Chapter 40: Time travel

My stand-off with the Senator bought us an uneasy, suffocating silence in the cottage.

He ordered his men to withdraw from breaking down the door while he stood down, but he didn't leave.

Senator Bianchi sat on the wooden bench like a king on a throne, his expensive suit out of place in the cottage. His enforcers flanked the door. Julian stood guard by the cellar, fidgeting.

We waited.

For hours, the only sounds were the bubbling of Estava’s cauldron and the muffled noises from below. Vesper’s roars had subsided into low, continuous whimpers. And nobody slept.

Estava worked with agonizing slowness. She added herbs, whispered incantations over the indigo steam, and let the brew cool.

“Yes. It’s fine now,” she finally announced, wiping her hands on her apron. "He’s weak now." She looked at me, her expression grim. "It is time, vessel."

She poured the viscous blue liquid into two clay cups. "Julian, open the door. Slowly."

The Senator stood up immediately. "I am going down there."

"You will stay right here," Estava snapped. "He is raw nerves right now, Thomas. Your scent will send him right back into a feral state. If you want your son back, you will let the girl do what she must."

The Senator looked ready to burn the cottage down, but he sat back down.

Julian threw the deadbolt. He opened the heavy door an inch, peering into the darkness.

"Ves?" Julian whispered.

A low groan answered from the shadows.

We began our descent down the stone stairs. It was freezing in the root cellar. The only light came from the open doorway above.

Vesper was curled in the far corner on the dirt floor. He was naked, shivering violently, his skin smeared with mud and dried blood.

He flinched when we entered, trying to push himself deeper into the stone wall. The terrifying glow was gone.

"Julian," he croaked, his voice wrecked. Then his gaze slid to me.

He didn't snarl like he had earlier. He didn't recoil. He just looked at me with an exhausted expression.

"You came back," he whispered, sounding confused.

"We never left," I said, my voice trembling. I knelt in the dirt a few feet from him. Up close, the damage was loud. Bruises were already blooming on his ribs from throwing himself against the door.

Estava hobbled down the stairs, holding the two clay cups. She handed one to me and crouched beside Vesper. After slicing his arm, and getting his blood, she shook the bottle.

"Drink this, Alpha," she commanded, holding the cup to his cracked lips.

Vesper was too weak to argue. He let her tip the liquid into his mouth. He gagged, shuddering, but swallowed it down. Almost instantly, his shivering intensified, his gray eyes rolling back in his head before snapping back into focus few seconds later, sharper than before.

"What is it?" he gasped, clutching at his chest. "It feels like... like, I can’t describe it."

"It's a time tow," Estava said. She looked at me. "Your turn, girl. Drink deep. And whatever you do, do not let go of the thread of who you are right now. If you forget yourself in the vision, you might never come back."

I looked at the thick blue liquid. It had that coppery smell of blood and algae.

Taking in a deep breath, I drank the liquid.

It was vile, metallic and bitter, burning all the way down. As soon as I did, Estava began pouring a white powder around us, and placed a candle at either end of us.

Vesper and I remained within the circle as she chanted in an unrecognized language. The powder began glowing, shining a bright blue.

The world tilted immediately. The damp smell of the cellar vanished, replaced by the scent of burning incense and jasmine. The cold stone floor under my knees began feeling like polished marble.

Darkness rushed in at the edges of my vision. I heard Vesper groan beside me, felt him slump over onto the dirt.

"Find the root," Estava’s voice echoed, sounding very far away. "Find the beginning."

I closed my eyes, and the darkness swallowed me whole.

When I opened them again, I realized I wasn't in a cellar.

I was standing on a balcony overlooking a city made of white stone and glittering blue domes, bathed in the hard light emanating from the sun. Below, an army was arrayed outside the city walls, thousands of soldiers in bronze armor that shone like fire.

I looked down at myself. I wasn't wearing jeans and a jacket. I was draped in heavy silks the color of deep amethyst, embroidered with gold thread that scratched my skin. Heavy golden cuffs weighed down my wrists.

I knew this place. It was my home. And I knew who I was. I was Princess Sylvania of the High Citadel. And I was terrified.

The heavy thud of armored boots approaching behind me made me stiffen. I didn't turn. A presence filled the space on the balcony—massive, imposing, radiating an aggressive, warlike heat that was entirely familiar.

"The city is surrounded, Princess," a deep voice rumbled. It wasn't Vesper’s voice—it was deeper, rougher, accented with a harsh, foreign language. "My generals grow impatient. They want to breach the gates before nightfall."

I turned slowly.

It was Vesper. And it wasn't.

He was broader, his skin bronzed by a harsher sun, covered in scars that peeked out from under leather armor intricately tooled with wolf motifs. He wore a heavy indigo cloak fastened with a silver brooch shaped like a snarling wolf's head.

His eyes were the same stunning green, but there was no softness in them. They looked like the eyes of a conqueror who had burnt kingdoms to ash without blinking.

He was Vesper, the Cyan Scourge. The warlord who had been threatening my borders for three winters.

The pull toward him was instantaneous, a tug in my gut that had nothing to do with magic bonds and everything to do with primal recognition. But it was warring with intense, rigid fear.

"You promised a parlay, Warlord," I said, my voice steady—a voice I didn't recognize as my own. "Yet your army stands ready to slaughter my people."

He stepped closer, invading my personal space, smelling of horse, leather, and dried blood. He towered over me.

"I promised a parlay if you met my terms," he said, his gaze dropping to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The air between us thickened, charged with a dangerous, suffocating electricity. It was hatred, and it was desire, sharp as a knife’s edge.

"Your terms are unacceptable," I replied, lifting my chin.

He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. He reached out, his rough, calloused hand tilting my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His thumb brushed my lower lip, a possessive gesture that made my breath hitch.

"You are in no position to refuse me, Sylvania," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "I could take this city, and you along with it, by force before the moon rises. I am offering you a mercy."

"Mercy?" I pulled away from his touch, trembling with rage. "You demand the surrender of the Citadel’s greatest treasure in exchange for peace. That is extortion."

His expression hardened. The conqueror returned, cold and ruthless.

"It is necessary. The treasure you hoard is a poison that will destroy not just your city, but the entire realm if left unchecked. You are too blind with familial loyalty to see it."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his green eyes burning.

"Give me your sister," he commanded. "Give me Hera, and I will spare your city."