The Cloak

My stint in the kitchens a couple of weeks ago resulted in being banned.

Understandable considering the amount of damage and mess I made. While the banishment hasn’t killed my interest in cooking, the fact most of the dishes I like require handling raw meat did.

I can’t do it.

At least, not without gloves… I think.

And I’m not interested in testing Ryc’s patience to test the theory for myself.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t found other means to entertain myself. In fact, I’ve found plenty when I’m not scouring the library for depictions of my mother.

Today, Eve and I have slipped out of the castle—too easy to do with Ryc and Cyran off in Nyluma for a council meeting.

Today… we’re going beyond the city wall.

And honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think to do it sooner. This kind of excursion is far more interesting than making a meal.

It’s not like I’ve never been beyond the protective city wall.

I’ve explored plenty of Eldoterra.

The lands around Ollora included.

But I’ve never done so as a living creature. I’ve only seen the surrounding forests and fields through the filter of the veil. And even that was centuries ago.

There’s so much of the world I can’t wait to see.

Change I’m bound to find.

Cities, lakes, mountains, and fields of flowers… I want to see them as they’re intended—not through the film of the veil. Unlike the slip of a realm, this world possesses color, scent, and life.

Beside me, Eve adjusts her hood, ensuring it sits over her hair. It’s another drizzling day in Ollora today—the rain a cool, fine mist. And the heavy, dark gray clouds overhead continue to linger for a third day this week.

While the weather doesn’t empty the streets, it certainly encourages more than a few to stay inside. Additionally, we decided to bypass the popularity of the South Ward. Instead we opted to cut through the Wells district and follow along the southern quarter of Eastgate to reach the city wall.

It now looms ahead.

This massive moss-adorned, gray stone arch. Flanked by defensive towers and armed with city guard, there are several identical points of entry around Ollora. But the city has continued to grow beyond the wall and half a dozen districts sit outside the severing structure.

“Is there somewhere you have in mind?” Eve asks as she pulls back the side of her black hood as one would a curtain, and her ice blue eyes slide in my direction.

I shake my hooded head. Water droplets far larger than the rain cascade around me. “Honestly, even if I did, I doubt it still exists with as much as Ollora has grown.”

It’s been close to six centuries since I’ve wandered through Ollora’s wilderness last. And back then the lands were largely dense woods of old trees. The protective wall hadn’t yet been finished and houses were few and far between.

Eve lets her hood fall back into place as she sets her sights forward.

“There was a small pond,” I say quietly as the memory returns to me. “Surrounded by large, twisting darkwood trees. And the remnants of a house—mostly the foundational stone with a cellar, little of anything else. It was beautiful.”

And truly it was.

Tucked away structures in the process of being devoured by time have a way of making me feel insignificant—a lesser part of a whole. It’s grounding and moving and soul touching in a way.

Unfortunately, why I visited the place was less so.

Sent to collect a damned soul, I was granted the rare opportunity to linger far longer in the veil than ever before. Had this one particular reaping gone as usual, I likely wouldn’t remember it. There would have been nothing noteworthy.

Instead, the damned soul on my list had the misfortune of finding those ruins. And I watched her explore with the same voracity I would have—that I did, as I followed along—waiting for death to strike.

Death did strike.

Albeit, not swiftly.

In what I would assume was once a kitchen, the remains of a stone hearth nearby, the ground gave way beneath her. She fell, into the old cellars, breaking her leg.

For days this human, innateless woman sat in the dark, miles from anyone who could ever dream to hear her calling. She cursed Netharis, Nektos, and anyone else she could think to name.

Yet no one came searching.

Ollora wasn’t near as sprawling as it is now.

Even if she could have seen me, I doubt she would have found the company of a Death Bringer comforting. Hells, she might have cursed me too.

In those days, when I wasn’t sitting in the dark with her waiting, I explored the ruins for myself—without venturing outside of earshot, of course.

At the time I was wary Netharis would allow me to linger in the veil as long as I did. But her name was on my list. Returning to the hells without her wasn’t an ideal resolution.

How I managed to venture for days in the veil without being tracked by a Life Bringer, Zuriel in particular, still baffles me. Whoever the woman was, the heavens didn’t want her.

As Eve and I walk silently through the open gates, the leather-clad city guards posted dip their chins in acknowledgment. Their eyes follow us and Eve adjusts her hood again, wanting to make sure her face remains well hidden.

“Worried they’ll remember you?” I ask quietly when the guards lie well behind us and the street turns from cobblestone to mud.

Well, it’s hardpacked dirt starting to soften in this rain.

My boots won’t be caked by the time we return to the castle, but they’ll certainly evidence where I’ve been.

Eve scoffs a laugh as we continue to walk and the number of houses lessens, falling away to the encroaching woods. 

