The night was almost perfect for a pair of runaways.
The sky was so dark it looked like someone had spilt an inkpot on top of the heavens, the clouds a dark purple-blue colour that resembled grotesque bruises, disguising the sharp crescent moon. The stars were like freckles, pinpricks of lights that scattered across the melting pot of colours that was the sky. As a result of the thick clouds, there was almost no light that shone down on the castle grounds.
Logan wondered if this was good or bad luck as he tied his cloak around his neck.
After all, the sky's darkness would hide him from view, but there was no doubt that it would obscure his own vision as well. And the sentries that were posted around the castle grounds had much better eyesight than humans, which Logan had tested before he had made up the plan. He grimaced as he looked out of the arched window-way, letting his eyes pass over the grotesque demons curled like oversized snakes around the guarding posts.
Their eyes were a sickly yellow colour, their pupils glowing a bright, unnatural white that matched their forked tongues. Their bodies were thick and coiled dangerously, two frontal limbs clutching the posts and digging deep claw marks into the cobblestones. Logan took a deep, steadying breath as he reminded himself of the plan, which would keep him from the vision of the serpentine sentries.
He slipped out of his room, carrying nothing in his hands. He wasn't taking anything with him except for his cloak, a pair of climbing shoes, and black gloves. He also had his dagger with him, tucked into one of the interior pockets in his cloak, which was already up and draped over his head to hide him. Moving silently through the castle hallways that he knew so well, he padded to his brother's room and rapped silently on the thick, wooden door.
Emile poked his head out. He was wearing his own cloak, which was a dark pomegranate-pink colour instead of the deep midnight blue that made up Logan's. His eerie silver eyes glittered in the lamplight as he gazed up at Logan, catching the expression that passed between them. He nodded and stepped out of the room, as quiet as a shadow.
Although they were biological twins, they looked so different that almost nobody could tell that they were even related. Emile had inherited honey-blonde hair that draped in soft, bouncy curls over his pale, heart-shaped face, while Logan's hair was dark black and less curly than his brother's. Emile's pale gold eyes were almost polar opposites of Logan's raven-black ones, though both colours shone and sparkled strangely in the sunlight.
Logan cast one more glance around the hallways and then followed Emile, his night-dark cloak swishing around him until he looked like a smudged shadow on the wall. The two were silent as they ran through the familiar maze, each one trying as hard as they could to not make any noise.
Their feet hit the floor with soft thuds, not nearly loud enough to alert the sentries but just loud enough to make Logan panic slightly. He shook the threads of anxiety away, focusing on the task that was in front of them: getting outside. Emile turned sharply into a tighter hallway, but it was more of a passage than a hallway. It was usually reserved for archers, with small glass-less windows called arrowslits lining the cobbled walls. The floor was made of dull tile, the stones in the wall so rough and the hallway so tight that Logan could feel where the cobbles were rubbing sharply at his arms and hands.
Still, he ran, until he was in the lead and grabbing Emile's hand so that his brother didn't slow down. He glanced back at Emile, whose face was flushed a bright pink colour from running so far so fast, but still, the other boy refused to gasp for air. No noises.
Logan's chest was also burning from the exertion, his legs aching, but he ran as fast as he could. Though he had hated being in the castle for so long, now he was thankful that he knew it as well as he did.
Deftly avoiding the guards' posts, Logan turned sharp corners and navigated through the twisting corridors without thinking about it.
Finally, the two were in one of the last hallways, the Portrait Gallery. Logan hated this one; the old paintings always looked like they were staring at you. He let his gaze drop to the floor, completely avoiding the one that he despised the most: the antique painting of the three-year-old Lacey Llenshire with her porcelain doll. He swallowed thickly; the polished stone underfoot suddenly becoming very interesting to him.
