Page 69 of Ashes of Aether
“Reyna Ashbourne,” I say to the enchanted gates. They remember my name and swing open.
Passing through the wild gardens isn’t easy. Overgrown roots jut out, and brambles spiral across the path. A few thorns nick the back of my calves. I stop and curse them under my breath. The brambles are sharp enough to draw blood, and a few drops dribble down to my ankles.
“Ignira,” I breathe, launching a fireball at the thorns which dared to attack me.
The brambles crumble into ash as my flames touch them. I turn on my heels and continue to the manor’s entrance, trying to avoid being stabbed by more thorns.
The brass twin viper knockers are rusted, and most of the paint has peeled off the doors. Large, wooden patches streak across them. When I push open the doors, they creak so violently I fear they will fling off their hinges and crash into me. Luckily, they don’t.
The blue rug spread through the hallway is so filled with dust that it appears gray. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling like enormous fishing nets. I push past them and ascend the spiraling staircase.
The steps groan beneath my weight, no longer used to being walked upon. As I come to the top of the stairs, I pause and stare at the door to the master bedroom. Heston’s face and the image of him being burned to death by my father’s flames flashes through my mind. His tortured screams ring through my ears.
Clenching my fists, I force myself away and continue toward Arluin’s room. The door is still left ajar from the last time I was here.
Musty air chokes me as I enter. For three years, the windows have remained shut, and the room is suffocated. The curtains are tucked away, and moonlight streams through the grimy windows, silvering the edges of all the furniture inside the room.
Ticking comes from the corner where the old grandfather clock stands. Thanks to the abundance of aether imbued inside its springs, it will likely last another fifty years until it falls silent and still.
I pad over the zig-zagged wooden panels forming the floor, and my feet soon meet the crimson square rug lying in front of the canopy bed. My heels sink into the plush threads. I reach for the nearest mahogany bedpost and my fingers curl around it, feeling every peak and valley of the ornate design carved into the wood. My attention settles on the scarlet quilt. Dust motes blanket it like snowflakes. It feels like only yesterday Arluin carried me up here and promised to marry me.
Exhaling deeply, I leave the post and settle onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dips with my weight.
I sit there for a while, my fingers running across the silk brocade sheets and disturbing the dust. My gaze sweeps around the room, taking in every aspect: the aether crystals hanging from the ceiling, the paneled wardrobe still filled with Arluin’s clothes, the crimson curtains held beside the arched windows by matching tiebacks.
When I finish absorbing every detail, I reach for the silver locket around my neck. My hands tremble slightly as I unclasp it.
I pinch the delicate chain between my fingers and dangle it. Like a pendulum, the silver heart swings back and forth. It takes several moments to fall still.
I want to believe with all my heart that Arluin lives. That there’s hope the two of us will meet again, even if we can never be together. But if he is alive, why wouldn’t he try to contact me? Why wouldn’t he let me know he survived his father’s attack?
I need closure. But I fear I will never find the answers I seek.
The silver heart blurs as tears well in my eyes. I brush them away and place the locket flat on my palm.
I gaze down at it, hearing the echo of the words within. I’ve never once opened it. I feared doing so would cause our promise to lose its sacredness. To become truly impossible.
But that thought is nearly laughable. It’s already impossible. How can Arluin keep his vow when he’s not here? When he might be dead?
And so, I do what I’ve contemplated doing for three years. I open the locket.
Aether pours out. It sketches the scene of the memory it recorded. The two of us are shown in magenta light. The crystal even captured the brocade detailing of the sheets beneath, though the fabric is painted in a purple glow.
“Reyna,”Arluin says,“I am a man who has nothing, who is nothing. I know I don’t deserve you, but you mean everything to me. In this world, I have nothing else left.”
Upon hearing his voice, I choke out a sob. He sounds so distant, but it’s still him.
This is another reason I didn’t dare to open the locket. I knew I would be unable to bear the sound of his voice. A part of me considers shutting the locket before old wounds are ripped open. But I don’t. The wounds are festering, anyway.
In the memory, my hand reaches up and rests on his cheek.“Arluin, please don’t speak about yourself like this. You mean everything to me, as well.”
He places his finger on my lips. I wish I could feel his touch—for me to be sitting there beside him instead of my ghost. I hardly recognize her as being me. Her eyes are too bright, too filled with hope. She doesn’t know that this night will be one of her last with the boy she loves.
Would this memory be any different if I’d known what destiny planned for us?
“I’ve loved you for as long as I remember,” Arluin’s voice continues.“And it’s only when I’m with you that...that I forget...”
That he is a necromancer’s son.