by Jen McIntosh
Then the sound she’d been dreading: a key turning in the lock. But she no longer had the strength to stand. Instead, she curled up a little tighter and closed her eyes.
The hand that stroked her hair was surprisingly gentle. And callused. Keriath frowned: Mazron didn’t strike her as the type to have ever used his hands. She opened her eyes and peered up through her fingers at the familiar figure crouched over her.
Dell. A choked cry of relief escaped her, and she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest.
‘I know,’ he murmured, his hand steady on her back in reassurance. ‘I know. But it’s alright. I’m here now.’ After a moment, he leaned back and looked down at her. His thumb grazed the ragged lines of her new scars. ‘I’m sorry—’
She cut him off. ‘Don’t.’ She didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to hear him ask for the forgiveness that she did not have it in her heart to give. He nodded in understanding and ran his other hand over her old scars.
‘Keriath,’ he breathed, his voice full of wonder. ‘I wish you’d told me … Princess.’ She repressed a shudder. There were so many girls in the world who craved such a title. All raised on fairy tales stuffed full of knights on white steeds and palaces made of rainbows and moonbeams. Stories about magic slippers and wicked witches, talking bears and dancing swans, and all the other nonsense. For Keriath, it was nothing more than a curse.
‘Just get me out of here,’ was all she said.
He dipped his head in submission and stood, pulling her to her feet. She staggered, leaning against him as he looped her arm around his neck and half-carried her from the room.
Free from the crushing weight of the Core, Keriath had enough strength to expand her awareness, allowing her to warn Dell of passing servants or approaching patrols. It was one benefit of being held inside the mountain – only the Queens and their household lived within the castle itself. Most of the Darkling horde was down in the city that sprawled around the foot of the mountain. Between Keriath’s ability to scout ahead and Dell’s knowledge of the twisted labyrinth of corridors within, they made easy ground.
But it was too good to last, and eventually, they came upon a group of guards they could not avoid. Keriath conjured what little magic she could to hold them in place while Dell swept through them like a whirlwind of blood and death. It was a sign of just how much the power in her veins had strengthened him that he could kill so many so fast. Hope swelled in her heart. They continued on as before, creeping from one shadow to the next.
Until there was a door ahead of them. Wide open, the dying light of the day spilling into the hallway. Sunlight. A source of healing and restoration for the blessed Graced. A gust of cold wind blasted in through the entrance, and Keriath thought that air had never tasted so sweet. An easterly wind, bringing with it the scent of ocean spray. The scent of her childhood home, of freedom. But even with freedom so close, a wave of exhaustion sent her crashing to the floor, a gasped sob of frustration escaping her as her body failed her.
Then Dell was there. ‘No, you don’t,’ he breathed. ‘Not when we’re this close.’ His arms slid around her, and he lifted her up, tucking her against his chest. Her eyes drifted closed, the rolling motion of Dell’s gait lulling her towards oblivion.
His steps faltered. She peered up through her lashes, and her gut clenched at the fear on his face. She didn’t think she had ever seen him look so afraid. And yet, as she probed around them with her mind, she sensed nothing. She hissed from the effort, lifting her head and following his gaze. To the figure barring their way, silhouetted against the sunset pouring in through the open door.
Mazron. No wonder she hadn’t sensed him. He was shielding himself from her – hiding his presence with his mind. Doing it so well, in fact, that Keriath wondered if he had not set her up for this exact moment. The serpent’s smile he offered suggested he had.
‘Despair is never so sweet as when all hope is ripped away,’ he crooned.
And in that moment, all that remained of the woman Keriath had once been withered and died. Her soul had never been vibrant like Théon’s, battered and bruised as it was. But she had clung to life, fought for it with a desperation that had made her strong. Now, that desire was gone; all that remained of her shattered heart were ashes and dust.
Dell set her on her feet, though her legs could not hold her. He kept an arm around her, taking most of her weight as she leaned on him.
‘You have something of mine,’ Mazron said, advancing on the Darkling.
Dell growled in response. ‘She belongs to me.’ Mazron pulled up short, cocking his head to the side as he studied his prey. Then he laughed.
‘I’m afraid it’s the other way around,’ he chuckled. ‘She could order you to jump off a cliff right now, and you would not refuse her.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You don’t even realise, do you?’ cawed Mazron. ‘It’s the blood bond. She’s Claimed you – her blood overpowered that of your maker. How could it not? He is only mortal, after all … and she is a Shade.’
Keriath trembled at the accusation but smothered the doubts that crept so insidiously into her head, saying nothing. She hardly had the strength to draw breath. Dell was staring at her, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and incredulity. ‘That’s why your blood freed me from Talize,’ he breathed. ‘Why I feel so strong. The power dilutes over generations. The closer to the source you are, the stronger you are.’ His eyes skipped to Mazron. ‘I’m Shade-made.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mazron. ‘And had it not been for this somewhat unique situation, you would never have discovered these secrets. For what Darkling would ever dare to feed upon a Shade?’ He smiled. ‘But I cannot allow you to live with such knowledge. Even if I were to ignore the fact that you tried to help my prize escape, I can’t risk that information falling into the hands of the Queens. Nor the other secret you’re keeping.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Mazron’s smile was diabolical. ‘Yes, you do. You’ve wanted to tell her. Every moment you’ve been alone with her it’s itched to break free … but you were too scared to ever speak the words.’
