A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 18: Of Frayed Tempers, Tainted Iron, and Stargazing

Ancient oil lamps cast a flickering orange glow over the stone table at which Arcana and the Dark Lord sat. Without provocation, one of the Levitating lamps drifted behind Arcana's head, and the thick sheet parchment in front of her darkened with a shadow the shape of her head. She pointed sharply towards the lamp and flicked her wrist, as if dragging the lamp out from behind her by a string around her finger. It reluctantly floated back to where she had originally placed it. Almost immediately the lamp started drifting again, upward this time. The charms on it needed to be reset, but she doubted that the house-elves were often allowed in this room.

The last week had been an endless agony of failed wards, frayed tempers, and splitting headaches. Arcana had begun to glance nervously toward the Dark Lord's wand hand whenever her mind wandered from the complex diagrams scrawled on her parchment. When he was not holding a quill, he cradled his wand, or else his empty fingers tapped relentlessly on the table while he thought.

They had moved the summoning ritual preparations to the Dark Lord's spellcrafting workroom a few days after the incident with Bellatrix Lestrange in his quarters. It was similar to the one attached to Arcana's rooms, but it was larger and the inlaid pattern on the floor was far more complex. The polished black stone floor glistened as if wet, and the interwoven lines of green jade were complimented with shining silver curls. The silver component added stability to bursts of uncontrolled magic - something that the pattern in Arcana's workroom lacked, much to her annoyance. There were even storage shelves set deep into the walls, surrounded by permanent wards that Arcana could only describe as genius. She had to haul everything outside of her workroom before testing new spells, or risk the immolation of her records.

After several weeks of solid work Arcana had managed to craft a complex and subtle set of multilayer wards, which she considered nothing short of miraculous given her lack of experience, resources, and time. The only problem was that when she cast them, they never held for more than a few seconds, though it would be more apt to say that they fizzled and fried as soon as the Dark Lord so much as waved his wand in her general direction. Each failure left her exhausted, despite tapping into the magic of the Dark Lord's lands, and afterwards the Dark Lord would snap his fingers to call Shelly, who would promptly appear and ease Arcana's pounding head.

Time was running out, and Arcana could no longer deny that the wards would never be ready by Solstice. She sighed and set aside her quill. Cold dread settled in her stomach as she rubbed her temples to ease the ache behind her eyes. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.

"My lord, despite all of my best efforts, the wards are too complex. I simply can't make them functional for three people . . . at least not in a 'reasonable' amount of time." The Dark Lord did not even look up from his parchment.

"If three is too many, my fae, then craft them for two." The Dark Lord turned from his work with a serpentine twist of his neck. "If the wards are still unstable at this point, I see no reason to include such complications as a third body, and I'm quite certain that Xhal Thos--" Arcana flinched at the mention of the shortened name "--will be more than pleased with your blood."

Arcana felt the floor drop out from under her feet, and her voice fled for a moment, as if her brain were refusing to comprehend what the Dark Lord had said. He wrote one more note in the margin of his parchment scroll.

"But, my lord, I can't be a blood sacrifice," she stuttered. He simply could not be seriously considering this. It was suicide.

"Is that so?" The Dark Lord looked up and twisted his quill between two fingers, a smirk plastered on his face. Arcana wanted to tear it off. He had to just be taunting her.

"Yes, that is so, my lord. I'm afraid your sense of humor has lost what taste it previously possessed." Anger flashed in the Dark Lord's red eyes, but the cruel glee was back the next moment.

"Ah, Arcana, you amuse me, which is possibly the only reason I've not yet crushed your will, but this is no cheap joke." Arcana's frustration chilled to something far more dangerous, and she went perfectly still. Her instincts writhed, whispering one word in the back of her mind: death.

"It seems you have become rather careless of late, my fae. Perhaps age is catching up to you at last." One white, bony hand reached out and caressed Arcana's cheek, awakening their magical bond. She gripped the edge of the table. Instinct was screaming at her to kill the Dark Lord and eliminate the threat of death, but she shoved it away.

