Interlude VIII – Dal’coler

Leira passed the dark corridors like a ghost. The hallways seemed to try to suffocate her, the magic working in the palace didn’t work on her like on other humans… Lorian made sure that she served well… but it still was heavy like a slice of a stone. She sometimes wondered how all of this is felt by others… others, just dragged here from hunts or entering one of the invisible fairy rings.

She almost forgot how life looked in her youth. And she didn’t try to imagine – she didn’t feel the need to – how it would look like if she was able to return to her own forsaken world. This passage of time was closed for her.

She tried to not think too much about others. They were passing away so quickly – and they were insignificant, butterflies in the world of old souls. The disappeared in a blink, compared to her life here – long, hard… but with a certain dose of satisfaction. Her life turned upside down, in a cruel way, but she came out from it like a moth from a thick cocoon. Her spine became thick, her mind sharp. She could end much worse.

Like this poor fool which now was held under the tree.

She knew she should pity him. But no one was foolish enough to escape Lorian’s service. All knew what happened, and with that knowledge, with magic guarding all passages and Unseelie Fae practically amassing in this place – and if one reached that far, hungry, dark forest outside, which was as vile as the Fae –  it was maybe desperation. But so stupid.

If she was about to end her life, she would do it in a much less painful way.

Her thoughts suddenly drifted to the conversation she just had with Lorian. He was sitting in her mind, all the time, like a beautiful shining sliver. A perfect way to avade Nymre. A perfect way to avade whole world, closing it inside her mind.

When she brought the news, and stood before the oaken door, she felt this pleasant stroke of his intrusion, something most Fae was not aware of. This skill he held hidden; unsuspected, dangerous, deadly for most. Nymre  knew… and her. What an irony of it all… a noble Fae lady… and a slave, a servant… a hidden threat.

“My lord… the guards captured another escaper. I don’t want to interrupt… tell me if I do.”

“You surely interrupt… but you are aware of that, so that’s a perfect excuse. And another brave fool, they never cease to amaze me, in best possible way” was an amused voice in her mind. She could almost see him as he said that. Entertained by possibilities.

She hesitated a bit, but she knew what to tell.

“It’s his fault, my lord. He will scream by his own choice” she didn’t even feel guilty saying so. It was true.

“Oh, definitely” a laughter, pure and tempting. Sweet, like winter pears and sunburn apples. She almost felt it in her veins. “I like when they scream because of me… by their own choice. Especially by their own choice. Then, it’s more enthralling. ”

Good mood… but under it worry, dripping with thick droplets into her mind.

Why?

“Do tell me” she almost felt his smile. “Do you think that my lover would like to hear the news? And hear the willing screams?”

Perhaps she reached point of no return, trying to accept any side of him. Maybe she was now indeed more a Dal’coler child, than a human. It was a possibility she was finding… delicious.

But she knew Lady Nymre would not like that. After so many years, she grew more and more possessive of him, and Leira feared that she may become her prey, out of single jealousy. Or she will try to set Lorian against her. The first option was scary… but the second even worse.

A ghost of Dal’coler.

That pain she felt, back then at night. She doubted it was Lorian, as he didn’t show any signs of anger today. And that brought Lady Nymre in mind.

Nymre’s gaze seemed to follow her with animosity that was almost palpable. She was sure Lorian sees it too, a death in Nymre’s eyes, a promise of violence… but it delights him to be the reason of it.

She wondered if she knew though, that Lorian is a free spirit and can’t be chained. Being under control of a possessive and jealous lover was not in his nature. He surely loved Nymre… but was not her prisoner or a hostage. Leira knew how Lorian’s mind works. Sometimes it shocked her, that she thinks that even better than Nymre. Though it was odd thought. Nymre knew him… deeper, longer. So deep.

Her steps rang soundly, when she entered the tree chamber. The magic here was even stronger, closer to the core of Dal’coler, closer to its heart.

The stained glass windows seem to absorb the wintry light and bring the worst from it. Even her eyes had to adjust to the spellbound gleam that reigned here.

The tree was reaching the ceiling, high above them. The vast, widely spread boughs and branches were brushing the walls, almost biting through them, in a place where it touched the stone, the dark magic left mold and fungi – the only place in the whole palace, where rot was dominating.

The tree was death. It was the most cherished possession of Lorian.

It grew through everything, sipping the energy, replacing it with its own power. And was his favorite – though definitely not only – way to punish runaway slaves.

The man who tried his luck was tangled with the branches, just on the eye level. It seemed that he was unconscious, and Leira guessed it’s because of the aura of this place. It was a decaying aura, which spread on human lands too.

Leira slowly, with a certain sick fascination approached the entrapped human.

She could try to save him. She could try to kill him. But she knew that was not the option. She knew how to survive. And she climbed too high to lose it.

Nothing indicated that he was wounded. Lorian liked them pure like the night sky, before he got under their skin. Leira again tried to pity the man. But long years, long passages of years, made her immune to this kind of pain. It would cause her to lose her mind, if she stayed as weak and empathic – pathetic –  as she was in the beginning.

There were still things that disturbed her.

But not much anymore.

No one did know even half of her importance in Lorian’s hidden life. He still was able to instill fear in her… as much as many other feelings. Feelings that were filling like feast on core apples, bloody, tasty. Cruel and tempting.

But fear was part of Dal’coler. Like blood. Like snow.