“Shh, not now. You will find out soon enough.” She gives Garrick a gentle smile and he returns it.
Aunt Fran and I follow Garrick through the enormous courtyard to the opposite side from which we entered the grounds. French doors made of iron open automatically and close abruptly as we pass the threshold.
“It’s good to see you home, Francesca. I’ve missed you.” He speaks to my aunt as though they’re longtime friends, old lovers maybe. I can see a hint of it in both their eyes.
We cross over a covered breezeway. On either side of the bridge walls, pillars are attached with green ivy streaming around them. Flowers have bloomed on some of the vines, and I watch beautiful strange birds come and suck the nectar. “Hummingbirds?”
Garrick turns around, noticing my surprise, saying, “Similar, yes. These are dragon nectars. They are much like the hummingbird you’re familiar with, but they also have the pollination like a bee. They would sting you should you try to touch one. Their beak is not only the source from which they grab nutrients from a flower, but they also use it as a defense.” Garrick motions his hand for us to keep going. “Shall we?”
“Yes, of course, sorry.” I look beyond the bridge walls to see the walkway crosses over a ravine below. The views are beautiful, but I don’t go near the ledge. “Long way down.”
“Very,” Garrick agrees. “It leads to another community underground. Shall we proceed, please, we don’t want to keep the queen waiting.”
“Queen? You mean my great grandmother Sara is here?”
Garrick laughs. “Oh, My Princess, no.” He glares at my aunt Fran. “You really did a number on her head, didn’t you?”
“Oh, Rick stop. I did not. Would you rather her find out everything prematurely?”
He grunts. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You love me, and you know it.” She snickers slightly.
I squint. There is something more to those two than what they’re leading on. “Aunt Fran, what are you not telling me?”
“Shh, I’ll tell you later.”
I hear more birds chirp, and the smell of jasmine fills my senses, distracting me. Once we’re on the other side of the bridge, we come to a second set of iron doors and pass through them to a grand foyer. It has the similarities of Storm River Manor; however, the large entrance doesn’t have a roof, and I can see the cave ceiling when I look above my head. The center of the foyer has an open staircase that stops midway to veer left or right, just like the manor, too. A wall supports the staircase, with open windows traced out to allow for views to the deep valley below. Coming to the mid-landing, I watch a few dragons fly in the not too far distance. They circle the cave’s ceiling, as though hunting or guarding.
“Grand view, isn’t it?” Garrick says, coming near my ear, startling me.
“Yes.” The day has flown by. Hard to believe this morning I woke near the shore at The Lake of No Return. Learning I have a familiar—a dragongryph, no doubt—adds to more intrigue. Whoever heard of something so enchanting? And now, I’ve crossed the gates to Ashengale Castle this afternoon. I’m still in awe, finding out the Hall of Secrets is a nexus, hidden away from all the realms, dimensions, planes, and galaxies—all going to this one room, where different worlds can meet and jump through time and space. Now in this new place of wonder, I’m in awe, again.
“Come this way, the queen is beyond these stairs,” Garrick says. Aunt Fran walks next to him, and he puts his arm around her, and she lays her head on his shoulder. They are talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. She laughs and pauses, turning around. “Wynter come on.”
“Who is he? Your boyfriend?”
She smiles. “Much more than that.”
I follow them to another corridor, also like that of Storm River Manor, with many doors on one side and the open window space on the other, supported by more marble pillars. Vines continue to grow around the open wall of stone, while more dragon nectars flitter to bloomed flowers, grabbing hold of limbs and stabbing their beaks deep into the blossoms.
We come to a door and stop. Garrick wraps on the surface then opens it, saying, “Your Majesty, she’s here.”
I step inside the room to see a woman wearing a lovely pale pink, sleeveless gown. It has an A-frame style with lace decorating the front.
She sets the book she’s reading aside on an end table next to her and stands. “Come child, let me have a look at you.” She opens her arms wide, giving me a hug.
The awkwardness has me fumbling with my hands, not knowing where to put them. How do I react to a stranger in my personal space? I give a slight sideways smile when she releases me.
“Oh, I’m sorry for being so forward,” she adds. “You haven’t a clue who I am, do you?”
I smile. “No, not really. Although you do look familiar. Like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
She snorts. “I should hope I look familiar to you. But you don’t remember me, do you?”
I think back to the dream Isalora showed me, when the wraith came for Eleena at the cottage. She does have similar features. “You look like my mother’s mother.”