“A centuries’ worth of habits die hard,” she answers. “And I think I know the pond you mentioned,” she adds. “Tarron and I used to play near ruins when we were young.”

“Have you heard from him lately?” I ask, recalling the ginger-haired fae fighter from The Lioness.

She nods. “He writes occasionally. Last I heard he was preparing for a summer tour through Sol.”

My nose wrinkles. “Summer in the desert?” I ask with a grimace.

Laughing, Eve says, “I said the same. Fighting in sweltering heat like that is a challenge in itself. Couldn’t pay me enough to do that. I’m happy for him though. He’s really made a name for himself.”

“I didn’t realize I was keeping the company of a socialite,” I tease and she bumps my arm with an elbow. “Friends with a renowned fighter, spends time with royalty—”

“You’re not royalty yet,” she interjects with a laugh.

“I’m not talking about me,” I counter, mocking offense. “Lilith has sure tried to get to know you.”

Eve huffs and although I can’t see it, I’m confident it’s accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not sure why. We’ve nothing in common,” she says. “She’s centuries older than me, grew up in Eastgate before joining Celesta’s service. That’s how her mate discovered her.”

“And how do you know all this if not friends?” I ask, earning myself yet another elbow jab.

“Lilith is one of the Moon Temple’s crowning achievements,” Eve drawls wr. “A servant of Celesta to ascend as Sovereign Queen?” She scoffs, swirling her hands about in an ambiguous and flamboyant wave. “Devotees are enamored with her and her whole romantic story.” She sneers the words.

I can’t help but notice the chosen language.

Are and not were.

Meaning Lilith is known beyond the Olloran chapter of Celesta’s devoted. Eve makes it sound like she’s revered across all eight of them. It explains why the High Priestesses were quick to answer Lilith’s letter inquiring if any had heard from or seen my mother.

They haven’t.

And I’m supposed to take them at their word.

“She’s kind, and well-intentioned,” I say, tucking my thoughts away and hoping to assuage Eve before she tumbles into a tirade about the crimson-haired queen. “I’ve not seen maliciousness from her.”

While all true, she’s also eccentric and whimsical and delicate.

Oddly so, might I add. Particularly so for one intent on keeping company with a demon. It’s too easy to make her blush or ruffle her feathers. Though overall, she’s more in line with how I might picture a fae female to be. 

I don’t dislike her.

I simply find her… intense.

Much of the time.

Snagging me by the arm, Eve leads us off road onto a well-concealed path. She releases me in favor of pushing branches with water-laden leaves out of the way.

“Might not be the same ruins then,” Eve says over a shoulder as she forges forward. “I don’t recall there being a cellar.”

It matters little if they’re not.

Simply being out of the castle and city are plenty enough for me. Just as I sit among the rooftops of the North Docks district to watch and observe, I seek to do the same here.

There may not be people bustling about, but there’s still life. And I’m still drawn to observe and admire. There’s an unspoken magic in it all. One largely lost to demons.

The sound of rain falling through leaves provides a soft percussion to the few trilling songbirds hidden among them. And aside from our rustling steps, there’s little else to be heard.

No distant vendor calls, or bartering folk.

Nor are there neighing horses, or heavy boxes being loaded onto carts.

In a miraculously short time, the sights, sounds, scents, and favored spaces of Ollora have become a familiar comfort.

But quiet like this… is peace.

Eve steps aside, holding a bough back as I pass. “Here’s the pond,” she says, letting the branch fling itself back into place.

My steps slow.

The small pond, its surface darkened by the clouds overhead, lies littered with lily pads and their white-fingered blooms. Surrounded by a mixture of verdant deciduous and towering evergreens, the place feels wholly disconnected from the nearby city.

“Ruins are there.” Eve’s pointed hand appears before me, interrupting my view of the quaint pond.

Following her finger, I swing my head left, and the ruins in question come into view.  Much lies hidden amongst wet, waist-high grass, granting only peeks of the time-weathered stone. And as I trudge closer, through the grass, my calves and thighs quickly grow damp.

Between my aged memory and the changes over time, it’s hard to decipher whether these ruins are indeed the same. A thick, hollowed tree has fallen across, coated with bright, soft-appearing moss.

One end of it sits upon a sturdy portion of the wall, giving the tree a rather steep tilt.

I step over a section of the dilapidated stone, relieved to find the grass a fraction of the height. I set to scouring the ground, searching for any evidence of these possibly being the same ruins. Eve appears on my right, and nimbly scrambles up to the highest point of the fallen tree. Seating herself, she turns her stare out over the pond.

“I haven’t been here in damn near two centuries,” Eve says, her voice small, swallowed by the wild. “Used to trek down here all the time and fish, swim, lay in the sun.”

It’s too easy to imagine a young Eve doing all of those things.

“You grew up here? In Ollora?” I ask as I slip carefully toward the lower end of the hollowed tree.

