When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 240

It takes Reshma only a second to realise I have stopped moving.

“Serena?” she whispers tentatively, prodding my arm with a bony finger, but I do not hear her. Instead my whole body is entranced- my feet trapped against the ground like a fly in a spider’s web, simultaneously captivated and entranced by the beasts before it. The beasts before me look quite different to a spider, however.

We are lucky the corridor is empty, otherwise there might have just been a massacre. If Azrael caught wind that these creatures have been lurking about ‘his’ palace… Well, he would double their defences, and his watch on me. But these ancient creatures are otherworldly, not chained by the mortal restrictions of magic or a flimsy magical barrier that bars all others from entry to this place. They come and go through the shadows as they please, which is precisely what makes them so dangerous.

Follow.

“Serena what are you-”

Reshma nearly jumps out of her skin in fright as she notices the creatures before us. Clamping my hand ever her mouth to silence her, I make a harsh shushing sound, cutting through the air with my palm for quiet. We cannot afford to be spotted. Not now.

“Quiet,” I hiss sharply. “They are friends.”

But with red stained eyes and beating shadowy tails, the two wolves pace at the end of the corridor hardly appear friendly- or even remotely amiable. But that is to be expected from these beasts of hell. With giant paws beating against the ground impatiently, they give a low whine in unison, jerking their heads for me to follow.

But I don’t do so instantly, finding myself star struck and in awe that these curious creatures have managed to seek me out so promptly. These are Soren’s wolves- a shadow extension of his power, his hell beasts if you will. I had seen them last down in the maze when he brought out a picture for the wolves to sniff: they had disappeared after that and I had thought little of it for it was likely a matter not of my concern. Yet now they strand forebodingly at the end of this corridor, their eyes sparking with a wild, dark crimson, tongues slobbering, tails wagging, as though desiring to catch my attention.

All at once I get a very stupid, very dangerous idea.

“Serena,” whispers Reshma by my side, so lowly that I almost don’t catch it. Nervously, she presses her body up close to mine, eyeing the two creatures with a wary suspicion, as though half expecting them to start racing down the hall towards us and swallow us whole.

But they won’t. I know them well enough that the only people they ever intend on swallowing whole are traitors and liars, and scummy little brothers who attempt to steal your soul. They have a rather… niche appetite.

“What are they?” Reshma whispers beside me through clenched teeth, a slight quiver to her form as she rests herself against me. But her words remain blurred in my mind, a jumble of noises with no meaning, droned out by the compelling gaze of those ruby eyes.

And so I do not answer.

Gulping down any residual hesitation, I slowly begin to pace forward, alighting the wolves’ eagerness. The two of them perk up, tails wagging as their ears prick to attention. Bounding back and forth across the end of the corridor, they give a little yip, a voice tinkling in my head at the sound:

Follow. We have news.

“Serena,” Reshma repeats more harshly this time, her fingers latching onto my shoulders tightly, but I barely feel it. “Serena please, what are they?”

This time, I manage to bring myself enough out of my daze to answer.

“They are my husband’s representatives. They are an extension of his power, his hell hounds from the depths of hell. He ordered them to do something the last time I saw him. I think I just figured out what.”

And, I add silently to myself, eyeing the lumbering creatures before me.  I think I have just figured out what I can use them for, too.

Smiling slightly, at last a weight seems to lift off my mind. At last, I might have a safe way to communicate with Soren. I know hell hounds aren’t notoriously famed for being a messaging service but… I think just this once Soren can let that slide.

As I continue to walk forward, Reshma surveys me with a series of darting looks.

“Husband?” she asks, then stops realising exactly who I mean. “Serena I don’t think this is a good idea. What if its a trap? What if they take you straight to Azrael? I know you aren’t supposed to be under a full trance like everyone else here, but there is no way you will be able to explain this to Azrael if he catches you. You could-”

But its too late, my mind is already set. Heart racing, I rocket off down the corridor, my feet moving automatically beneath me as I race forward in pursuit, the twin wolves speeding ahead, their feet barely touching the ground.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins, my feet propelled to an endless non fatiguing run as I leap down hallways after the wolves. It may be stupid and reckless, following these hell hounds at top speed around the palace, but there is something inside me the ensures me that everything is going to be alright. Reshma does her best to catch up, calling out to me, her hand extended, her eyes wide with an unforetold fear. But by the time she reaches the next corridor to come after me, I am already gone.

***

I barely even register where I am going as I trail the wolves out of the palace and through the forests that enclose the palace in their wintery branches. Fortunately, I have the luck not to run into anyone along the way. That is likely because it is lunch time, and by the sound of the music that blares from the heart of the palace, Azrael has decided to host a ball for his bewitched servants. And for his own amusement. There would be no one thwarting my plans this time around.

So I continue to run, content in the knowledge that Azrael will not busy himself with my business and praying with crossed fingers that he will remain distracted by the ball long enough that he will forget to come looking for me this evening.

But whatever happens, I cannot let this opportunity escape me. Not now I know what they are here for.

The loud, thrumming music dies away as I traipse my way deeper into the black forest and towering, luminescent flowers. I find myself chuckling spitefully over the most peculiar notion- that Azrael has simply created a parody of Sezeria here. The finery, the clothes, the parties, the lavish lifestyle, all of it is wholly reminiscent to the way Soren ran his palace in Sezeria, a combination of majesty and fun with a strict undertone of authority and power running throughout. Soren’s rule was many things when I first met him, but the one thing he was not, was unreasonably evil. He punished those in the way the law and traditions demanded of him, and had no stomach for treachery as any good ruler should not, but it was his empathy and willingness to spare chances that made him the ruler that people would respect. With Dawn, with Fangorn, with Ithuriel. With me.

Soren may have ruled with an element of fear, but he had love.

But Azrael cannot even spare that for his ‘people’. The only control he will ever have over them is the control that he glamoured into their minds, and even that appears to be crumbling. He has no real power, the only thing he can rule by is brute force. And once that is gone, there will be nothing left for him.

Maybe if I am lucky it will start crumbling soon.

I am drawn back to reality when the two shadowy wolves trail to a halt at a glen where a river parts through the land in a trickling stream, glistening an iridescent black. It is dark, very dark. Under such a thick canopy of trees and the eternal stars that grace the enchanted skies of the Faeries realm, my only source of light is the glow of fireflies and the murmuring brightness of the luminescent flowers and mushrooms that wriggle under the influence of the night breeze. It is only midday, but the sky forever remains a deep purple. Here, the faeries world is trapped under a blanket of eternal stars where parties and revels and magical orgies can be held long into the night.

The tales of such events are, as always, notorious.

The two shadowy hounds voice a gruff growl, their tails sweeping up the leaves beneath them as they circle the glen. The darkness that haunts three features blends into the surroundings so seamlessly that I almost seem to loose them with each step they take, the only notion of their existence being the creeping red glow that trails from their eyes.

It appears they are waiting.

For what, exactly, I am not sure if I want to find out.