Chapter 19: The First Fracture
Chapter 19: The First Fracture
“Don’t trust the prince!” Evelyn’s own scream echoed as the portal’s vortex spat them into Rosehaven’s gardens, the air sweet with roses and cut grass, sunlight warm on her skin. Her rune burned, a sharp sting in her palm, the ground soft under her boots. The wedding was days away, she could smell the lavender in the garlands, hear the clink of servants’ trays. Tristan landed beside her, coughing blood, his amulet glowing blue, its runes flickering wildly, the scent of his sweat and iron sharp.
“Evelyn, stay low!” he hissed, pulling her behind a hedge, its leaves prickling her hands. His face was pale, bruises pulsing on his neck, his breath ragged. “We’re in the past, before the cliff. Look.
Evelyn peered through the hedge, her heart lurching. Her past self stood on a stone path, radiant in a silk gown, auburn hair braided with pearls, laughing with a maid. She was naïve, blind to Rowan’s betrayal, her smile a knife in Evelyn’s chest. “I have to warn her,” Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling, her dagger drawn, its rose sigil warm. She stepped out, the grass crunching, her form shimmering like a ghost.
“Listen to me!” she shouted, her voice echoing, the air rippling. Her past self froze, eyes wide, the maid gasping. “Rowan will betray you! Don’t trust him!” Evelyn’s rune flared, hot as a brand, but her past self clutched her head, shaking it.
“A nightmare,” her past self murmured, her voice soft, dismissing Evelyn as a specter. “Just a bad dream.” She turned away, the maid fussing, the garden’s warmth mocking Evelyn’s failure.
Evelyn lunged, her hand passing through her past self, the air resisting like water. “No!” she cried, her rune searing, tears stinging her eyes. “You have to listen!” The garden blurred, time pushing back, the scent of roses now cloying, choking her.
Tristan grabbed her arm, his grip weak but sharp, blood flecking his lips. “You can’t change it like this!” he said, his voice hoarse, the amulet trembling in his hand. “Time’s too strong, needs a blood rite, like Morgana said.” He coughed, doubling over, the hedge’s thorns snagging his cloak.
Evelyn steadied him, her hands shaking, the rune’s heat fading to a dull ache. “Then show me something I can use,” she demanded, her voice fierce, the air thick with lavender and regret. “Where’s Rowan? I need to see him.”
Tristan nodded, his breath labored, raising the amulet, its blue pulse guiding them to the garden’s edge. Rowan stood by a fountain, his golden hair glinting, his velvet cloak brushing the grass. He spoke to a cloaked figure, slipping a letter into his sleeve, his smile tight, calculated. Evelyn’s rune flared, her anger surging, his deceit was there, subtle but clear, the letter’s wax seal bearing Azrael’s red claw.
“He was planning it even then,” she hissed, gripping her dagger, its blade glinting, the fountain’s splash loud in her ears. “That letter, what’s in it?” She stepped closer, the grass soft, but Tristan yanked her back, his cough wet, blood staining his chin.
“We can’t stay!” he gasped, the amulet flickering, the garden blurring at the edges. “The portal’s collapsing, takes too much to hold!” His knees buckled, the air humming with strain, the scent of roses fading to marsh rot.
“I need more!” Evelyn shouted, pulling against him, her rune burning, desperate to chase Rowan, to rip the letter from his hands. The ground trembled, time cracking, the fountain’s water slowing to a drip. “Let me go!”
Tristan clutched her wrist, his fingers cold, and pressed the amulet, its runes blazing. “We’re done!” he yelled, the world dissolving into a rush of shadow and fog, the portal’s pull yanking them back. They landed in the marshes, the ground sucking at their boots, the air thick with stagnant water and buzzing insects, the portal’s glow fading behind them.
Evelyn staggered, her vision swimming, the rune pulsing weakly. “You stopped me!” she snapped, shoving Tristan, his cloak damp with marsh muck, the stench of rot heavy. “I could’ve learned something!”
“You’d have died!” he shot back, coughing blood, his face pale as bone, the amulet dim in his hand. “I’m barely holding on, Evelyn!” Before she could reply, a snarl cut the air, and her rune flared, hot as a coal.
Wraiths, dozens, cloaked, Azrael’s red claw sigils glowing, swarmed from the fog, their blades green, their eyes red, the stench of decay overwhelming. “They’re drawn to the portal!” Tristan shouted, raising the amulet, a weak blue pulse scattering two wraiths, but more closed in, their hisses like breaking glass.
Evelyn drew her sword, its steel glinting, and slashed a wraith, her rune surging gold, repelling another. “Keep them off!” she yelled, her blade clashing, sparks flying, the fog swirling with each swing. Her arms burned, the rune draining her, but she fought, the ground trembling under the wraiths’ advance.
Tristan chanted, his voice fading, the amulet’s light faltering. A wraith lunged, its claws seizing his arm, dragging him toward a second portal that opened, its vortex swirling with red light, crackling like a storm. “Evelyn!” he screamed, his boots sliding in the mud, blood streaming from his mouth.
“No!” Evelyn dove after him, her sword dropping, her rune blazing as she grabbed his hand, the wraith’s claws cold against her skin. The portal’s pull sucked them in, the fog vanishing, the air roaring, her scream lost as they tumbled into the unknown.