Wings of Stone

by Jenna Wolfhart

  “This will not do.” She tsked just as Tess appeared behind her, face drawn into a deep frown. “You will need to change, and something needs to be done about your hair. You have about half an hour to get yourself cleaned up.”

  “Queen Selene.” I gave her a small bow, my mind tripping over her words. “Why exactly am I getting cleaned up?”

  “You’ll be joining us for dinner tonight,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that didn’t even remotely reflect the surreal nature of this conversation. I never got invited to dine with the witches. With pursed lips, she fingered the silver moon necklace that hung heavily around her neck, the edges lined in glistening black stones. “Now, stop staring at me like I have two heads. Chop, chop. You don’t have much time.”

  I sat next to the Queen, wearing a deep red dress that hugged my curves in a way that made me feel like a doll on display. Tess had lent it to me for the evening, though I couldn’t imagine her in this kind of outfit either. In fact, she’d worn a simple black pair of loose trousers with a long-sleeved blouse. Across the table, she looked much more comfortable—and warmer—than I felt. The lofted ceilings of the Great Hall weren’t the best at keeping in the heat, and I couldn’t help but shiver, desperately wishing for my comfy coatigan—that’s a coat and a cardigan combined, for those just tuning in.

  Still, my unease didn’t take away from the excitement of the evening. Every witch who lived in the castle had come out for tonight’s dinner, and the long and slender oak tables were packed to the brink. Overhead each one, chandeliers flickered with dim lights, filling the room with a soft glow, one that was enhanced by the dark shadows in the corners. One thing shadow witches weren’t too fond of—total, brutal light. Only in the darkness could they wield their strongest powers, so they were always careful to keep things as dimly-lit as possible.

  Servers ushered in the platters of food. I gasped at the variety of dishes. Usually, I had a plate with some meat—chicken most often—and some roasted vegetables. Occasionally, I would get a small dessert, like a brownie. Tonight, the options were practically endless. There was lamb, steak, fresh fish, and venison, as well as meat pies of all varieties. For sides, there were roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, and sweet potato gratin, as well as plenty of carrots and peas to go around. Pots of gravy were passed across the tables, topping off the home-cooked Yorkshire puddings. It was a feast, and I eagerly dug in.

  “I’ve always liked a girl with an appetite,” Marcus said. He’d been positioned directly across the table from me, flanked on both sides by our other guests who had arrived at the castle along with him. And I’d been studiously trying to avoid his gaze while simultaneously staring at him out of the corner of my eye. To say I felt somewhat shy in his presence would be putting it mildly. A part of me wanted to be that cool girl who could chat the night away, easily referencing all kinds of interesting tidbits that would entertain him for hours on end. Another part of me wanted to crawl underneath the table and hide.

  “Well, that’s me,” I said with a bright smile as I forked some more roast potatoes onto my plate. “But, I mean, who can blame me with all these potatoes going around?”

  He glanced at my plate and quirked a smile. “I take it you’re a fan of the spud.”

  I’d collected not only the roast potatoes but also a generous helping of the mash and a good portion of the gratin. The potato section of my plate dwarfed everything else.

  “I could probably eat potatoes for every day of the rest of my life and be happy,” I said with a laugh.

  “Marcus,” the Queen cut in coolly from my left side. “Why don’t you share with us what kind of meals you enjoy in the Blood Coven. We’d all love to learn more about you and your kind, especially if we’re going to consider joining you in an alliance.”

  An alliance? I did my best to keep my expression blank. The Shadow Coven did not enter into alliances lightly, let alone at all. The other covens, they weren’t like us. They were steeped in the human world, caught up in the desire to live out in the open and in secret at the same time. They lived side-by-side with humans, those who would want them dead if they ever found out about magic—while keeping the truth about themselves hidden from view—in the middle of towns and cities. Never showing their magic. Trying to live without being truly seen.

