CHAPTER 170

CHAPTER 170
The wind howled louder that night.

It drummed upon the cabin like a creature seeking to enter. no pattern, no sympathy, only the unceasing, scouring blows that made the window panes creak. Emerald sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the hearth, her hands folded in her lap, the jar sitting quietly beside her.

Neither flower was different.

There they suspended lifeless in still water as dead tongues.

She'd never dreamt again. Never slept with her eyes shut. Patrolled the walls to keep awake, read the old books, gazed into the flames until the shapes burned into the lids of her eyes.

And as the wind howled, something else grew stronger.

Not outside.

inside

A pressure. A humming. A faint tremor beneath the floorboards and once again deeper. beneath her skin.

The gash across her palm had darkened. Not the black and blue of a bruise. but deeper red, the color of dried blood drawn into a rune. It was alive when she placed the jar on it, as if beckoning her, or cautioning.

She wasn't certain what frightened her the most.

The butler had been quiet hours earlier. She imagined him somewhere in the back rooms, sharpening knives or studying star charts. He rarely said a word beyond what was necessary, but his new quiet seemed something conspiratorial.

She stood, shaking the dust from her shawl. Her arms shook at the exertion, and her breath fogged in the cold. The fire wasn't enough tonight.

Her hand crept toward the jar.

Her heart raced.

She removed the lid slowly.

No heat. No smell.

Nothing but the faint give of glass between what had once been a living thing and the air of the room.

Its two petals were loose.

And beneath them, something glistened.

Not a petal.

Not a leaf.

A third figure.

Little.

White.

She nearly dropped the jar.

There had only been two.

She knew that. She  knew  that.

Now, wedged tightly into the curve of the glass was something pale and curled. paper folded tight.

She placed the jar on the ground trembling.

Pulled back.

She couldn't tear her eyes away.

There was something about the third shape. it wasn't right. It wasn't part of the original flower. Unlike the others.

She stretched out.

Her fingers trembled while slipping into the water.

The moment her flesh made contact with the new shape, pain flared through her nerves.

She jerked back in shock. The jar tipped over, water splashing all over the floor. The petals slipped after it, limp now. Dead.

The third piece stuck to her fingertips.

Not paper.

Not plant.

Parch

With an inscription burned into it in pin-sized letters.

She slowly opened it.

The ink wasn't ink. it glistened like old blood and oil would.

It read:

When the third petal appears, the roots are no longer in the state of dormancy. Don't hear the voice under the mirror. If the voice speaks again, close your eyes. She's a liar.

Emerald's mouth went dry.

The room darkened.

The hearth crackled and went out.

She believed for a while it was dying.

Rather, the fire turned awry.

A blue tongue darted from the wood.

Then a figure.

A face.

She stepped back. Her shoulder bumped against the wall.

The flames curled into the emaciated, female visage. a face familiar to her but not quite recognizable. Sunken eyes. Chapped lips. Peeling skin the color of ash.

"Little sister," the crooning sounded from within the fire.

She screamed and hurled the jar into the flames.

The petals ripped apart in the fire like leaves in autumn.

The face vanished.

Silence dominated the room.
She fell to her knees, gasping.

The butler didn't materialize.

Nobody showed up.

Nothing but the wind outside, the message searing at the back of her eyes.

To the north, Joel awoke.

He wasn't sleeping. Not really.

He had not slept for three nights.

He lay sprawling, instead, on cold rock in a dug-out den beneath the stronghold, a wolves' form drawn in ash around him.

His chest ached.

Not from tiredness.

Far away.

Something had struck Emerald.

He sensed now, just as he sensed her breath in winter, the beat of her heart when she leaned too close at night.

But it was not.

That was moving.

Incorrect.

He reached to the small pouch at his waist.

Inside: a piece of a ritual bloodstone, worn during the last rebellion by Lena. It radiated a subdued heat now. feeling something.

He got to his feet slowly.

His footfalls rang out as he stepped into the chilly hallway.

Lazaro greeted him at the map table, his cloak streaming with ice.

She placed her hand on the third sign.

The second Alpha nodded. "Now the ritual has commenced."

He pounded the rock with his fist. "I cautioned her not to open the jar again."

"You never explained to her why."

Joel scowled. "Would you have believed me, had you been her?"

Lazaro said nothing.

Joel hunched over.

“She’s alone.”

She has the butler.

He's not adequate.

He filled two cups to the rim with a thick liquid. One for Joel. One for him. "You can return tomorrow."

Too late.

She's tough.

Joel looked towards the window where the snow covered everything in icy stillness.

"So was Lena."

Emerald lay awake.

Not particularly.

And then, abruptly, she blinked. and the cabin wasn't there.

She again stood in the woods.

Naked

The cold never bit her toes. The wind never bit her lungs.

Snow in our area wasn't white.

It was red.

Shot thin with blood.

And underneath, the petals.

Dozens upon dozens.

Each pulsed feebly

She took a step forward. The trees around her groaned. Each of their trunks featured a different rune. Some of these, she recognized from ancient books. Some she'd seen marked on her body.

And one.

Sat on Joel's back.

She headed towards it.

Behind her, a mirror rose into being, emerging from the earth.

She looked at her face.

But it was  wrong.

This version of her featured black veins running along her neck. Silver eyes. She had her mouth sewn shut.

The Emerald glass was stretched, fingers skimming the surface.

And whispered along the curves of her lips:

“ Too late. ”

Emerald screamed.

Everything blew up.

She was suddenly awakened in the cabin.

Drenched in sweat.

The flames were gone.

The butler stood beside her, his eyes narrowed.

He asked, "What did you see?"

She was speechless.

He provided her with a letter.

He delivered, he insisted, right before she screamed.

Again, Joel's seal.

I felt it. I am heading home.

Don't speak to her when she returns. Not even in dreams.

I am coming with fire. And blood.

Emerald looked up at the butler.

Her voice was hollow when she was heard.

She's at it again, isn't she? He nodded slowly. And for the first time ever since she had known him, he appeared frightened.