‘What is he talking about?’ Keriath whispered, edging away from Dell.
He glanced down, his jaw set with determination. ‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, come now,’ crooned Mazron, inching closer. ‘Time’s up, Dell. You wanted to tell her – now’s your chance. She wants to know. It’s been bothering her since you ambushed her in Thornhold. Go on, put her out of her misery. Tell her who gave you the information.’
Dell growled. ‘Your bitch sister sent us after her.’
‘Stick to the facts, Dell,’ Mazron taunted. ‘Zorana gave the order, but who told you where to look?’
Keriath stepped clear of him, her legs trembling from the effort of staying upright. ‘Dell?’
The big Darkling’s face was a mask of resolve, but there was pain beneath it. Mazron hissed, and she sensed the talons of his attack driving into Dell’s mind. The Darkling – her Darkling – screamed and crashed to his knees.
‘Tell her!’ roared Mazron. Dell screamed again as the razor-sharp blades of the Shade’s attack cut into him. ‘Look her in the eye and tell her who betrayed her!’
Dell’s neck shuddered from the strain of resisting as his head was forced round to look at Keriath. Veins bulged across his face as he fought the pain, but the Shade was too strong.
‘Taelyr!’ he gasped. ‘Gods forgive me. It was Taelyr. Your brother betrayed you, Keriath. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Keriath swayed from the shock. There was a roaring in her ears, over which she barely heard Dell’s strangled apologies or Mazron’s vicious laughter. Taelyr. Her baby brother. Betray her? It couldn’t be. Her eyes went to Mazron.
‘Why? What did you do to him?’
But the Shade only smiled and looked over her shoulder at the two Darkling guards now approaching. Enchanted by Mazron, they were like blank-faced pupp
ets as they bound Dell’s hands behind his back and hauled him up.
‘Much as I would like to deal with you myself,’ Mazron whispered, ‘I’m afraid I can’t go killing your Queens’ subjects in their own castle. It wouldn’t be prudent, what with us being allies and all. I apologise – I would at least make it quick – but I expect the Queens would prefer a traitor’s death to linger.’ Mazron smiled as Dell flinched, then he reached for Keriath. ‘And as for you, I’ve already told you twice. It’s Prince Mazron. Don’t make me tell you again.’
Then his hand fisted in her hair, and he pulled her close, kissing her thoroughly. Her skin crawled at the violation, and she tried to pull away. But then he was in her head, soothing away her complaints and stirring up her blood until she was desperate for more.
He broke away, leaving her gasping for breath, and glanced at Dell with a smug, satisfied smile. Keriath could not bring herself to look at the Darkling … her Darkling. She could sense his rage boiling in his veins, taste his wounded pride and bitter regret. But it was the wrenching despair in his heart that hurt her the most.
So she didn’t fight when Mazron gestured to the Darkling puppets he had commandeered. She didn’t fight as they dragged Dell away, his feet trailing behind him when his legs refused to hold his weight any longer. She didn’t fight when Mazron’s hand went to the small of her back and guided her back under the mountain.
The sentinels guarding the throne room did not challenge their approach. Nor did the Shade Prince make any move to request an audience, as Drosta had done. Whether through his dark powers or out of fear, the sentinels did not hesitate to open the doors and grant him entry.
The Queens bristled at the unannounced intrusion, but as they looked more closely at the figures striding down the chamber towards them, their irritation faded to incredulity.
‘Your little pet here was trying to make off with my prize,’ Mazron announced, with the air of someone commenting on the weather. Keriath almost admired the audacity of it. ‘I stopped them. Also, I hope you don’t object – I appropriated two of your guards to aid in his capture. And I trust you don’t object, but I altered their minds to ensure they didn’t disobey their orders.’
Ylain straightened. The old crone’s imperious gaze swept the room once, taking in the commotion with a slight curl of her lip, and she snapped her fingers in dismissal. ‘An unnecessary but understandable precaution. But they are no longer required, so I would ask that you release them now.’
‘If you insist,’ said Mazron, rolling his eyes. The guards shoved Dell down to kneel before the Queens then joined the line of servants and guards filing from the room.
Keriath was permitted to remain standing, though Mazron kept a proprietary grip on her arm. She paid him little heed, her eyes on Dell. Guilt gnawed at her gut. She had done this to him. First with her beauty and then with her blood. Stolen his will, his chance to choose for himself. She was no better than the Queens. No better than Mazron. Even now, Dell was gazing at her with love and loyalty in his eyes. But it was a lie, a perversion of a once pure magic. The worst kind of corruption imaginable. It made her stomach heave just to look at it.
Ylain cleared her throat and stepped forward. ‘I assume you want him executed,’ she said without preamble.