The small girl was milk-pale, almost as pale as the doll she was holding, and the toy had been carved from pure ivory. Her eyes were glazed over and a washed-out shade of creamy blue, as if her attention was really elsewhere, but her doll's eyes were fixed outside. They seemed to follow everyone who looked at them, but Logan wasn't able to tell what colour they were: the paint on the doll and girl had cracked a long time ago, giving both of them the impression of being cracked themselves.
Logan shuddered unconsciously, lost in thought. He was about to step out of the Portrait Gallery when Emile suddenly grabbed his arm, his hand clenching alertly on Logan's upper arm. The taller boy turned around, blinking at his brother, but Emile just nodded at the main entrance to the Gallery.
Confused, Logan turned towards the entrance and nearly hissed out a curse. He clapped a hand over his mouth just in time, but his eyes were still wide, staring at the curled snake sentry that was draped over the bannister, curled into dully shining coils. He whipped his head in Emile's direction, confusion painting itself over his features. "I'm certain that wasn't there before," he hissed, his voice an almost silent whisper. "Was it just assigned here?"
Emile shook his head to tell Logan that he didn't know. He took his hand off of Logan's arm and stepped forward, shaking the hood of his cloak off his head. "I'll get it out of our way," he whispered back, his voice rough. Emile didn't speak often, even when the two brothers weren't trying to escape.
When he looked back at Logan, the other boy could see that Emile's eyes were glowing with an electric rose-gold, the colour of his magic oozing out of the mage. He started to move forward again, but Logan stopped him, shaking his head.
"Wait. Do not kill it, Emile. In case you have forgotten, all of the sentries are connected psychologically to Tanith, who will immediately tell Lady Fyre that one of the sentries has been disposed of." His own voice was urgent but soft, careful not to awaken the snoozing sentry. Tanith was the Lady of the Guard, and one of the most terrifying people that Logan knew.
She was from the Kingdom of Topsaz, where, long ago, a strange curse had settled on the population, intertwining their bloodlines with mythical creatures. Tanith had the glowing eyes of a basilisk, coloured a bright silver like molten metal. Dark grey scales patterned up and down her arms and neck, and her forked tongue made everything she said sound like a low, purring hiss.
At the thought of alerting Tanith, a conflicted expression crossed Emile's face. He eventually nodded, stepping back so that the sentry couldn't sense him. His eyes faded, the rose-gold glow settling back and dissipating as Logan watched.
"What do you suggest instead, Lo?" Emile asked, worry crisscrossing through his tone. "We have to do something, otherwise it'll sense us and that will alert Tanith, too." He frowned, and Logan could see a rare expression flicker across Emile: doubt. Doubt that the plan wasn't going to work.
Well, if the plan wouldn't work on its own, Logan would make it work. There was too much work that he had put into it for it to fail now. New determination flooding across him, he stepped closer to the sentry, allowing his own magic to pool into his eyes. He knew they were glowing with a neon indigo colour, looking eerily like a black light.
Emile shook his head urgently. "Logan, you can't use your magic, you said so yourself!"
"If you'd listened more in class, you'd know more about spells that deal with simply subduing," Logan muttered, gathering magyk (an Old English word for magic, yes I'm using it, deal with it, it sounds fancy) into his fingertips. Magyk, the magical element that was used to cast spells, felt cold and malleable to Logan, like tar or gel. He didn't like using it too much, but it was strangely comforting, a cool sensation to the touch that had always been there.
It oozed into his hands as he shaped it into the spell that he needed, a gentle Muffling spell. It would send the sentry into a state where its senses would be muffled as if someone had turned them down with a dial. The spell would essentially send it to sleep, or as close to sleep as an enchanted sentry could get. Unsettling, but good for sneaking around.
Logan quickly finished the spell and closed his eyes, having to concentrate now on marking the sigil out on his palm. As soon as he did, the magic swelled up inside of him, and he easily directed it in the path of the sentry. Magyk wasn't easily seen, but it certainly had an effect on the people that used it: Logan's eyes would glow an unnatural blue for the rest of the night.