"Are you so surprised, Arcana? It is within my rights. You agreed to develop and perform the summoning ritual without specifying precisely what your contribution would entail."

Arcana jerked away from the Dark Lord's hand, and the humming of their bond faded. The feet of her chair scraped harshly against the polished floor as she shoved it back and stood. He had known all along. He had planned for this, waiting weeks while Arcana toiled over the impossible, only to trap her in her own hell.

"Your usual pointless cruelty does not surprise me, my lord, if that is what you mean to insinuate. Though you do risk the ritual failing, killing us both. That does surprise me."

"There is no risk of that, hunter," the Dark Lord hissed. He stood slowly to tower over Arcana. "And I will not tolerate your insolence. Not today." Arcana's brand seared sharply. "Not ever."

The searing heat spread outward across Arcana's skin and she doubled over in agony. The curse was quick in coming after that.

"Crucio."

Arcana collapsed on the floor and screamed as the pain tore through her body. It took all her restraint to keep her claws from rending gashes in her own flesh in an instinctive desire to pry off the invisible attacker that was tearing her insides apart, crushing her bones, searing her flesh, shooting needles through her skin.

When the curse was lifted, Arcana lay trembling at the Dark Lord's feet, her fury undamped by the pain. She had underestimated him, and her Dark Mark throbbed as a cruel reminder that this was not the first time she had made that mistake. She should have known he had been playing her fear of demons against her when he requested that she participate in the summoning. She had been so foolishly blind. She should have known.

Arcana raised her head defiantly, not caring about the raging magic she felt radiating off of the Dark Lord.

"You believe casting Unforgivables on me will solve everything?" She pushed herself up to a crouch and then stood shakily, bracing herself against a pillar and pretending not to see the Dark Lord's wand twitch. "Even if I am bound by my word to help you, the circles will still be near impossible to cast, and the wards will take all my will to hold, even without distractions. Not to mention we need to find a way to combine our magic without serious repercussions." Arcana straightened and stepped away from the pillar, letting disgust show in a sneer. "Wanting the impossible has been the end of Dark wizards greater than you."

The temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees, and the Dark Lord stood very still. Arcana did not lower her eyes.

"The impossible means nothing to me," the Dark Lord hissed coldly, "though you should become familiar with the concept, fae, in regards to your foolish notions of independence . . . and choice." Dark magic writhed around him like a living storm. "You will do this for me."

Arcana's sneer faltered when she was lifted off the floor, the Dark Lord's raw magic binding her limbs, silencing her, wrapping tightly around her throat.

I am not one of your doomed prisoners, she sent mentally, drenching the thought in disdain. She lashed out at the magical bonds, and they held, as she expected.

The Dark Lord tightened the magical cords further while Arcana feinted by frantically fighting back. The distraction was enough for her to slip her own power into the magical nodes, the slippery weak points of the magic, and slice through them.

The bonds evaporated, and Arcana landed lightly on her feet. She quickly put several paces between herself and the enraged wizard.

"That was a nice trick, fae." The Dark Lord stepped toward Arcana. "But you've nowhere to run, and I doubt you've become foolish enough to dare raise hand or magic against me."

The Dark Lord's magic reached out to her again, whispering along her limbs. A muscle in Arcana's cheek twitched, and she retreated, keeping the distance between them steady, until her heel hit stone. Before she could maneuver out of the corner he darted closer, placing a hand on each wall, trapping her in the corner and casting her in shadow. She swore and glared up at him, pride preventing her from ducking under his arm and fleeing outright, though even if she could manage that, she knew she'd be screaming before she reached the door. Nowhere to run, indeed.

"You have gotten careless, my fae." The Dark Lord caught her chin and held it tightly with his cold fingers. "It's a wonder that you can still hunt."

Arcana stood very still, weakened by the Cruciatus Curse more than she wished to admit. Fury seethed in the Dark Lord's eyes, and red flashed like lightening in the black clouds of his magic. The last of her ire died out, only to be replaced by dread as she realized the depth of his anger and the extent of her mistake. Her instincts keened in distress.

