Three shadows leapt down from the marble balcony, landing silently on the courtyard. The spell Princess Aoife cast was remarkably simple, much more so than Daith’s protective spell. Her golden mana enveloped all three of them, allowing them to descend at a feather’s pace.
As soon as their feet touched the ground, they dashed towards the stables, as silently as they could. Thankfully, in this remote castle that had probably never been attacked, the guards weren’t as well disciplined as they first seemed. All of them had dozed off on their posts, their heads hanging as they leaned against the walls.
Ash kept his eyes on the ground – the dark blue and crimson mana seemed to be writhing within the large stone slabs paving the courtyard, and its movements made his hairs rise. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was controlled by a person…
They reached the stables within a few breaths’ time and leaned against the wall by the entrance to peek inside.
A single stableboy was slowly shovelling hay with an apathetic expression. His skin was pale, his veins visible on his arms. His tattered clothes had some dark coloured stains and holes on them. Ash couldn’t help but feel sorry – his expression was one he wore many times as well. He slowly turned around as his work took him to the far side of the stables. Princess Aoife didn’t miss her chance. As soon as the stableboy turned his back to them, she extended her hand, converging her mana in her palm.
A moment later, the ball of mana flew off to the stableboy, hitting him in the back of his head. He staggered, waddling a few steps forward.
“Did you go too easy on him?” Prince Daith asked with a whisper. She shook her head, her brows furrowed and her lips forming a thin, pale line. The stableboy touched the back of his head, where she hit him.
“We don’t have time for this,” Daith hissed. His golden mana leapt forward in thick threads, wrapping the boy’s arms and legs, and covering his mouth. Ash scowled as he watched him fall down helplessly, without even trying to put up a struggle. “Let’s go.” Daith grabbed his and the Princess’ arms, dragging them towards the horses.
As they saddled the horses in a hurry, Ash kept shooting glances at the restrained stableboy. For some reason, the boy seemed unbothered by all of this, just laying there on the ground without even a hint of a struggle. It was odd, and he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.
As soon as the horses were saddled, they hopped on, and rode out of the stable, waking the guards up with the galloping of the horses.
“Stop!” The guards shouted, summoning their mana, or aiming their bows, but by the time they reacted, the group had already reached Castle Myrkur’s gate. Princess Aoife’s mana reached out in a bright net, enveloping the gates, and forcing them to open as they galloped past the two confused guards, into the dark night.
They travelled throughout the night, rested for a few hours once the Spire kindled, then moved forth once more towards Bhaile-Morn, albeit at a slower, more sustainable pace as to not harm their mounts. They were silent for most of the way, until they paused once more for the night, taking shelter near a lake in a grass and clover covered cove.
Ash cared for the horses, removing their saddles and bridles to let them comfortably graze. They were beautiful and well cared for horses. It broke his heart to push them to their limits. He heard the rustle of grass and footsteps behind him as he removed the bridle from the third horse – a beautiful, dark brown stallion with black mane and tail.
“You’ve looked after horses before?” Princess Aoife asked as she circled around him, and gently stroke the stallion’s mane. Ash nodded. “Only a few times, when the baron came by to inspect the fields.” His family didn’t own any horses of course. Only the wealthy or the powerful did, or those in the military. Feeding and caring for horses was quite expensive after all.
The Princess pursed her lips, her golden gaze watched his every move as he placed the bridle and saddle next to the others. It was somewhat uncomfortable. “Is there something wrong?” He finally asked.
“Well,” Princess Aoife brushed her hair back. “Yes. You are quite oblivious to the world beyond Serna, aren’t you?”
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Ash jolted. “I never got the chance to see beyond it.” He shot her a sharp glance. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend the first twenty years of his life in a remote little village. He had even begged that enforcer to take him along, away from Serna, all those years ago. He still remembered that day clearly.
“Fair.” Princess Aoife pursed her lips. Her gaze drifted off as she pondered a while. “I’ll assume you’re telling the truth, for now.” She walked up to the lake, her hands joined behind her back, and leaned forward, watching her reflection.
“The Empire of Parth-Ilathar isn’t all there is to this world, did you know that?”
Ash scowled. “I know about the demons to the north.” He walked up to her. “Is that what you mean?”