The spell hit the sentry just a few seconds after Logan finished the sigil; the sentry growing visibly woozy, and finally collapsing in a puddle of grey-yellow scales around its post. Logan felt some of his energy leaving him with the spell, and groaned slightly, holding a hand to his stomach as his legs threatened to give out underneath him.
One of the prices of using magic: energy liked to go with other energy. When Logan used up the magic energy, his own supply would diminish under the weight of the casting.
Emile grabbed onto Logan's shoulders, steadying his brother and looking him right in the eye. Well, not right in the eye, as Logan's eyes were glowing so brightly it would hurt to look directly at them. Nonetheless, Emile met Logan's gaze, his own expression a mixture of concerned and exasperation.
Logan nodded at Emile. "I'm fine," he whispered quietly, shoving the fatigue that was settling into his legs away. "Let's just keep on going."
The other mage sent Logan a questioning look, but when the only reply that he got was a smile, Emile just sighed and turned around. His cloak cast him in shadows, gentle silver ripples that glinted almost unnoticeably in the soft moonlight.
They continued on, through the night, and into the archway that was their selected exit.
Logan swallowed, pushing back his nervousness so that his twin wouldn't see it. Emile grabbed tightly onto Logan's hand, his fingernails digging half-moons into Logan's pale skin. Logan could almost feel the anxiety that was blooming inside of Emile; feel the cold terror that was slowly dragging him away from escape.
Gently squeezing Emile's hand in return, Logan took another step closer to the grand archway.
It was decorated with smooth cobblestones, each of them inscribed with a strange sigil. The double doors were made of dark, richly black wood, dark like ebony and just as smooth to the touch. The handles were a strange glass, with gold leaf printed around the lock.
Logan reached into his pocket and drew out the small, delicately made silver key. It glittered in the faint light as if telling the mage that it knew everything that he wouldn't and more. The key unlocked each lock in the house. It had taken a lot of bravery, a lot of cleverness, and a whole lot of lying to sneak this key out of the dressing cabinet. Even now, just holding it, Logan felt the impending danger of Lady Fyre's wrath.
He shivered but gripped the key all the tighter.
It was Emile's turn to give Logan's hand a comforting squeeze, and when the taller mage turned towards his brother, Emile was there to give Logan a soft smile. He nodded towards the imposing doors, slipping his hand out of Logan's and stepping away so that Logan could unlock the door.
Taking a deep breath, Logan closed his eyes and prayed to the stars that the key would work.
And then he stepped forward, fitting the skeleton key inside of the door's lock, hoping against hope that he would hear it snap into place. He fiddled around the lock, almost holding his breath.
A long, tense silence drifted over the two twins.
Click.
---
From a high tower, a tall woman watched two small figures dart across the castle grounds.
She gave off an aura of power, her head tilted slightly to the side and her expression unreadable under an ash-white veil that draped over her face and hid her eyes.
Still, even behind the veil, she was frighteningly beautiful, with dark, reddish-brown skin crisscrossed by pale pink scars. Her lips were a dark scarlet colour, like fallen flower petals, and her hair fell over her shoulders in burning coils of orange-red.
A crimson dress rippled across the floor as she stepped away from the window, her hand briefly brushing the window frame. She turned towards the other wall, lifting a hand to her mouth and stifling a laugh.
"Are you ssure you want to let them go, your Majesty?"
The question came from a shorter woman who radiated danger just as much as the other one, her eyes luminescent in rippling shades of silver and storm-cloud grey. "It sseems like a bad idea."
The taller woman shrugged elegantly; each movement she made was precise as if she was an actor, playing a part in a play. "Maybe right now it does." She turned around again, a smile tracing her dark lips, shades of red like a bloodstained rose. "But they can make a much bigger difference out there. It's better if they don't want to come back, because Garner doesn't need them here."
She motioned with one arm, out the window, gesturing to the fleeing figures. Now they were just snippets of shadows, deftly moving through all of the "defences" that had been set up.
"It needs them out there."