Dark Descent: The Arondight Codex - Book One, R Nicole [best feel good books TXT] 📗

fold by Greer, the protector of the Codex, herself. There was more to this than I understood… and I intended to force Wilder to help me. I’d learn everything I could, train every second I was able, I’d forgo sleep if it meant I could master my Light. Then, when I’d gathered my strength, I’d find out the truth about everything. There was no way in hell I was going to let anyone make me their tool.

“Fine,” I hissed, “I’ll train. I’ll play along, but if you think, even for one second, that I’ll—”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Purples,” he interrupted with a smirk. “It’s not all about you.”

He strode off, whistling to himself, leaving me in the middle of the hallway, staring after him in shocked silence. What the hell just happened?

“Wait!” I cried. “Where am I supposed to go? What time do we start? Do I need a textbook? Wilder!” He disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing all alone. “Wilder?”

14

The Sanctum was eerie at five in the morning.

The building was rather empty most times, but even more so at an hour no one in their right mind should be awake at. Well, unless you’d been out all night and were finally dragging yourself home. I’d had more than my fair share of those experiences.

Last night, Wilder had sent me a text message—I had no idea how he had my number—demanding my presence on the third-floor at this precise, and ungodly, hour. I’d thought I’d seen everything the Sanctum had to offer, but it appeared I’d missed one vital part—the gallery.

I peered into the first room, tucked away in a lonely corner of the third-floor, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was some place I shouldn’t be. Art galleries were cool and all, but this one seemed private and not for outside eyes. I was now a Natural in training, but I still felt as if I existed just outside the sphere of belonging.

The room was dimly lit, the charcoal grey-colour of the walls darkening it even further. Paintings hung at precise intervals, each of the ornate golden frames lit with tiny LED spotlights. There were a mixture of portraits, landscapes, and battle scenes, each differing in era and style. Men were depicted with ruffled collars, suits of armour, and riding rearing stallions. Surprisingly, the women were much the same. An odd dress showed up in a portrait or two, but there were sword-wielding maidens amongst the male soldiers on the battlefields too. Hm, they were a progressive lot.

My footsteps echoed softly as I walked through the first room, wondering about the people around me. They were obviously Naturals, but who were they?

I moved into the second space and found more paintings, which were larger, taking up most of the space on the walls they hung on. Wilder stood in front of a landscape of a castle, the canvas at least a foot taller than he was.

He was wearing his standard black T-shirt, the material clinging across his chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. Were his biceps bigger? They seemed bigger.

His gaze lowered as I approached, and I squirmed, feeling self-conscious. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I glanced at the painting, wishing I’d had a baggier T-shirt. The Natural ‘uniform’ was very clingy.

“You’re late,” he snapped, his voice loud in the silence.

“Why are we here?” I asked, staring at the painting.

“If you truly want to be one of us, then you have to understand where you come from,” Wilder replied. “Let’s call this History 101.” He pointed at the image. “What do you see?”

The painting depicted a grand castle on a rocky plateau which overlooked rolling green fields and forests. Stone walls and towers stretched up into the blue sky, and red and gold flags twisted in the imaginary wind. Banners hung either side of the gatehouse—three gold crowns on a field of crimson—the open portcullis leading into the inner bailey where a series of mounted knights were assembled. It was a detailed snapshot of a grand medieval fortress.

“A castle?” I wondered what the catch was.

“Wrong. It’s not just a castle, it’s Camelot.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’ve come to terms with the whole demon and Light thing, but Camelot?” I wanted to scoff because everyone knew Arthurian legends were just that. Legends.

“The stories are mostly fabrications twisted by the ages, but the people who lived there were as real as you and me.”

“They were Naturals?”

Wilder nodded and moved me to the next painting. It was a portrait of a woman with long flowing hair, her blonde tresses twisted into braids and dotted with tiny white flowers. She stood within the waters of a blue pond, her cream robes draped around her body and disappeared into the water. The background was a forest of emerald green, untameable and filled with the promise of fairies and wild beasts. In her hands, she held an ornate sword, its tip disappearing into the waters at her feet.

“She’s the woman I see everywhere,” I said. “She’s in the skylight in my room. Who is she?”

“That’s the Lady of the Lake.”

“Really? It’s getting very Arthurian in here,” I declared.

“Our history has been fictionalised for human consumption many times over the years,” Wilder drawled. “There’s a hint of truth in it, but they left out the demons and focused on the knights and romances.”

The word ‘romances’ sounded weird coming from Wilder, and I found myself flushing at the thought of him ‘romancing’ someone.

“Who was she?” I nodded towards the painting.

“No one knows for sure,” he replied with a shrug. “We do know she gifted both Excalibur and Arondight to the Naturals.”

“Wait, there’s two swords? I thought there was only Arondight?”

“Our history says Excalibur was destroyed. Not long after, Arondight was lost, but that’s another story.”

I blew a loose strand of hair out of my eyes. “You don’t know very much.”

“Much of our history was lost in the cataclysm of 1185.”

“Cataclysm?”

“The Naturals of Camelot were able to defeat the first wave of demons