  The shadow mages had always rejected that kind of life. Here, in Dreadford Castle, they could be themselves without fear of reprisal. And if I had powers, that would be how I’d want to live, too.

  “Of course.” Marcus pasted on a smile, one that seemed much less earnest than the ones I’d seen on him before. “Ah, as you can imagine, we do things a little differently than you do here. It’s all about haggis, steak pie, and cranachan.” He turned to me and winked. “Cranachan is a dessert with raspberries, whiskey, and oatmeal.”

  “Well, that is certainly interesting,” the Queen said with a tight smile. Under the table, she squeezed my knee so hard, I dropped my fork onto my plate. All around me, the buzz of the hall fell to a whisper. Dishes stopped clinking, the murmur of voices dropped off, and the tinkle of laughter vanished into silence. “Isn’t that interesting, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca, who had been silent by my other side all evening, shot me a strange look. There was a flicker of something in her eyes that I’d never seen before, almost as if she were trying to tell me something. Almost, I thought, as if she were trying to warn me.

  What’s going on? I asked her with my eyes.

  “It’s interesting because,” the Queen said, suddenly shoving her chair across the stone floor and standing tall, “that sounds nothing like the Blood Coven’s nightly dinner. The last time I had a chat with Magister Thorne, your leader, he couldn’t stop going on and on about black pudding. It seems he can’t get his mages to eat anything else. They have a taste for blood, you see.” She shot a sharp, dangerous look at our guest-of-honor. “Or didn’t you know that, Marcus? I would think someone truly from the Blood Coven would know something about their cravings.”

  A strange tension punctuated the air, and it felt as if the entire room took a collective breath. The Queen stared down at Marcus, and Marcus stared up at the Queen, his hand resting lightly on the table.

  And then everyone moved all at once. The half a dozen guests were on their feet as swords materialized in their hands. The Queen’s voice boomed as she made the call to flick off the lights, her hand wrapping tight around her silver necklace. Every witch in the room shot out of their chairs.

  My heart lurched into my throat as fear clawed at my stomach. What the hell was happening? Who were our guests? And why did the beautiful man have to point his sword at the Queen?

  The room was plunged into darkness, giving the witches a chance to do what they did best.

  A strong hand encircled my arm and yanked me to my feet. Heart hammering, I tried to pull away, terror turning my blood ice cold. But the voice that hissed into my ear wasn’t one that was male, nor was it one that was a stranger. “I’m sorry that this is happening. I need to get you out of here.”

  For a moment, I felt a dash of relief that Rebecca was by my side, but with that relief also came a strange sense of determination. Though I couldn’t see what was happening in the Great Hall, I could hear the distinct sounds of fighting. The clashing of steel weapons, the sharp energy of magic sizzling toward enemies. Voices cried out. Bodies fell.

  “I shouldn’t run,” I whispered to her. “I should do something to help.”

  “Rowena, you can’t. You’re too weak.” Rebecca slid her hand into mine and pulled hard. And I left behind the fight just as I heard a strange sound: the heavy flap of wings.

  Chapter Four

  “This is ridiculous,” I said out loud, pacing from one end of my living quarters to the next. My feet had trod this path many times before now—from the wardrobe on the far side of the wall, where my bed and my dressing table sat, past the half-wall, beyond the sofa and coffee table, to the wall of bookcases, two corners flanked by those menacing st
atues who looked as though they were listening intently to every word I said.

  “I can’t just hide away in my room like this while everyone else is downstairs fighting.” With a sigh, I moved back to the wardrobe and spun on my feet. “‘Oh no, Rowena, you’re weak.’ ‘You have to hide away in your room, Rowena.’ ‘If you try to help, Rowena, you’ll just get in the way.’”

  I stopped and stared at the reflection in the floor-length mirror that covered the wall beside my bed. My yellow eyes were wild, an expression that was highlighted by the dark liner I’d drawn for my first dinner with the witches. Around my shoulders, my silver hair hung in loose waves. And that stupid red dress. Frowning, I yanked it over my head and threw it into a heap on the floor. No wonder they didn’t want me to help. I couldn’t do a thing dressed like that. In its place, I shrugged on my jeans and hoodie and strode over to the door. I placed my ear to the wood, closed my eyes, and listened.

