Chapter 4 The Garden Of Faces
The fortress grounds were unnervingly still that night. The sky glowed faintly with floating embers that hung like lazy fireflies above the towers. The Inferno Court slept, but even Elara could tell its silence wasn’t peaceful.
Elara stepped into the open courtyard, her boots crunching lightly on the gravel surrounding it. The cloak she wore fluttered behind her, the chill air biting against her neck. She wasn’t supposed to be walking alone here but she needed some distance from him and everything, after what she’d just learned.
Azael’s words echoed in her mind and she just couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of uneasiness she felt about everything.
It sounded too poetic to be true, and yet the ache in his voice when he’d said it didn’t sound like a lie.
She exhaled sharply and muttered under her breath, “A thousand years? What am I, some ghost on repeat?”
A voice startled her. “My lady?”
She turned around quickly to find a young servant stood half-hidden under the torchlight near the archway, his head bowed low.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said nervously, looking around. “Is there somewhere you’re headed?”
“Um, no,” she replied with a small smile. “I’m just going for a walk.”
He lowered his gaze, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Then please, do not wander too far. The darkness here watches… and listens.”
Elara arched an eyebrow. “That’s the second time I’ve heard along that line tonight.”
“Because it’s true.” The servant said, still not lifting his gaze. “Do be careful out there.”
Elara gave a faint smirk. “Then maybe it’ll remember me if I get lost.”
“Please, my lady,” the boy said softly. “Do not joke about the shadows."
She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you for the warning,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”
Without waiting for a response, she walked past him, her cloak swaying in the wind. The boy murmured something in another tongue, but the words were lost on her.
She didn’t realize where her feet were leading until she came upon an iron gate adorned with silver ivy. Through it, a faint golden glow spilled into the corridor.
A garden.
Elara hesitated, then pushed the gate open. It creaked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
The view beyond was breathtaking. Moonflowers opened in soft glows, their petals catching the starlight. The air smelled of roses, wild mint, and something metallic underneath, like old blood hidden in the soil.
She stepped forward cautiously. At first, it seemed like an ordinary garden until she noticed figures around it, just odd looking sculptures.
Dozens of them, scattered among the vines and marble paths.
Her chest tightened as she walked closer. They were all women, carved in perfect white stone. Different dresses, different eras, but every single one shared one thing…. her face.
Elara’s stomach dropped. She reached out and brushed her fingers against the cheek of one statue. The marble was so cold to the touch, it sent shivers down her spine.
“What is this…” she whispered.
Each sculpture captured a different moment, one smiling faintly, one crying, one reaching out like she was trying to stop someone from leaving.
It was like walking through a gallery of her own memories that she couldn't remember.
“Oh my God!!,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling.
She turned to leave when a faint sound drifted through the air.
“Seraphine…” Her heart stilled.
The voice was low, mournful, and it came from behind her.
“Who’s there?” she demanded, turning sharply.
No one answered. The wind carried the faint whisper again.
“Seraphine…” Before she could speak, a sharp whistle sliced the air.
An arrow flew past her, grazing her cloak before embedding itself in a nearby tree.
Elara’s breath hitched. She spun around, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Show yourself!”
Nothing. Only silence.
Her gaze dropped to the arrow, a small parchment was tied to it. She knelt, unwrapped it, and unrolled the scroll.
The handwriting was jagged and rushed.
“The cycle turns again. He will love you, and he will lose you. Beware the fire that binds you. It will burn the world.”
She read it again and again, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. The message wasn’t just a threat, it sounded like a warning.
She swallowed hard, folded the parchment, and tucked it into her sleeve. Then she turned and strode back toward the fortress, faster this time, her thoughts racing.
---
Azael was waiting for her in the grand hall when she returned. He stood by the balcony, back turned, the firelight catching the edge of his black coat.
When he spoke, his voice was calm.
“You’ve been gone for a while.”
“I told you I needed air,” she said evenly, pulling back her hood.
He turned to face her, his eyes glowing faintly gold. “The night is dangerous here, Elara. You should have taken a guard.”
“And miss all the fun?” she said dryly.
He didn’t smile. “This isn’t a joke.”