“I’m Eleena, yes. I see you need some time to let the shock wear off.” She gestures towards a chair. ““Please, have a seat.”
“Perhaps.” My lips curve into a small smile. “It was assumed you were dead. I mean—I—”
“It’s quite all right, dear. That assumption is a good thing. I’m glad we were able to pull that off.” She glances to my aunt.
“Forgive me, but there are no books telling what happened to you after the escape from Ladorielle,” I say.
“Indeed. And for good reason.” She stops. “Garrick, would you have Hannah grab some refreshments please?” She looks at me. “I imagine you’re starved.”
“Not entirely. I had a huge meal not too long ago.” I grin, thinking back to when I devoured the Trek, who posed as Rory’s mom, Geneviève.
“Certainly, My Lady,” Garrick says, and bows, taking his leave through the doors.
Eleena sits in a red winged-back chair, staring across the sitting area at my aunt. “My dear daughter. I do say, you have some explaining to do, young lady. What on Ladorielle happened to you?” she asks, folding her hands in her lap and awaiting an answer.
I look at my aunt, and then down at my feet, avoiding eye contact. “This ought to go over well.”
“Shh, let me handle this,” Aunt Fran says. My aunt appears hesitant, as though she’s afraid to confess what happened.
“Can she hear us?” I ask.
“No, she’s not a Deagon, nor a ghost. Now, keep quiet. I’ll explain later.”
“Drelanda Francesca Deagon-Storm, answer me,” my grandmother Eleena says, her voice raising.
“A giant got the best of me, Mama,” Aunt Fran says. I watch her struggle to meet Eleena’s eyes. For the first time, I see my aunt cower, not like she was fearful of my grandmother, but like she was ashamed. As though the giant that took my aunt’s life wasn’t in the plans.
“I see.” Eleena takes a deep breath. She pauses a few minutes, as though to collect her thoughts before continuing. She takes another deep breath and gets up, walking to one of the bookshelves along the wall where she begins thumbing through the title of books. “I presume you have already gone to see Nyta? You know, Drelanda, we had plans for you. Who is to carry on the bloodline now?”
“Yes,” my aunt responds, “I know. But we can train Wynter, at least until we—”
“Mmm, is that what you think? Wynter has other priorities.” Eleena gives me a brief glance and peers back at my aunt. “I’m to assume your heart is in a coffer already, otherwise you would not look as solid as you do now?” She takes a book out and skims the pages then puts it back in its place.
“Yes,” Fran says. Although my aunt appears real to the natural eye, I see right through her, and the tension in her frame speaks volumes.
“What’s going on? What are you not telling me, Aunt Fran?”
She ignores me.
“Where is your body now? Still with Nyta or does my mother-in-law Sara have it? Your body should be in the crypt where it’s supposed to be when something like this happens.”
“Mama, no. I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” She turns to her, squinting. “How do you expect to pull this off, Fran? This was not in the cards.” Eleena purses her lips and turns back around, continuing to scan the book spines. The tension in the room escalates.
I ask again, hoping this time my aunt will answer me, “What is she talking about?”
“Quiet, like I said before, I’ll tell you later.” Fran’s voice firms, sounding a little unnerved.
My aunt paces toward Eleena. “Wynter is fully capable of going through the trials without me, Mother—” Aunt Fran’s steps cease. It’s as though she’s been planted to the floor like the giants were when Fran cast a spell on them. Fran stops, frozen in place. She can speak, but the rest of her body is immobile.
“Mother, please let me explain,” my aunt pleads.
Eleena ignores Aunt Fran, saying, “Now, where is it?”
“What is happening? What is she looking for Aunt Fran? And how are you fixated in place?”
“My mother is upset with me, and this is her way of coping. She’s looking for the immortality spellbook, I believe, so she can cast a spell to hold me here.”
“I thought you already cast an immortality spell. That’s why you’re able to still be on the ghostly plane. You mean, there is a spellbook? Plus, how is she able to keep you motionless? You’re a ghost.”
“Yes, it’s presumed that I am, aren’t I?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This isn’t the same immortality spell you’re thinking of. Remember when Isalora told you she cast a spell that allows her to look human, but it weakens her should she cross over to our world?”
“She mentioned that she couldn’t come with us, yes, I remember.”
“Mother’s looking for that spell. Except…well…the jewelry we wear is much more magical than you know.”
“That’s great, more surprises. So, what else are you hiding from me now?”