A flash of silvery metal caught Arcana's eye, and she flinched back, hitting the wall behind her, instantly recognizing the tainted steel blade that the Dark Lord always carried. He pressed forward and brought the point of the slender knife to her throat, his other hand still firmly grasping her chin. She gasped when the blade touched her skin, and her instincts screamed in terror, threatening to overcome the logic that the Dark Lord would not, could not kill her now. The Dark Lord stared down at her with unblinking eyes.

"As to holding the wards, my fae, I'm sure your stamina could be increased with practice, and undoubtedly Severus would make good use of any blood I spilled." His knuckles went white as he gripped the hilt tighter. The blade glowed orange, as if hot, reflecting the light of the floating oil lamps.

The point of the knife bit slightly against Arcana's throat, but did not break her skin. She futilely tried to press further back against the wall, unable to still her trembling. He would not kill her, he could not, she repeated in her mind, but all reason seemed to crumble before the Dark Lord's rage.

The Dark Lord jerked Arcana's head up higher, and her breath hitched. The blade slowly traced down her throat and then down her chest until it was poised directly above her heart. She was caught, trapped, dead. One quick thrust of the weapon and she would die. The dread metal tearing into her, her blood running down her body to stain the floor, and agony, so much pain, and then black terror.

Corpses lay twisted on the battlefield. The dying gasped their last breaths, their bodies riddled with tainted iron. The mad screamed in loss and confusion, terrified by the stench of spilled blood on the muddy plain.

Darkness. A bloody sunset. Night was falling. Or had it already fallen? Time was tumbling in a whirlwind - such was the terrible force of the magic that had been unleashed. She was so cold, so badly hurt, her very soul torn by the same magic that had muddled time.

Exhausted after walking, no, not walking, but stumbling back from the corpse that had held the soul of one she had called friend, she fell again to her knees, blood-stained armor clanking as she carefully gathered up the remains of the shattered staff before darkness took her.

The shadow fell.

"Your skills and knowledge are more than valuable, Arcana," the Dark Lord hissed softly, blind to the terrible memories that flashed across Arcana's eyes.

You should have died then, they whispered. You wanted to die.

"Perhaps even irreplaceable," the Dark Lord continued over the whispering voices in her head, "but they will only take you so far. Until now I have been most tolerant of your behavior. Do not push me any further, or you will feel more than the tip of this blade."

The Dark Lord's magic burned each word into her mind, even though she barely registered them consciously. Arcana concentrated on him, on his cold fingers, on his red-black magic, and turned away from the past. There was no more cruel delight in the Dark Lord's red eyes, only anger. He locked his gaze with Arcana and pushed, trying to enter her mind by brute force, the usual finesse stripped away.

Endless red. A bloody sunset. A sea of blood under a Dark sky.

Her claws scraped against the walls for purchase as her legs gave way under the strain. She braced her feet on the floor and delved into High magic. Emotions faded into silvery mist.

The crimson sea vanished as the Dark Lord abruptly ceased his attempted Legilimency. He scrutinized Arcana, and she gasped for breath, hardening her will when she felt him sharply probe her mental barriers and the magic she called forth. Arcana released the High magic, quickly silencing the troublesome emotions that rose to threaten her reason again.

"So cold, hunter?" The Dark Lord's scornful words broke through the chill remnants of High magic, and Arcana remembered the knife in his hand, the knife she could still feel under her breast, held steady against her shallow breaths. She clenched her jaw against the urge to cry. Her chin was going numb from the grip of his cold fingers. She did not feel her eyes sting with tears. She would not cry out. She would not beg. She would never beg the Dark Lord for anything.

"No," he hissed, and awakened their magical bond as Arcana trembled. "You are far too vulnerable to magic . . . vulnerable to your own magic, and to mine."

The blinding weight of the Dark Lord's magic hurt - a slab of suffocating red-black stone - and despite her vow, a soft sob escaped.

The pressure of the blade finally lifted, and the Dark Lord returned it to the sheath somewhere in his robes. Arcana sighed softly. She would not die today. His magic shifted, softened and beckoned to her. Physical reality became clouded in swirling red-black rotted velvet. His fingers gently stroked her jaw, promising false comfort.