If these are the same ruins, the hole that human fell through would be here, under this end of the tree. That is, if it hasn’t been sealed over by time. Six centuries is plenty passing years for the land to reclaim and mend itself.

“Aye,” Eve says and I can’t help but notice the rueful note in her voice. “Parents had a farm up in North Grove.”

“So close,” I say, mostly to myself.

The North Grove district lies to the east, outside the city walls. Much of it is farmland, visible through many of the east-facing windows of Castle Erus.

Eve huffs a laugh. “No, not anymore. They moved. Sold the farm shortly after I joined the Guild.”

I straighten myself, leveling a confused stare in Eve’s direction. Her eyes meet mine over her shoulder.

“In order to pledge yourself to the Guild of Night, an initiate must kill who they were. They’re expected to embrace who they’re meant to become,” Eve says, but the crease between my brows grows more severe. “Your chapter becomes your immediate family. The Guild your extended.”

She picks at the moss, peeling a small piece from the trunk of the tree. It comes loose and she pinches it between her fingers repeatedly, letting the moss spring back into place before pinching it again.

With a quick snap of her wrist, it flies, and rings appear near the center of the pond.

“Some initiates stage their deaths—that’s what I did,” she says. “Others simply vanish. Either way, all ties an initiate has before the Guild must be severed and a new name taken before membership is granted.”

She huffs a dry, bitter laugh.

Eve’s parents left following the death of their daughter.

“I’ll give Tiarsus one thing,” Eve says, turning her eyes to the pond once again. “He knows how to convince damn near anyone they’ll belong with him. Godsdamned devil.”

Eve has yet to tell me the reason she accepted Druka’s offer, but the more I hear about her time with the Guild of Night, the clearer my theory becomes. And if I’m right, it would be too easy for Druka to offer the promise of revenge.

Eve’s reason isn’t something I’ll blatantly ask.

She’ll share it, or she won’t.

“But you kept in contact with Tarron?” I ask, climbing the tree to join her.

With careful consideration and placement of my cloak, I manage to protect my backside from growing too damp too quickly. Flinging the ends over my legs, I settle in, as protected from the wet moss and the continued rain as I can manage.

“Not at first,” she says and pushes a wet leaf clinging to her boot aside with her toe. “I didn’t reach out to him again until I was made to join Celesta’s service.”

“That had to have been an interesting reunion,” I say and she laughs again, nodding.

“He wanted to kill me,” she says with a grin. “Threatened to come to Ollora and strangle me. And for weeks I waited for him, believing he would. I would after ninety years of believing my friend dead. But he never did.”

Burning with curiosity for the history of the intriguing fae sitting beside me, I ask, “What name did you take?”

I won’t be offended if she doesn’t answer.

I’m not sure I would.

“Eve Willowgrace,” Eve says quietly. With a tight toss of her head she adds, “I can’t go back to who I was before the Guild. Nor do I want to try.”

Curling my arm through hers, I lean against her, resting my head against her shoulder, not caring about the wetness of her cloak. Her subtle scent of jasmine and light musk is quick to greet me.

For an extended time, we simply sit in silence, listening to the rain, the birds, and the occasional bullfrog.

Eve is the first to move. Unwinding her arm from mine, she leaps from her seat, landing gracefully on the grass below.

Turning to me she says, “Rain is about to grow worse.” With a waving hand, she gestures for me to follow.

“How can you tell?” I ask, confused.

She points at the sky behind me.

Heavy, near black clouds drift in a slow crawl toward us.

With a nod and a sigh, I leap.

And as I land, the ground crumbles, ancient wood snaps, and I plummet.

A scream tears itself from my throat, as Eve shouts my name.

Pain streaks up my backside and spine as I land roughly on my ass, jarring my skull and rattling teeth.

That’s guaranteed to leave a bruise.

“Ves?! Ves!” Eve’s voice shouts from above.

Entrenched in darkness, the musty scent of damp dirt threatens to smother me. The sound of my own breathing loud in the dark.

“I’m alright,” I call back, grimacing as I pull myself to a stand.

Peering up, Eve hovers over the jagged, opened ground, rain falling around her. She’s nothing more than a silhouette against a dark gray sky… a silhouette that’s well out of reach.

“What the shit,” she breathes, the words laced with panic.

Silver light blooms as my fingers finish the beckoning runes for a magelight, revealing the cavern I’ve fallen into. I may not have my innate to ferry myself out, but at the very least I know enough old magic not to be left sitting in the dark.

The small, bright orb flies overhead, perching itself high above me.

The ceiling is undoubtedly rotting planks held in place by a few inches of dirt, roots, and grass. The hole I fell through, that I created, is loosely rectangular shaped. It’s no more than the width of two or three planks and roughly equally as long.

As I glance around, the magelight follows my every movement. The cellar is a collection of crumbling stone, dust, dirt, and traces of the home it once was.

