Chapter 5: The Messenger’s Plea
“Gavyn, you ride faster than the wind itself, can you outrun shadows?” Evelyn’s voice was sharp as she pressed the sealed letter into the courier’s calloused hand. The study’s air was thick with the scent of old parchment and smoldering wax, the fire in the hearth spitting embers that danced across the oak floor. Her rune-marked palm throbbed, still raw from the raven’s eerie stare moments ago.
Gavyn, wiry and sun-browned, gave a curt nod, his leather jerkin creaking. “I’ll reach the Twilight Citadel by dawn, my lady. No shadow’ll catch me.” His gray eyes flicked to the letter, its rose sigil glinting in the firelight.
Evelyn leaned closer, her whisper urgent. “Azrael’s spies are everywhere. Take this too.” She handed him a second letter, its wax plain, its contents a false plea for aid to a northern lord. “If you’re caught, show them this. Burn the real one if you must.”
He tucked both into his satchel, his jaw tight. “I’d die before I let it fall to them.” With a bow, he slipped out, his boots thudding softly on the stone corridor, fading into the clatter of Rosehaven waking.
Alone, Evelyn’s fingers traced the rune on her palm, its golden lines pulsing like a heartbeat. The raven’s blood-red eyes haunted her, a sign Azrael knew she lived. She needed answers, about the rune, the curse, Rowan’s betrayal. Her gaze fell on the library door, its carved roses mocking her with their familiarity. Her mother’s old desk was there, a place she hadn’t touched since the fever took her.
She crossed the hall, the cold flagstones biting through her slippers, and pushed into the library. The air was heavy with dust and leather, shelves towering like silent sentinels under the stained-glass windows. The desk sat in a corner, its mahogany surface worn but gleaming, carved with roses that matched her family’s sigil. Evelyn ran her hands over it, searching for something, anything, to explain the rune’s magic.
A faint click sounded as her fingers brushed a hidden panel. Her breath caught, and she pried it open, revealing a small compartment. Inside lay a letter, sealed with a rose sigil, the wax cracked but intact. Her mother’s elegant script read: For Evelyn, when the blood debt calls.
“Lila!” Evelyn called, her voice echoing. The handmaiden appeared, her braid swinging, eyes wide with worry. “Stand watch. No one enters.”
Lila nodded, stationing herself at the door, her iron key jangling. Evelyn broke the seal, the wax crumbling like dry blood, and unfolded the letter. Her mother’s words spilled out, each stroke a knife to her heart.
“My darling Evelyn, if you read this, the blood debt of our line has come due. Westfall’s power flows from Bloodstone Cliff, sealed by our ancestor’s sacrifice. Beware traitors in silken cloaks, for they will spill your blood to break the seal. Seek the guardian of time, he alone can guide you.”
Evelyn’s hands trembled, the parchment crinkling. Traitors in silken cloaks, Rowan, with his velvet capes and honeyed lies, fit too perfectly. Her mother’s death, sudden and unexplained, now felt like a thread in Azrael’s web. Grief surged, hot and raw, her eyes stinging as she clutched the letter. “You knew,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The rune flared, burning her palm, and she gasped, dropping the letter. The pain was sharp, like a blade twisting, and the voice from the garden echoed: “Seek the exiled one.” Tristan, the guardian of time. She had to trust him, but the weight of her mother’s warning pressed down, heavy as the castle’s stones.
A scream tore through the library, followed by Lila’s shout. “My lady, come quick!” Evelyn shoved the letter into her bodice and ran, her skirts tangling as she burst into the courtyard. The morning air was sharp with smoke, the tang of blood hitting her like a slap. Gavyn staggered through the gates, his horse lathered and snorting, blood streaming from a gash on his arm.
“Gavyn!” Evelyn caught him as he stumbled, his weight heavy against her. His face was pale, sweat beading on his brow, his jerkin torn where claws had raked it.
“Spectral hounds,” he rasped, clutching her arm. “They came from the mist on the road… eyes like fire. I burned the decoy, got the real one to the Citadel.” His voice cracked, and he sank to his knees, the cobblestones slick with his blood. “Tristan… he’s coming. Saw him riding… through the storm.”
Evelyn’s heart raced as she tore a strip from her skirt, binding his wound. “You’re safe now. Rest.” She glanced at Lila, who was shouting for the healer, her voice shrill against the clanging of the castle bell.
Gavyn gripped her hand, his fingers cold. “They’re hunting him, my lady. Shadows… with Azrael’s mark.” He coughed, blood flecking his lips, and slumped against her.
“Stay with me, Gavyn!” Evelyn’s voice broke, but the rune on her palm burned hotter, a searing pain that made her cry out. Her vision blurred, and a flash consumed her: Tristan, cloaked in black, galloping through a storm, rain lashing his scarred face. Behind him, a shadowy figure rode, its cloak billowing, a blade glowing with dark runes raised to strike. Lightning cracked, and the figure’s hood fell, revealing eyes that burned like the raven’s.
Evelyn gasped, jerking back to the courtyard, her hands shaking as she held Gavyn. The vision was no dream, Tristan was in danger, and Azrael’s reach was closing in. She stood, her boots grinding on the blood-slick cobblestones, and shouted to Lila, “Get the guards! Fortify the gates!” Her rune pulsed, the voice louder now: “He rides, but death follows.”