Arcana refused the temptation, unwilling to bend. She had been foolish to let him use that against her before. She would no longer be careless.

Displeased, the Dark Lord dropped his hand and stepped away. It was over for now. She furtively stretched her sore neck and shoulders when his back was turned. He had not needed to yank her head back so hard. Those memories were punishment enough for any imagined infraction on her part.

"Despite your unforgivable disrespect," the Dark Lord hissed, spinning back to Arcana and fixing her with a burning glare, "I will not throw you to the mercies of my Death Eaters today, hunter. That is not how I want you broken. It is a much greater pleasure to do it myself, despite the time commitment."

Arcana frowned, but was not about to contradict the Dark Lord now, though neither would she cower at his threats. Her brand thrummed in warning, and regardless of her resolution, a small tendril of fear began to make knots out of her stomach. He had plans, that much was clear, and they were in progress even now.

"The ritual will proceed as planned. Go," he commanded, "and think long and hard about what your life is worth, Arcana."

Arcana bowed, lower than usual, and then left as quickly as pride allowed.

*** *** *** ***

The quill fell from Arcana's hand and clattered on the table when her Dark Mark burned. She flexed her left hand and frowned at her now ink-stained notes. The Dark Lord wanted her back in his workroom. Now. Unfortunately he blocked Arcana's attempt to determine his mood, though that was telling enough.

A casual thought vanished the splattered ink droplets and a gesture bound the parchment sheets on which she had been scrawling all night. She pulled up her sleeve to verify that the brand was not bleeding. With all of the Death Eaters, Dark creatures, and who knew what else wandering around the fortress, she could not be so careless. She snarled at the last thought, though only half-heartedly, being exhausted after a troubled and sleepless night. She donned gloves and cloak, drawing the hood low over her eyes, then grabbed the parchment and began the trek down to the Dark Lord. Several Death Eaters glanced her way, but she saw no one else in the twisting dark corridors.

The Dark Mark twinged when she reached the workroom, and the door opened. Arcana suppressed a grimace and entered, closing the door behind her. She was greeted with a scathing glare courtesy of the Dark Lord, whose cold expression did not put her at ease. He had been casting, and Arcana could almost see the ebb and flow of his formidable magic without slipping into a trance. The inlaid jade in the black stone floor gleamed under his feet where his magic touched it. The jade's eerie green glow battled with the warm light of the torches that lined the walls and the oil lamps hovering above the table.

Arcana drew back her hood and bowed, ignoring the all-too-familiar tug on her mind to kneel.

"I have reworked the circle casting and the first two layers of wards, my lord," Arcana offered quietly, "though they will need to be fine tuned."

The cursed red eyes bored into her and she silenced any surface emotions that the Dark Lord could have picked up. "Couldn't sleep, hunter? And even though you have specifically asked for rest lately."

Arcana smoothed her frown before it was seen. He knew that her irritated Dark Mark would not have let her rest. "I needed to take my mind off troubling thoughts, my lord," she continued the game.

"And what were those, my hunter? Perhaps regret?" the Dark Lord queried cruelly, stalking towards her. "Or no, not regret. Not with you."

He would not let this be until she apologized, and as much as Arcana loathed the idea, it would be worth the shame.

"No, my lord. I rarely feel regret. Its burdens are too heavy. However, I should not have spoken as I did." Arcana swallowed her disgust and then looked into the Dark Lord's eyes. "I am sorry for that, my lord," she bowed her head and waited.

"Ah, my fae thinks that only a few words are needed to appease her lord," the Dark Lord mocked. Next he would demand that she perform some service as penance. It was what he always did when he could pin some failure on her. So far, her only failures had boiled down to her lack of respect for the Dark Lord. She pushed away her hatred with cold fire to be dealt with later.

"If you look at the stars for me," he hissed, raising her head with a hand under her chin, "I will excuse your transgressions, and you have been stacking them up quickly, my fae."