“I’m not really dead. Just stuck on the undead plane until my spirit can reunite with my body. I’m a Deagon, immortal with only one way to die.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you get it, yet? No. Of course, you wouldn’t. You still have that memory stamp in place.”
“Francesca, dear you’re awfully quiet,” Eleena begins, still thumbing through the shelves. “What are you feeding my granddaughter? Do be careful, she mustn’t find out revelations too quickly. It will render her memory frozen.”
“Yes, Mother, I know.”
“I thought you said she can’t hear us?”
“She can’t”
“Are you saying my mother is like you?”
“Yes, with one exception.”
“Which is?”
“She can pass through on the Plane of Undead, to Ladorielle. If caught doing so, the undead of evil can steal your soul forever.”
“So, you’re saying that in between the conduit of two worlds, spirits can die?”
“Yes, something like that. It’s like the In-between. Some refer to it as Purgatory, but it’s neither of those. We spirits call it the Plane of Undead, where the immortal spirits go if they have had unfinished business while alive. If captured by an evil undead spirit, they will live a life in hell for eternity.”
“Is this why my mother, Isalora, remains near the cottage most of the time? To avoid capture?”
“Yes, and no. She stays to protect you. To make sure you continue on the path to your destiny.”
“Where’s the book? It’s missing.” Eleena stops browsing through the bookshelf and turns to face us. “Hmm, it appears someone has taken the Spellbook of Immortality.”
I think back to the book my mother gave me before I left the cottage to come to Ladorielle. I remember the front binding having the inscription S.O.I. I thought they were initials.
“Grandmother,” I interject.
“Yes?” Eleena questions.
I hesitate when she addresses me. “What exactly is this Book of Immortality?” I stand next to Aunt Fran, who is still stuck in place.
Eleena takes in a deep breath and comes to sit back down in the chair opposite of us. “This book has spells of every imaginable recipe to keep beings in an immortal state.”
“Hang on a minute,” I say, trying to collect my thoughts. “You mean, there’s more than one way to stay immortal? This is nuts.”
She smiles and folds her hands. “Several ways, my dear. In this book, not only are there spells to live forever, but there are spells for the Silver Dire wolves that need the magic of the silver moon to stay alive. Also, how to protect Light Witches and defeat the dark ones.”
“So, what Grandmother Sara said was true? There is a cure for Redmae?”
“Who’s Redmae?” Eleena asks.
“Geneviève’s daughter, Mother,” Fran reminds her.
“Ahh, right. I forget she’s not called Mae much anymore.” Eleena laughs. “You kids and your nicknames. Anyway, this book was entrusted into the hands of Ashengale for safekeeping, but it appears we are not exactly keeping it safe when it’s gone missing.”
“Grandmother,” I interrupt again, “what is in this book that is so important?”
“Well, besides casting a spell to give your aunt here”—she gives an annoying point to Fran—"life on Ladorielle, there is one spell in there that will protect those that would have normally died to acquire a regenerating state.”
“What do you mean by that? I don’t understand.”
My grandmother smiles. “A true Light Witch can cast a resurrection spell. They can take many forms. We cannot raise the dead, like a necromancer, but what we can do is enchant an item, such as a ring, necklace, bracelet, you get the idea, and from this enchantment, a healing stone is embossed in the item piece, thus, the magic it instills will keep the person who otherwise would have been killed, from dying. As long as they wear this item in battle, they cannot die. It’s called a preservation spell. Of course, these pieces are rare finds, and to create a new one, as I said before, requires a Light Witch only. It is the bloodline of a Light Witch that is part of the recipe.”
“And you want to make this ring for Aunt Fran?”
“Oh, dear Ladorielle, no. This charmed jewelry would be for you to wear.”
“What, me?” I take in this new information. “Hang on a second.” I look at my aunt. “That’s what you meant by saying you’re not really dead.” I look at her necklace. “The ruby embossed in that charm you wear around your neck is held with magic from a preservation spell, isn’t it?” I turn back to my grandmother, Eleena. “And my mother?”
She gives a slight chuckle. “You see, Sarmira will do anything to stand in our way and keep you from doing what you’re meant to finish. And she thinks by taking the hearts of her foes, it will prevent her demise. Killing all the Light Witches was a tactic she almost was able to pull off.”
“I see.” Suddenly, I begin to feel a little nauseated.
“If there is such a possible thing, then why isn’t everyone doing it?” I ask.
Wynter Reign Page 3