What might have been a low, wooden stool lies shattered on the ground—I’m confident it broke my fall. It appears the cellar was once a larger space, a large portion of it collapsed in on itself and buried by centuries of settling dirt.

In the corner of the room, a dingy-white, jawless skull lies upon the floor accompanied by a collection of deteriorating bones.

I heave a long sigh.

“They’re the same ruins,” I drawl flatly, mostly to myself, lifting my gaze once again.

Directly above the skull, the thick end of the tree peeks through the prior existing hole, sealing it completely.

“Throw me your cloak,” Eve orders, stretching a hand down.

Quickly unclasping it despite my mild confusion, I ball it up and hurl it to her. She snags it out of the air and pulls herself out of the hole, vanishing from sight.

“Eve?” I call, trying not to sound concerned.

“Give me a second,” she calls back, her voice more distant than I’d like.

Heaving a sigh, I plant my hands upon my hips.

I’ve little other choice than to wait.

“Of course,” I call back. “I’ll be here when you need me.”

I only partially hear her snarky retort and I can’t help but chuckle.

A wide, supporting stone pillar stands a few feet away, right where Eve had landed. It kept her from falling through.

I could try to climb it, but judging by the deteriorating state of the stone, I risk caving in the rest of this place. Had I my talons, it wouldn’t be an issue—climbing it wouldn’t be much of a struggle at all.

The whole situation serves as yet another reminder: luck favors no demon.

But Nektos will certainly find her humor where she can.

Despite everything, I stand largely uninjured. I’m sure I’ll find a fading bruise or two on my backside later, but I’ll not find the same Fate as the woman who fell in here centuries ago.

A few falling pebbles herald Eve’s return. Shielding my eyes from the debris, I look up in time to see our cloaks, bound together in a rope-like fashion, fall toward me.

It stops short.

By a significant margin.

Were I to leap, I would grasp at air by at least a couple feet.

“Shit,” Eve hisses and she hastily collects the makeshift rope.

Her ice blue eyes dart about. “Is there anything you can—there!” A hand shoots forth, pointing to the corner behind me. “Throw that to me!”

Turning, I spot a dark length of fabric draped over a pile of fallen stone. It looks like a cloak. A rather old and time-worn one. I glance over my shoulder at the skull tucked in the opposite corner. She wasn’t the last to find an end down here, it seems.

Hustling to grab the cloak, my fingers and palm resonate against the material.

I pause, running my thumb over the wispy material. It hums under my touch.

A spelled cloak?

Tilting the material, there’s no flash of old magic silver-blue runes. But it’s certainly imbued with some kind of magic.

I open the cloak.

It’s a simple thing with tarnished silver clasps. Lightweight, much like the cloaks we wore today. But it’s several layers of sheer black, a strange, flamboyant design meant to catch the smallest breeze.

Spelled or not, it looks like it’s going to fall apart.

“Eve, I don’t think this is a good—”

“Stop arguing and give it to me,” Eve demands, interrupting me. “I’m getting you out before your fae stalks you through your bond and appears beside me.”

With a small laugh, I shake my head.

“Just… be careful,” I say, slinging it heavenward. She catches it by the clasp with ease. “I think it’s spelled.”

Her sharp bark of a laugh echoes in the cellar as she ties it to the end of the cloak-rope in her lap. “Let us hope it’s spelled to not turn to dust.”

Before I can respond, the end of the rope hits the ground before me.

“Let’s go,” she says. “I’ll anchor it.”

Not needing to be told twice, I take hold of the rope and begin my ascent. With Eve’s help, I pull myself onto the dirt, lying myself out upon my stomach.

“Let’s not do that again,” Eve says, heaving a relieved sigh.

“Her bones are still down there,” I say softly, turning my cheek to rest it against the damp grass.

“What?” Eve asks, giving me a scrutinous glare.

“The woman I reaped six hundred years ago,” I answer simply.

Eve’s expression softens, transforming to surprise.

“What happened to her?” she asks hesitantly.

“She fell,” I reply rolling onto my back. “Broke her leg pretty badly.”

The rain, now slightly heavier, falls onto my face.

“But she didn’t have an Eve to help her,” I add quietly. “It took her close to a week to die.”

“And you were with her the whole time?” Eve asks, her brows rising.

I nod.

Pulling myself upright, I snatch the rope and unbind the cloaks, slinging the found cloak over my shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks.

“New addition for my collection,” I reply as I stand. I peer down at myself, admiring the whimsicality of the cloak with a few steps and a turn.

It doesn’t seem to buzz against my skin anymore.

With my usual cloak slung over my arm, I meet Eve’s stare, drawing the sheer hood over my less than dry hair.

“You keep collecting random shit like this and you’re going to end up bringing home something you shouldn’t,” Eve retorts with a laugh. “It’s like you insist on testing Fate.”