That was not the request she had expected, and she knew her surprise showed. Arcana had never been a Stargazer, one of the fae that could see past, present, and future in the stars, nor did she hold much faith in divinations and prophecies, or the human concept of fate. It had not served her once in all her long years, but the Dark Lord had become increasingly obsessed with that imprecise magic recently, and the loss of some prophecy last spring had become a constant thorn in his side. It had to predict his death to irk him so terribly.

"I do not have the skill, my lord," Arcana replied carefully, but openly. If this was really what he wanted, it would be bearable, especially if it would be repayment for the incident at Hogwarts, Muirgheal, and her liaison in Alexandria as well. It was almost too easy. "I found other studies to be far more useful." Her chin was beginning to tingle where the Dark Lord's fingers gripped it. Their magical bond vibrated like a plucked string.

The Dark Lord frowned and released her, knowing she had not lied. "All fae have the potential. Do they not, Arcana?" The tone was even, turning the conversation away from his power play. "Legend says that the fae taught the centaurs to divine the stars."

"Yes, my lord. I just don't know how," Arcana explained, bitterly remembering why her studies were interrupted before she had time to devote to such an esoteric art. "I can try, my lord," she meekly offered, figuring that it was her best option, "but I cannot promise any results, let alone quickly."

"That will have to do, my fae," the Dark Lord decided, sounding a bit dubious. "I will not expect immediate results, but I will expect effort."

A strange sense of foreboding whispered shapeless warnings to Arcana but acceptance was the best option. "Of course, my lord." The Dark Lord nodded, and Arcana felt their magic settle into that quiet equilibrium once more, somehow calming her even though she did not wish it to do so.

"Now show me the altered wards," the Dark Lord ordered, turning away and walking to the table in a swirl of heavy black robes. Arcana spread the parchment out on the table and began to explain.

*** *** *** ***

That night, Arcana found herself gazing up at an unexpectedly cloudless sky with the Dark Lord by her side. For some reason, standing with him like that made her feel strangely vulnerable, reminding her of countless peaceful nights in the fae realms, some of which she had spent with another standing beside her. Another life, and a time long gone. Arcana's heart ached suddenly and she looked away from the stars, wondering if it was their influence that brought out her emotions.

"What is it?" the Dark Lord asked softly, as if he too did not want to disturb the quiet night. Anticipation underlay his words.

"Sorry, my lord," Arcana sighed. "Only memories." The Dark Lord's curiosity was clear through their bond. "My own," she clarified quickly. Arcana turned back to the stars and reached. She did not know exactly what she was trying to do. Passively watching the twinkling lights and truly Stargazing were totally different matters. Nothing happened for a time as her magic touched only emptiness beyond the sky. The Dark Lord remained silent by her side.

Out of the nothingness the faintest of whispers caught her ear. As if from an immeasurable distance, it whispered to her. She strained to hear it, to separate it from the other magic that nearly drowned out its weak voice. No, Arcana realized. Not voice, but voices. There were so many voices.

Arcana pushed further, losing perception of everything around her, trying to understand the sea of stars. Just a bit further.

"Enough," the Dark Lord's cold voice cut through Arcana's concentration. The starry chorus was silenced, and she was abruptly thrown back to her place on the high tower. She grasped the stone railing with trembling hands, struggling not to collapse. Her gaze drifted back up to the sky, but she did not reach for the stars again.

"So far away. So impossibly far," Arcana whispered, awestruck. She had not realized how draining her attempt to Stargaze was when she had been reaching out. It was frightening, but she wanted to try again. She had to touch them. Perhaps one day even fly amongst them. Fae had never tried to go to the stars, but humans - Muggles at least - were trying. Maybe she-

Arcana was jerked away from her thoughts when the Dark Lord raised a hand to her face, his long fingers almost touching her cheek. Arcana's magic pulsed deeply, like a second heartbeat, and it echoed along their bond. The Dark Lord's magic rippled ever so slightly in response, edged with a faint silvery haze where it was nearest hers. Arcana's eyes went unfocused to the physical, and she took several deep breaths. The magic slowly returned to rest within her.

"I think I'll enjoy casting with you." The Dark Lord's cool fingers brushed her skin lightly and then retreated. Arcana shuddered at the contact. She did not know how she could have ever found his Dark and corrupted magic soothing. "Truly a creature of magic. Truly mine."