Elara met his gaze head-on. “Neither is carving statues that look exactly like me.”
Azael stiffened. “You went to the garden.”
“So it’s yours?” she pressed.
“It’s ours,” he corrected softly. “A memorial. For every time I lost you.”
Elara laughed, short, sharp and incredulous. “You’re serious.”
Azael stepped closer, eyes soft but guarded. “Every thousand years, you return. You forget, and I find you again. It’s the price of the pact I made. You died once, and I couldn’t let it be the end.”
“So you made a deal,” she said, her voice tight. “To bring me back?”
He nodded. “At any cost.”
Elara folded her arms. “And this mark on my wrist, the one that appeared out of nowhere?”
Azael’s gaze dropped to her wrist. He reached for it gently, his thumb brushing the faint glowing sigil. “It’s the mark of our bond. It seals the pact, it’s your tether to me, we've gone over this already.”
She pulled her hand back. “So I’m your possession now?”
Azael’s expression darkened. “You’re not a possession. You’re my equal. My heart. The bond means that if you die, I die.”
“Convenient,” she said sharply. “A neat way to keep me close.”
He sighed and took a step closer. “You think I wanted this curse? You think I enjoy watching you die over and over again while I remember every moment?”
She hesitated. There was raw pain in his voice that couldn’t be faked.
Still, she forced herself to stay firm. “Then break it.”
He shook his head. “I will. But it requires a sacrifice, the pact is bound to your soul, not just your body.”
Elara’s chest tightened, but she refused to let him see her fear. “Then I’ll find a way to end it myself.”
Azael’s gaze softened, but his voice carried warning. “Be careful what you wish for, my queen.”
A silence fell between them, thick with unspoken words.
Finally, she said, “I need to think.”
He nodded slowly and with that, she leaves.
---
Elara didn’t sleep that night. By morning, dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her mind was sharp.
When Azael summoned her to the east wing, she followed reluctantly.
“There’s someone I trust,” he said quietly as they walked. “Someone who’s served this palace for a long time. I thought you'll want a companion.”
He opened a door to a small, candle-lit chamber. A young woman stood waiting, her auburn hair braided neatly, her eyes soft and green.
“My lady,” she said, bowing. “I’m Emily. His Grace said you might need a handmaid.”
Elara studied her carefully.
“Then I suppose I’ll keep you.” She said finally.
Over the next few days, Emily proved helpful, gentle, loyal, and far too observant. Elara grew comfortable enough to let her guard down, if only slightly.
One evening, while Emily brushed her hair beside the fire, Elara asked quietly, “Emily, how long have you been here?”
Emily paused. “Longer than I should have, my lady. Longer than most here”
Elara turned her head. “And you’ve always served Azael?”
Emily hesitated, then smiled sadly. “Not just him. You too.”
Elara blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Every time you return,” Emily said softly. “You come back, and he brings me to serve you. Says I’m the only one who remembers you kindly.”
Elara turned fully to face her, disbelief in her eyes. “You’re saying… I’ve actually been here before?”
“Yes, my lady.” Emily whispered. “Many times but the ending is always the same.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “And what ending is that?”
Emily looked away. “You die. He fades away and the world pays the price.”
Elara stared at her for a long time, her fingers curling in her lap.
Finally, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out the folded parchment. “I found this in the garden full of sculptures.”
Emily took it, reading quickly. Her face was drained of color.
“You shouldn’t have gone there,” she said in a low voice.
“Why?” Elara demanded. “What is it?”
“The Garden of Faces,” Emily murmured. “It’s where your memories sleep. Every time this happens, you find it. You’re warned but you never listen.”
Elara’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe I’ll listen this time. What does this message mean?”
Emily met her gaze, her voice trembling slightly. “It means the curse has begun again. The cycle always starts with a warning and someone trying to reach you before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Before the fire comes.”
Elara stood, her heart pounding. “I won’t be another statue in that cursed garden, Emily.”
Emily’s voice was soft, almost pleading. “No one’s been able to break the curse, my lady. His Grace always tries, for your sake.”
Elara turned to her, sharp and certain. “Then I’ll be the first.”
