The Vampire & Her Witch

The private room Ashlynn led Ollie to was simple but clean. More than anything, the Broken Blade was a tavern, a place for travelers and merchants to stop for food that was cheap, ale that was strong, and hosts that listened to every word that slipped past tired, drunken lips for news that might be of value to the legendary Black Merchant, Marcel.

It wasn’t a proper inn, but still, it had a few rooms for special ’patrons’ of the Broken Blade and its mysterious owner. There wasn’t much to the room beyond a small bed, a washstand, and a chest for personal effects. The room was lit by a trio of simple, tallow candles that cast dancing shadows across the wooden walls, and a single narrow window looked out over the darkened street below.

Ashlynn helped Ollie settle onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were gentle, but her emerald eyes were still shadowed with worry. Even after the healing she’d given him downstairs, she could see the tremor in his steps. When he climbed the stairs, leaning on her for support, she felt the way he held himself too carefully, as if afraid sudden movement might shatter something fragile inside.

”How do you feel?” she asked quietly, taking a seat next to him on the narrow bed so that she could continue to support him while they talked.

”Better,” Ollie said, and it was true enough. The crushing exhaustion that had threatened to pull him under had eased, and the constant ache in his bones had faded to a dull background throb. ”Whatever you did earlier helped a lot. I think I could even manage some light witchcraft if I needed to.”

”Not too much,” he said quickly when he saw Ashlynn’s darkening expression. ”Just enough to use these,” he said, resting his hand on the pommel of Frost Fang after brushing his fingertips across the hilt of the darksteel cleaver that had been the first fighting knife Marcel taught him how to use.

”Don’t,” Ashlynn said sharply, her hand shooting out to grip his wrist, holding it so tightly that Ollie could feel the bones of his wrist pressing together. ”Ollie, don’t use any of your power. Not even the little bit that it takes to use your cleaver. Not until I’ve had a chance to heal you properly.”

Ollie blinked at the intensity in her voice, and more than that, at the fear he saw lurking behind her emerald eyes.

”I know you only healed me enough to stop things from getting worse,” he said carefully. ”And I know I pushed myself too far in order to heal Lady Cerys. But I’ve recovered from exhaustion before. It just takes time and rest, doesn’t it?”

”I can hang on for a few more days,” Ollie promised. ”I’ll be careful. With you and Isabell here, not to mention Marcel and Ignatious, you won’t need me for much. And when it’s over, I promise to go back home to recuperate. I’m sure Old Nan won’t mind watching over me for a few days, or even weeks, and I’ll be good as new by spring.”

Ashlynn’s grip on his wrist tightened enough that he grimaced, and for a moment she seemed to struggle with something. Then, slowly, she released him and reached into the small leather pouch at her belt.

”There’s something I need to show you,” she said quietly. ”Something Nyrielle and I created before I left the Vale. We were... We were preparing for the possibility that the Church might have surprises waiting for us. Weapons or warriors we couldn’t anticipate. Things that might threaten even you or Ignatious,” she said, looking deeply into his pale eyes to make sure he understood.

Loman Lothian had been a horrifying surprise for Sybyll’s forces during the assault on Hanrahan. Everyone knew about his powers as a healer, and that one day, he might ascend to one of the Church’s highest positions as an Exemplar. But Loman had built his reputation in Lothian March as a healer, and even when he helped Liam Dunn in the young lord’s most recent campaign against the outlying villages this summer, Loman had confined himself to the healer’s tents.

No one had expected that he would command the fearsome sorcery of Exemplar Domas Onaitis, the Emissary of the Ascended Archer. That surprise had cost Lord Jalal his arm and very nearly his life, and dozens more had died to Loman’s rain of luminous arrows. If the Church had managed to keep the truth of Loman’s powers concealed, even while rumors of his future ascendance swirled, then who knew what else they might be concealing within the Lothian temple?

Nyrielle understood very well how terrifying the Church could be when it was willing to make the sacrifices necessary to summon its full might. That was one of the reasons she’d only directly attacked Lothian City once, in order to avenge her parents and her grandsire, Torbin.

Now that Ashlynn was preparing to venture into the heart of the lion’s den, she did everything she could to help ensure that Ashlynn and her loved ones would come home from this final confrontation with the Lothians safely, and one of those preparations lay nestled in the pouch at Ashlynn’s waist.

Slowly, Ashlynn drew out a small object wrapped in a soft, midnight blue piece of cloth, handling it with reverent care as she peeled back the layers to reveal the treasure that lay within.

Before he even saw it, Ollie’s breath caught in his chest. He could feel the intense energy resting just beneath the thin layer of fabric, and when Ashlynn pulled the last corner of the dark fabric aside, Ollie’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

Resting in Ashlynn’s palm was an acorn unlike any he’d ever seen. It was larger than a normal acorn, nearly the size of a chicken’s egg, and its surface seemed to shimmer with an inner light that shifted between deep crimson, midnight blue, and rich emerald green. The cap was crafted from what looked like darkened wood, almost black, with intricate patterns carved into its surface that seemed to move and flow like living vines even as he watched.

”It’s beautiful,” Ollie whispered, unable to look away from the mesmerizing play of light across its surface.

”It’s called a Blood Acorn,” Ashlynn said softly. ”It’s a combination of Nyrielle’s blood sorcery and my witchcraft, created with not just Virve’s help, but the help of the Ancient Oak itself. We were only able to make three of them,” she said, pausing as her fingers curled protectively around the acorn.

She wished that she’d had more time to prepare these. More than that, she wished that she’d never need to use one of them, because they were intended as a last hope against the most dire of disasters they could imagine. And now, before she’d even reached Lothian City, she was already preparing to use one of them...