks.
"She knew," I tell him. "She saw what would happen, both with me and with Abraham. I'm sure of it. She tried to tell me," I choke on a sob. "She tried to tell me not to give Abel the necklace."
"Shh, please don't cry," he murmurs as he cups my cheeks, resting his forehead on top of mine. "It breaks my heart when you cry, my darling girl."
I wipe at my eyes as I take a water bottle from my basket, wetting a towel and bringing it to his chest.
He releases a hiss when the cold material touches his wounds.
"I need to patch you up," I say as I sniffle—anything to take my mind off the past. At least for now.
It's still too sudden, too raw.
It might have happened in the last century, but for me it's like it happened yesterday.
"How is your healing?" I bite my lip as I focus on cleaning him carefully.
Some of the injuries are nasty looking and potentially infected. To realize that he's been getting these to come be with me is absolutely devastating. Especially since I now understand why he's been absent for the last few days.
