CHAPTER 137 Veiled Roads

CHAPTER 137 Veiled Roads
Evie

I didn’t move for a long time.

I just sat in my bed, knees drawn up beneath the blanket, listening to Maverick’s soft snoring from the narrow mattress beside mine. It was uneven, slightly off rhythm, the sound of someone truly asleep. Unaware. Unafraid.

That sound mattered more than it should have. It meant I hadn’t wandered so far that I couldn’t find my way back.

Outside, the monastery was already awake.

Stone carried sound in peculiar ways at dawn. Soft footfalls echoed through distant halls. Chanting murmured through stone, low and rhythmic. Somewhere nearby, fire crackled—gentle, steady, alive.

Simple sounds.

I held on to them like lifelines.

I was awake. I was whole. I was here. Not a ghost drifting through someone else’s thoughts. Not a shadow trapped in a dream that wasn’t mine.

I pinched my arm hard enough to sting. Pain flared—sharp and immediate.

Good.

I didn’t touch air. I felt skin, warm and real.

And yet my chest still burned, deep and insistent, as though something had reached inside me and rearranged the pieces.

That hadn’t been a dream.

Dreams blurred. They slipped away no matter how desperately you tried to hold on. This hadn’t faded at all. It clung to me with ruthless clarity.

The witches’ voices. Belladonna’s cold, measuring gaze. Draven's escape. The sound of Agatha’s hands scraping against walls that didn’t exist—and yet wouldn’t move.

The maze.

Agatha was trapped in a maze. Not of stone—but of thought.

I swung my legs off the bed, feet sliding into slippers, and dressed quickly. A plain, ankle-length tunic hung in the open cabinet. I pulled it over my head, relieved when it draped loosely over my growing belly. Anonymous. Monk-like. Safe from questions.

I shrugged into the heavy wool robe and tied my hair back.

Before leaving, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to Maverick’s forehead. Then I moved toward the one person who could make sense of what I’d seen.

Master Sengal.

By the time I stepped into the corridor, dawn had claimed the monastery. Pale gold light filtered through narrow windows, illuminating prayer flags and carved stone smooth by centuries of touch.

A monk passed me, bowing politely. His calm felt unreal.

They lived quietly here. Peacefully. Together. Bound by purpose and trust.

I envied them.

I had been like that once.

I had a best friend—someone I would have sacrificed everything for. Someone I loved. Someone I wanted to protect. Then he tried to frame me. And when that failed, he turned me into prey in his twisted games.

My mother had been gentle. Kind. Incapable of cruelty—or so I’d believed. Aurelia was dead because of her. Mama Agnes too. Wolves had been collared, broken, treated like livestock because she helped create the very tools that enslaved them.

And now an organization wanted my children. Their blood. To shatter old treaties like they were nothing more than nuisance.

My life was not quiet. It was not peaceful.

It was a battlefield I never chose.

I found Master Sengal in the upper courtyard, seated cross-legged at the edge where the mountain fell away into cloud. Steam curled from the cup in his hands.

He didn’t look surprised when I stopped before him.

“You walked the Veiled Roads in your sleep,” he said gently.

He knew.

I swallowed. “I saw things, Master Sengal. Heard things. I ended up halfway around the world.”

He nodded once. “Yes.”

“The Covenant,” I said, my voice tightening. “The three witches who attacked us—they’re alive. Hiding in Scotland. They’re looking for Draven.”

Another nod. Slower.

“And Agatha,” I whispered. “She’s trapped. Arnold Blackthorn built something inside her mind. A maze. It's feeding off her confusion.”

Sengal finally looked at me—really looked. His eyes sharpened, the calm cutting into something precise and dangerous.

“You crossed far,” he said. “Farther than you should have.”

Here we go again with the metaphors. "What do you mean? Are they visions? Dreams? Or was I hijacked?"

“What you experienced,” he said at last, “was not prophecy.”

My face fell. “So it wasn’t real?”

“Oh, it was real,” he replied calmly. “But it was not the future. It was the present.”

My eyes widened.

“You weren’t shown what might be,” Sengal continued. “You saw what is. That is what makes it dangerous.”

“Because they could sense me,” I said quietly.

“Yes.”

I exhaled shakily. “Belladonna almost did.”

“Because you are not a passive dreamer,” he said. “You didn’t observe. You entered.”

A cold realization hit me. “And because I entered, they can track me.”

"Eventually,” he confirmed. “Especially witches skilled in mind and threshold magic.”

I thought of the shimmering painting. The moment the castle had noticed me.

It was a ward.

“I didn’t mean to,” I said. “I just fell asleep.”

Sengal’s mouth curved into something like sorrow. “Sleep is no longer a closed door for you, Evie.”

“What is happening to me, Master Sengal? What am I becoming?” I asked.

He set the cup aside with careful grace. “You are becoming what Sybil was.”

“Sybil was a powerful white witch,” he continued. “She often served as a bridge. Between places that do not wish to touch. Between waking and dreaming. Between power and consequence.”

“I don’t want power. What I want are answers,” I said fiercely. “How to free Agatha. How to save Draven. How to make my mother see that what she's doing is wrong.”

“And you will find those answers,” Sengal said. “But not by rushing into currents you do not yet know how to swim.”

So much to learn, so little time. I wish there was a spell to make me into a sponge.

"Then teach me," I said.

"Traning has a cost, Evie."

"So does ignorance," I argued. "If I was told I was a descendant of Sybil, then I would've learned how to cast first before learning how to ride a bike."

He didn't answer.

I drew a steadying breath. “If you don’t help me, I’ll brew a dreamless sleep draught and shut this down myself.”

That finally earned a reaction.

He studied me for a long moment, then stood.

“Very well,” he said. “But understand this—once you walk the Veiled Roads with intent, you will leave footprints.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he said softly, eyes grave, “that the next time you enter their world… they may enter yours.”

I frowned. “Wait. I’ve had visions before. Is it possible they used the Veiled Roads on me first? That’s why I can slip into their minds now?”

Sengal’s brows lifted—then drew together.

“Morgana,” he muttered. “She knew you were untrained. She knew you trusted the witch in your home.”

He turned sharply. “We must search Arnold’s abode. I will wake the others.”

Then he stopped.

“The orb,” he said slowly. “The All-Seeing Orb. Do you know where it is?”

I searched my memory. “I only saw it once. The day Arnold arrived. It was in a leather tote bag.”

Sengal closed his eyes.

Dread carved itself into his face.

“If Morgana has the orb,” he said quietly, “we are already behind.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me.

“And time,” he added, “is no longer on our side.”