She shook her head. “Many millennia ago, before the Empire was founded, the world was barren of structures and civilisations. The beings you call demons – the Duskborn – were the first to build a kingdom. Behind them, the Twilit followed.” She turned around to face him.
“Golden hair, blue eyes, pale skin.” She pointed at Ash. “You are the spitting image of the Twilit – the desert people who lived just beneath the Spire of Kindling.”
Ash scowled. “People lived in the Crimson Sands?”
Princess Aoife nodded with a faint smile on her lips. “Of course – the Crimson Sands are charged with mana, or so legends say.” She sat on the grass, then pat the ground next to her. “Sit,” She offered.
“Quite a few hundred years after the Twilit people had built their own civilisation in and around the Spire, my ancestors founded our empire. Later, a small group of Twilit joined, becoming one of the noble branches of the Empire – they were incredibly powerful mages, and led my ancestors towards the path of ascension as well.” Her brows furrowed. “They slowly faded away though – it was rare for a twilit child to be born, and their numbers just kept dwindling. I think only one twilit family remained, and their last heir – a beautiful and skilled enchantress – was sentenced to death about twenty years ago.”
Ash flinched. “What did she do?” The image of a small child’s body being buried reignited in his mind. Was it a ‘crime’ like that, he couldn’t help but wonder.
“She studied Dark Magic.” Princess Aoife threw a small stone across the lake’s surface, startling the horses and the fish in the lake. “Magic of the soul is forbidden – she practiced it and used it on herself. Had she not been executed, she would have become a demon anyways.”
Doubts surfaced in his mind as he listened to the Princess. What did becoming a demon even mean?
“Soul magic changes the mana of the person who uses it.” Princess Aoife elaborated. “It becomes black as the night, it is a corruption that touches the very soul of the mage.” Her golden gaze turned on Ash. “Did you see any pitch black mana in Castle Myrkur, Ash?”
The young man scowled. Pitch black mana, as dark as the night… He tried to remember. “I’m not sure.” He eventually muttered. There were darker spots in the floating mana – some were black, some were dark grey. But was that really soul magic? If he said yes, would that result in Lord Galdron’s execution?
What if he made a mistake? What if he didn’t see, just remembered wrong? Could he really answer her question with a clear conscience?
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “The mana was overwhelming – too many colours, too many lights, too many flashes when different colours clashed.” He made a vague, meaningless gesture with his hands. “There were dark spots, there were incredibly bright flashes. I can’t say if any of it was actually soul magic, or whatever it’s called.”
Princess Aoife scowled. “I see. That stableboy – did you see any mana around him?” She didn’t seem entirely content with his answer. Did she want Lord Galdron to be studying dark magic? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, there was an attempt at her life, after all. He shook his head again, this time with certainty. There was no mana around the stableboy aside from the Prince’s spell.
They sat in silence for a short while. The Princess seemed deep in thought. Her gaze was wandering in the distance, clearly thinking of some faraway place. “Why did you tell me all this about the Twilit?” He blurted out as the question surfaced in his mind.
Princess Aoife chuckled. “Because I don’t believe you are who you claim to be.”
Ash’s eyes widened. “You still don’t trust me?!” He exclaimed, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. Both her and Daith had told to his face they didn’t trust him.
Her lips curled up with a hint of amusement. “Well… I do trust you. As in, I believe you know exactly as much as you claim to know. But I don’t believe what you know is necessarily the truth.” She pointed at his hair. “Golden hair doesn’t exist in the Empire. The Twilit were extremely careful – they didn’t have children with the people of the Empire. So either you are some odd mutation, or your birth parents aren’t who they say they are.” With that, she stood up. “Daith is back, let us eat.”
Ash lingered by the lakeside a while longer as the Princess’ words sank in. His father was bald, and his mother apparently was a beautiful woman – that was all his stepmother had told him.
“Ash!” The Princess’ called out as he sat there, lost in thought. The Twilit – it was a nice dream, to be special. But he didn’t think Princess Aoife was right. He looked at his hands, and stroke the back of his right hand, over the glove that covered his scarred skin.
“Ash!” She called his name again, prompting him to get up. He put up a neutral expression, and joined the two royal siblings for dinner, which consisted of a freshly slain beast. They skinned it, then cooked it on a flame the princess created. By the time they had finished eating, the last light of the Spire had vanished. They used their cloaks as blankets, huddling near the well-hidden flame for warmth.