  It was impossible to hear what was going on in the Great Hall, not from up here in the Keep. It was the safest and most secure part of the castle. The Queen had her own quarters on the floor above mine, and it was where she usually spent most of her time. It was also where she kept her sword, the weapon I certainly hadn’t seen on her at dinner. Not that she needed it. As a shadow witch—and the most powerful one alive—she could wield darkness and shadows to defeat her enemies with a single flick of her wrist. I’d seen her practice, once or twice during my walks around the castle grounds. She was damn good—better than everyone else. In theory, she should be able to destroy these intruders within moments.

  But still…

  Footsteps echoed on the stone hallway outside my door, and I froze with my breath held in my throat. I flicked my gaze at the lock. Before Rebecca had left me in here, she’d made me promise to secure each of the three deadbolts that were fastened to my door. I’d done them all, but I didn’t have a lot of trust that the door would hold if someone was intent on getting in.

  Though why they would want to get to me, I didn’t know.

  The footsteps paused, and I sucked in my breath, taking one silent step back just in case.

  There was a shuffle and a crunch, and then a slip of paper whispered across the floor from the crack underneath the door. And then the footsteps retreated back down the hallway, disappearing down the stone stairs.

  I dropped to my knees and snatched the paper from the floor, greedily reading the note. It wasn’t in any handwriting I recognized, but that didn’t mean anything. What mattered was the words. It was the strangest thing and nothing like what I’d expected. An update on the battle, sure. A warning about the enemy, maybe. Or even a note from the enemy, saying they’d do whatever it took to break down the door.

  No, this was nothing like that.

  Instead, it read: don’t take your medicine tonight.

  That was it. No explanation. No hint at all as to who it was from.

  With a frown, I glanced at my dressing table. Seven bottles were lined up in a neat little row, one for each day of the week. I took my medicine, religiously, when the clocktower struck midnight. There was never a night that I hadn’t taken it. And it was the only thing that kept me healthy. If I didn’t drink my elixir, my weakness would morph into a deadly sickness that would leave me bedridden for weeks. Maybe even months.

  “What could this possibly mean?” I held up the note and stomped over to the nearest gargoyle, shoving the note into its face. Sometimes, I spoke to them like this, even though I’d never admit it to anyone else. Cooped up in this room all day and all night, I yearned for company. Any kind of company. To the point where I’d taken to chatting to the creepy-ass statues in my room. “Whoever wrote this note can’t honestly expect me to not take my medicine without any explanation. Or even saying who it’s from? Hell, that hot guy with the sword could have written it for all I know.”

  For a second, I swore the gargoyle flinched.

  “Shaking my head, I continued on. “Don’t worry. He might be hot, but I’m not stupid. He clearly pretended to be a blood warlock just so he could sneak in here, and now he’s down there trying to…what? Kill the shadow witches? Take them prisoner? The joke’s going to be on him then because there’s no way in hell he can beat the Queen.”

  Frowning, I turned my gaze back toward the medicine bottles. My head and my heart were at odds. Logically, I knew I should discard this note and take my medicine just as I always did. Without knowing the who and why behind this message, I couldn’t trust it. Not with my life. But when the clock struck midnight several hours later, I sat on my sofa with my hands in my lap. Not a single drop of the elixir touched my lips.

  Chapter Five

  When a pink dawn broke through the cobalt sky, I still hadn’t received word from downstairs. The Queen hadn’t slid into the room with her steely smile, neither Tess or Rebecca had popped by to give me a thumbs up, and the mysterious note person hadn’t deemed it necessary to slide another message under the door.

  I was in the dark about the status of, well, pretty much everything. And I was sick and tired of waiting.

