The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter Forty-two

After I had returned from the obsidian pillar, I spent the night crying into my pillow. I had previously slept on forest floors, in a hovel made from woven leaves and in a cave hidden by a waterfall. But this room, filled with familiar comforts, was the strangest of all. Without Sebastien, Dalton, or even Ronov, snoozing beside me in the dark, I felt lonely, and loneliness is perhaps the most crushing of all emotions.

Sebastien's vision of me plagued my thoughts. I was so unsettled by it that I could not sleep. The thought of never being with him, as his wife, left me broken-hearted. I had so much to thank him for: he had saved my life, he had opened my eyes to a new world, and he offered me a future. His future. But, while I lay in the warm sheets, the lingering fire licking at the grate to heat the room, I thought of his intentions. I remembered how he had made me feel so ashamed of obeying my instincts, of using magic to save us all. He had lashed out at me, insulted me and had worn me down. He had lied to me, about his home, his upbringing, his betrothed, his brother.

His lies cut deep into my soul, scaring me irreparably. I had never let anyone know me like I had with Sebastien. I most likely never would again. But something deep inside me still wanted him. I had been waking in the early hours, smelling his scent of soap and leather, only to realise I was nestling into the clothes that he had packed for me. The ones in the satchel, that Waincroft had reluctantly allowed me to keep. The only things that I had left of my husband.

I spent the next three days studying various tomes, devouring anything I could find on the legend of Fortitude and her children. The other texts on sorcery and alchemy bored me. Unsurprisingly, I didn't find anything that I hadn't already been told. It all seemed so farfetched. And if it was indeed true, it would mean that I had been created by a God and born from the body of a woman with a good heart. No father was involved as far as the texts were concerned. It was a fairy tale. Waincroft, Varellna and Wynona were mad to believe it.

Wynona took me to various rooms in the Fold every morning, asking me to light a fire or bring gusts of wind through an open window. She said that water and earth would be best left to another day, despite my insistence that I had worked with them both before, at the river beneath Bellan's cave and with the trees in the forest of Evernore.

One afternoon, Varellna knocked on my door whilst I rearranged my guest chamber for the fourth time out of boredom. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when I saw her on the other side, striking in her damson coloured gown. Her dark hair and eyes, her sharp cheekbones and sour expression made her seem irritated at all times of the day.

'Care for a lesson?' she asked with her sharp chin high in the air, her eyes flitting from chair to desk to bed and the scrapes I had left on the floor from moving them. 'You know, with magic you wouldn't have to exert yourself, or mark the wood.' I tried not to flinch at her tone but grabbed my cloak and skipped after her down the hall.

The Sorcerers' Fold was as dramatic as the many sorcerers that inhabited it. Random works of art covered most of the wood panelled walls, the tables were often shaped like tear drops and the rugs underfoot were plush. It was decorated with three colours: black, red and purple. Hence why it was always dark, but never cosy.

Several sorcerers nodded to Varellna as she strode determinedly through the halls, leading me out to the main entrance. As the thick, wooden doors swung open for her, I hurried closer, catching sight of the two figures on the other side.