Arcana turned her head away from the Dark Lord in revulsion to look at the forest, and he lowered his hand, anger staining his magic. Her hands grasped the railing so tightly that her knuckles whitened beyond the normal pallor of her skin

"Only Stargaze when I am here, Arcana," the Dark Lord hissed coldly. "It wouldn't do for you to lose your mind while trying to touch that fire." He leaned over Arcana, and she stiffened, fighting her desire to pull away. He pushed up her left sleeve and briefly traced the brand on her arm, which burned slightly in response. "Besides, your divinations will focus on myself, so you had best get used to my presence." Arcana gritted her teeth against the pain and the Dark Lord's power. She continued glaring out upon the dark treetops as his fingers slipped away.

With that the Dark Lord finally left the tower, boot heels clacking against the stone and black robes flowing behind. As soon as he was out of earshot, Arcana growled and swore vehemently in a Dark fae language, the sound and magical inflections of which would have made any magical being cringe. Its meaning, should anyone have understood it, would have had an even worse effect.

Get used to that foul Dark wizard? Arcana snorted bitterly at the impossibility. She no more belonged to him than the winds belonged to her. That was a concept he should get used to.

Unfortunately the Dark Lord was right about one thing - Arcana's sensitivity to magic, and he certainly seemed to delight in toying with it. She had always been too sensitive to the ebb and flow of magic for her own good, but weakness could be turned into strength as her mastery of soul magic had revealed. Arcana would never wield the sheer power of Kalrash, who had twisted the souls of other fae to lead her hoards, but Arcana's unique understanding of magic had allowed her to surpass the warlord, with a great deal of help behind her, once when it had really mattered.

Arcana rubbed at her Dark Mark to stop the annoying tingling that was crawling up and down her left arm. It was too late to begin a hunt, and she was really too drained to make it worthwhile anyway, but she was nowhere near ready to rejoin the Dark Lord in his shadowy fortress. The stars glittered in the sky, silently beckoning.

The wind picked up, and Arcana smiled, sensing her old friend had come to call. Only Wild magic allowed the black unicorn to set down on the tower. The fortress wards could block all else. He turned one fiery eye to Arcana and pawed the stone eagerly, wanting to hunt.

"Not tonight, old friend." Arcana smiled sadly. "I'm far too tired."

The beast neighed harshly, not quite sure what held her back, and he butted her shoulder with his nose insistently.

Come with me, he demanded, tossing his head. Arcana saw images of forests unlike any in the mortal world and a calm sea covered in mist. Come back with me. It is time.

Arcana's mind shifted, matching the unicorn's thoughtform.

I am bound here, she thought back to him, struggling to make him understand her bleak reality. Her feelings melded with words and the black unicorn responded furiously to that single emotionally charged phrase, finally fully comprehending Arcana's bondage.

He will die. The unicorn swung his head and glared at where the Dark Lord had gone, intent on following. He was determined to gore the wizard as he had the dementor at Hogwarts.

No! The magic is too strong here. He is too strong, Arcana warned. You cannot pass. The black unicorn's hooves beat into the stone, and he reared up. Chaos and madness warred against cold reason.

Arcana could not bear the thought of the black unicorn dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, and she could not deny that possibility should they meet, especially on the Dark Lord's land. Their magic clashed, volatile and vehement, each being unyielding in his claim on her. Her loneliness would be absolute, and one more regret would chain itself to her soul.

A soul-searing hatred was the unicorn's response to Arcana's pain. It flooded her mind, so similar what to her own instincts screamed every day. The Wild and the Darkness called out to her and, despite the ever-watchful Dark Lord, she answered.

Arcana let reason slip and gracefully leapt upon her steed's strong back. She would heed the Wild and bask in freedom, however ephemeral it was. Her anger would not cool without release and she dared not face the Dark Lord until her mind was clear again.

Just ride the wind and let thunder herald our passing.

Mount and rider cried out a challenge to the sky and the black unicorn's great wings spread and brought them to meet it.