The Vampire & Her Witch

Ashylynn’s quiet footsteps felt loud in the dark stillness of the tunnels behind the ancient fortress as she wove her way through the darkness toward Nyrielle’s private chambers.

It hadn’t been long since these tunnels felt strange, oppressive and even a bit intimidating. When she first started coming down here, she needed Nyrielle or one of the others to guide her, and as often as not, Nyrielle carried her, though Ashlynn felt like that had just been an excuse for her lover to hold her closely.

Now, however, the darkness felt... Familiar. Safe and sheltering, just as it must for Nyrielle and her progeny. Ashlynn had yet to reach a point where she could navigate the tunnels without the help of a lamp, but the one she carried in her right hand only provided a small pool of pale yellow illumination, yet it was more than enough for her keen eyes to navigate the darkness by.

In her other hand, she carried a large reed basket filled with ingredients pillaged from Georg’s kitchens. Well, perhaps she couldn’t say ’pillaged.’ Georg had helped her to fill the basket after all, making suggestions as she worked through her plans for the evening and leading her through both the pantries and the kitchen gardens as they discussed a simple menu.

It had been two days since the banquet when Nyrielle felt Bors Lothian’s death, and an aura of tense, frantic energy that had no place to go had settled over the ancient fortress in the Vale of Mists.

During the day, Ashlynn did what she could to prepare for what was to come, but there was only so much she could do without knowing what was happening in Lothian City in the wake of Bors’ death. With Loman as her prisoner, it was most likely that Owain would claim his father’s throne, but according to her brother-in-law, Bors had intended on naming Loman as his heir. If he’d done so in any official capacity, leaving behind any decrees or informing any of the barons of the Lothian Court of his intentions, it was entirely possible that a succession crisis was brewing in Lothian City even now.

And Jocelynn would be trapped in the middle of it.

Ashlynn’s steps faltered as she thought about her sister and what she must be suffering, trapped in Lothian Manor with few people who she could trust. At least her father had sent several knights who could be trusted, and her cousin, Eleanor, was there as well, along with enough Templars from Blackwell to ensure that the Church would provide a place of refuge if Jocelynn needed one, but there was still too much about the events in Lothian Manor that Ashlynn didn’t know about.

Her footsteps resumed with a slightly quicker pace as she forced herself to push her worries to the back of her mind for what must have been the dozenth time in the past two days. Marcel should arrive with news tonight, though Ashlynn didn’t expect him until the small hours of the morning, just before dawn. Until then, having made the best use of daylight hours that she could, she intended to spend the evening with Nyrielle, passing the time enjoying each other’s company while they waited for news.

The heavy iron-bound door to Nyrielle’s chambers swung open at her touch, revealing the warm, candle-lit space that had become as much her home as any room in Blackwell Manor had ever been. The air carried its familiar blend of cedar woodsmoke, lavender, and jasmine, and Ashlynn found the tension melting from between her shoulders the instant she crossed the threshold into the chambers that felt less like ’Nyrielle’s’ and more like ’theirs’ with every passing day.

The fire in the hearth had burned down to little more than glowing embers in the time since Nyrielle had withdrawn for the day and Ashlynn padded softly across the floor to it as soon as she entered, setting the basket of ingredients down and placing several logs in the hearth before reaching out with one hand to coax the heat of the embers into the split, dried timber of the firewood.

When she first arrived in the Vale of Mists, she would have needed to speak at least a few words to focus her energy and intentions before conjuring flame, but now, it only took a bit of her attention to share her desire for warmth and the soft, golden glow of a fire before the embers flared brighter, briefly cracking and popping to send off a shower of sparks that ignited the logs Ashlynn had just placed in the hearth.

”That should do,” she said with a satisfied smile as she stood up from the hearth.

Before she’d started spending at least part of every day here, Nyrielle rarely made use of the hearth, leaving the underground chambers cold and dark, but now, it had become normal to set a fire for at least a few hours of every day to keep the chill at bay and to make the space more welcoming for Ashlynn.

But then, Nyrielle had done so much to make not only their bedchambers, but the whole of the Vale of Mists more welcoming for Ashlynn that the young witch still found herself searching for ways to return the overwhelming amount of affection her lover wrapped around her.

Across the room, on the raised platform that held the large four-poster bed, Nyrielle rested peacefully beneath the soft blankets and warm furs piled on their bed. Ashlynn moved toward it quietly, as if she was afraid of accidentally waking Nyrielle, even though she knew her beloved wouldn’t wake until the sun fully set.

Unconsciously, she slowed her pace, moving with the utmost care as she came to stand beside the bed, gazing down at Nyrielle’s sleeping figure as her heart ached to see her lover in this state.

The withered husk that lay in their bed bore little resemblance to the ethereal beauty who had stolen Ashlynn’s heart. Gone was the bone-white skin as pale as polished alabaster, replaced by flesh that was sunken, dull, and lifelessly gray. The supple, willowy frame that moved with such predatory grace had shriveled until it was little more than skin and bones, emaciated and fragile-looking. Long dark hair that usually fell in silken curls lay brittle and straw-like against the soft, goose-down pillow, giving the impression that she’d been laying there for years instead of the few hours of a short, winter’s day.

Nyrielle’s breathing had effectively stilled, her chest rising and falling so faintly that Ashlynn had to watch for several heartbeats to confirm the movement was there at all. Her heartbeat, that slow, steady rhythm that Ashlynn could feel an echo of in her own chest, was barely audible now, less than one beat per minute as Nyrielle wrapped what remained of her life energy around her soul to resist the pull of the abyss.

”Not much longer now, my love,” Ashlynn whispered, reaching out to gently brush a strand of that brittle hair away from Nyrielle’s face. Her skin was icy cold beneath Ashlynn’s fingertips, but the touch was tender, reverent. ”The sun is almost set, and I have so much to tell you when you wake.”

She pressed a soft kiss to Nyrielle’s forehead, ignoring the chill against her lips, before carefully pulling the blankets a touch higher, making sure that the vampire looked comfortable as she slept. There would be time for proper greetings soon, when Nyrielle returned to herself.

For now, there were still preparations to make.