  I hadn’t even slept a wink. Instead, I’d continued to pace the night away on that well-worn path. Wardrobe to bookshelves back to wardrobe again, all the while chattering away to the lifeless statues.

  It was time to find out what the hell was going on.

  “Right. That’s it.” I grabbed my nail file and a butter knife I’d forgotten to give back to the servers one night after they’d brought me dinner. These ‘weapons’ would do absolutely zero harm toward anyone who attacked me, but I felt a little better with them in my hands. With a deep breath, I stalked across the room to the door and unflipped all the deadbolts before turning to the stone gargoyle in the nearest corner. “I’m going out there. Wish me luck.”

  As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I knew something was wrong. It was hard for me to put my finger on exactly what it was. A strange electricity in the air, like someone had left a microwave running all night. The scent in the air was off, too. There was the slight undercurrent of something sharp, like iron and steel, that usually wasn’t there. Silence hung heavy, though that wasn’t at all unusual. The witches preferred the night and rose late in the day, so they would be asleep until noon.

  As long as they’d won the fight.

  When I reached the Great Hall, I was relieved to find that everything looked pretty normal. The long tables had been cleared, dishes and food trays taken away and surfaces wiped. There were no bodies. There was no blood. There wasn’t even a scuff mark on the floor. I let out a deep, heavy breath of relief that I’d been carrying with me from the moment I’d left my room. Even though logic had told me the witches would win, the fear in my heart had almost convinced me otherwise.

  But that note…

  Nothing could explain that note.

  I continued down the length of the hall, trailing my fingers along the rough surface of the table. Now that the threat was over, there was an exhilarating sense of freedom, me being out here in the Great Hall unaccompanied by Tess. I’d never been on a walk on my own. I’d never explored the castle grounds. Not fully. There’d always been rules: no walking too far, can’t stay out for longer than an hour.

  With all the witches asleep, there would be no one to stop me from going further. Perhaps today would be the day when I could finally walk the battlements of the Dreadford and gaze across the countryside, a pink and yellow sun rising high in the sky.

  The mere thought of it was enough to get my feet moving.

  The courtyard was as empty and as quiet as the Great Hall. My lungs filled with the crisp, clean air, and I gazed up at the brightening sky. After grabbing some wellies from beside the door, I crunched my way across the slushy ground. During the summer months, the dirt packed tight and cracked, but during the winter, it melted into mud. Still, there was no stopping me. A newfound determination rippled through me. I wanted to see the outside world. The rolling hills. Clusters of trees that rose high in the sky. Al
l the greens and browns and reds of the earth.

  By the time I reached the gatehouse that would lead to the western courtyard and then to the steps up to the battlements, I was huffing and puffing from exertion. Because of my limited exercise every day, I wasn’t in particularly good shape and slogging through mud for twenty minutes was seriously pushing at my limits.

  But I was determined to make it up the steps. I was unlikely to get this chance again for a very long while.

  If ever.

  Another half hour later, and I finally reached the top, panting so hard that I clung tight to the metal rail that ran along the edges of the battlements. Swiping the sweaty hair off my face, I lifted my gaze. And gasped. It was beautiful. Far more beautiful than I’d ever hoped or dreamed. Even in the dead of winter, the rolling hills were a bright, vivid green, and they continued on for as far as the eye could see. To my left, a forest of tall, thick trees whose limbs were still covered in green shuddered in the bitter wind. And the sky. It was so blue and so big and so wide up here, as if it stretched on for eternity.

  “Fancy seeing you up here, love,” came a deep, quiet voice from my right.

  The shock of it all forced me to jump back and let out a strange squeal of surprise. I fumbled for the bread knife I’d slid into my back pocket, slowly shifting toward the steps. Because the person standing beside me was the stranger. The sword-wielding man from last night.

  The one with those silver-flecked eyes.

  “What are you doing up here?” I whispered, eyes darting around me for any sign that his friends were nearby. “Why aren’t you in the dungeons?” Or dead, I silently asked.