Free Web NovelChapter 458: Chapter 458
The carriage came to a slow halt, the wheel grinding against packed snow.
The horses were restless as though they sensed something wrong with the house. A dark malevolent energy hummed in the air and they knew they had no place stopping here.
Through the small carriage window, Nheera studied the house that stood alone in the clearing. It was just as she remembered from her last visit years ago. The structure sagged faintly at one end, its roof uneven, its walls dulled by time and neglect. There was no sign of life beyond the single window where a thin, steady glow of light bled into the night. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ
Beyond it, there was nothing. Just trees that stretched far and wide.
By the time she reached her destination, the sun had dipped over the horizon. The moon hung high above, casting just enough light to outline her path.
Her cloak swallowed the rest.
Even though Nheera was certain that no one would spot her there, she still took precautions. A dark cloak was draped over her with the hood pulled up to conceal her face. She took the most inconspicuous carriage she owned on her way there.
"I’ll go alone," she said quietly.
The footman gave a stiff nod and remained where he was, hands tight on the reins as she turned away from the carriage.
The ground beneath her shoes was uneven. The silence here was not peaceful, it pressed in on her, thick and expectant, as though the surrounding woods listened and watched her every move.
When she reached the door, she raised her first and knocked twice.
Moments passed before the door creaked open.
A woman stood there, her face illuminated faintly by the light behind her. The moment her gaze settled on Nheera, recognition flickered on her face. She said nothing. Only gave a small nod before stepping aside, her hand lifting in silent invitation.
Nheera did not linger any longer by the doorway. She stepped inside.
The door shut behind her with a dull thud.
The air inside the house was thick with the scent of old books and incense, just as she remembered. Nothing had changed. The same worn wooden furniture with old and strange artifacts that occupied almost every surface.
"I am here to see the mage," Nheera said evenly.
The woman nodded once. "Follow me."
No more was said.
Nheera moved after her, her steps soft against the wooden floor as they passed through the narrow corridors of the house. Time stretched in silence, broken only by the faint creak of aged boards beneath their weight.
At last, they stopped before a closed door.
The woman stepped forward and knocked.
A voice came from the other side of the door.
"Enter."
The woman pushed the door open and stepped inside. Nheera followed.
The room beyond was no different from the rest of the house, yet it had things that the others did not. Shelves lined the walls, filled not only with books but with clear, carefully arranged glass jars, each holding herbs, liquids, and substances that Nheera didn’t bother to examine closely.
Her steps slowed. Then she stopped completely. Because mage already had his gaze on her.
His eyes moved over her languidly, trailing from the top of her covered head down the length of her form before returning to her face. The look he gave her was one of disinterest.
"Had I known I would be receiving royalty tonight," he said, sounding bored, "I might have been in a more welcoming mood."
The words were dismissive but Nheera did not move an inch from where she stood.
Very few had spoken to her like that since she had been queen. But this man had no need to bow or cower before her. He knew why she was here and more importantly, he knew that she needed him to do for her what others could not. Which meant he had the upper hand in the situation.
Still Nheera wasn’t deterred by this at all. She planted her feet to the floor, refusing to move. Power and authority poured from her as she held his gaze.
This was not their first meeting.
Years ago, she had stood in this very place with blood in her possession, Ragnar’s mother’s blood, that she brought to him to be preserved.
Years later, she had returned with that same blood, asking him to bind it into emerald and gold, to forge a ring that would bend people’s minds and stir their emotions at her will and he had done it.
The ring had served her well up until it was stolen.
Without breaking eye contact, she pulled her cloak aside just enough to reveal the hilt at her waist. Her hand moved as she unfastened the weapon and drew it free.
The steel caught the light. It was a perfect replica of Ragnar’s sword, so alike that it would be difficult to tell the difference between the two.
She extended it toward him.
The mage did not reach for it, both hands hanging loosely at his side. His gaze dropped to the sword, expression unreadable.
"What do you intend for me to do with this sword?" the mage asked, his tone bordering on disinterest, as though the object in question held no more significance than a dull trinket.
"I need you to enchant it," Nheera replied calmly. "In such a way that any demon who wields it will lose control over their shadows the moment blood touches the blade."
Her intention was simple, though the consequences would be anything but. She planned to replace Ragnar’s real sword with this altered one. So that when the time came, when he stood face to face with the beast, he would find himself stripped of one of his greatest advantages.
Ragnar was strong, a skilled swordsman in his own right, but everyone in Lamora who had ever seen him fight knew he relied on his shadows very often. Not to the extent of the demons from the Innermost, yet enough that it had not gone unnoticed.
Stripping him of that advantage at such a critical moment, when life and death hung in the balance, was the surest way to leave him dangerously exposed.