‘He betrayed you, helped your prisoner escape, tried to steal my prize. The punishment for such transgressions can only be death,’ noted Mazron with a cruel smile.
‘He is my subject,’ she snarled, ‘and it is for me to sentence him.’
‘And do you judge differently?’
‘Of course not,’ she hissed. ‘But I would have preferred to handle it with more tact.’
The Shade smirked. ‘Because he is only here to ensure his maker’s good behaviour? A Hunter whose loyalty you doubt?’ The Queen flinched from the accusation, for that was why Dell had remained while Drosta returned north. To Zorana. ‘We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?’ he purred. ‘I would hate to think you were spying on my sister, Ylain.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ The crone bristled. ‘Anyway, I’m not the one keeping secrets,’ she added with a pointed look at Keriath.
Mazron offered an irreverent shrug. ‘What can I tell you, Ylain? Your boy got lucky. Why would he have brought her here instead of taking her back to Zorana if he was planning to betray you?’ Ylain paused at that, but she let the matter drop.
‘We are, perhaps, drifting off topic,’ Talize interjected, sidestepping Ylain. The smile on Talize’s full lips was forced and tight as she tried to remain polite, but bitter rage rolled off the Queen in waves. ‘Despite our differences of opinion, I think we can all agree that the traitor must die. While it might have suited us better to have been more discreet about it, the damage is not irreparable. Drosta might find the death of his second inconvenient, but there is no need to anger him any further with the humiliation of a public execution. I say we kill him now and get it over with.’
Pria nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘Agreed,’ grunted Ylain.
‘As you wish,’ the Shade purred. ‘Although I’m surprised the infamous Darkling Queens would offer a traitor a quick death.’
Talize descended the steps, her eyes filled with blistering hate. ‘Oh, do not fear my Prince. I have no intention of rushing this. His suffering will linger, I promise you that.’
‘He will tell them everything before he dies,’ Keriath hissed into the Shade’s mind as Talize’s talon-like fingers yanked Dell’s head back by his hair, baring his throat. Mazron only chuckled.
‘Given that he is already under the influence of the Enchanting, I find that unlikely.’
Keriath glared at him. ‘If you can stop him from speaking, why bother having him killed?’ Mazron prowled closer, running a possessive hand down her cheek. She flinched from that proprietary touch, and the Shade chuckled at her discomfort.
‘Because he tried to take what was mine,’ he breathed. ‘And now you will watch him die.’ Keriath flinched away, but Mazron only smirked, turning and leading her up the dais. He sat in one of the empty thrones, pulling Keriath down into his lap. One arm snaked around her waist, pulling her to him while the other caressed her throat. Bile rose from her stomach, her skin crawling at his touch, but he held her fast. ‘You will watch every moment, and you will remember it all in exquisite detail whenever you close your eyes. His death will haunt your nightmares forever,’ he purred, the words weaving commands in her mind that she was powerless to counter. ‘This is your punishment for trying to run. Consider it a mercy. The last one you will ever receive from me.’
Mercy was perhaps not the word Keriath would have used, but even without Mazron’s command, she would not have looked away. She owed Dell that much. He looked so small and fragile, kneeling at the bottom of the dais. As vulnerable and shattered as her dying heart. But deep down, she knew that the wrench of despair at seeing him so helpless had nothing to do with anything she felt for him. She felt nothing for him – save her guilt at robbing him of his choice. He was just another Darkling. If the Queens or Mazron didn’t kill him, Keriath would have done it herself. No, what she felt was the keen edge of desperation at having all hope ripped away. Hope that Dell had given her.
So she watched. She watched in silence as Ylain and Pria descended the dais, and the Queens began their torment. Watched as they beat him with their bare hands. Watched as Pria and Talize held him fast while Ylain whipped his back into bloody ribbons. Watched as they carved into his flesh, cutting him up piece by piece.
And while she watched, Mazron whispered in her mind. What he told her, what he showed her … It made her blood run cold.
Taelyr, with his silvery hair and his moonstone eyes. Her baby brother, who she loathed and loved with equal measure. Or rather, someone else wearing his face. Because the things she saw him do – that was not her brother.
Her brother would never have helped the Shade take Illyol, would never allow them to taint his ancestral home. Her brother would never suf
fer a Darkling to live in his presence, let alone sit back and watch as they feasted on the lifeblood of every mortal they could find. He would never have tolerated the hunting and killing of the Graced children, too young to suppress their powers … would have died himself before he saw one come to harm.
And yet, that was Taelyr she saw drawing up plans of Illyol and handing them to the Shade. That was Taelyr smiling while Darklings slaughtered the mortals who sheltered within the wards. That was Taelyr leading the Hunts through the city, searching for any remnants of the Graced bloodlines that might have lingered beyond the Fall. That was her baby brother handing a little girl with pointed ears and an aura like sunlight on water over to the Darklings.
The images were punctuated with the sound of Dell’s gasping breaths, and the wet thud of tearing flesh as the lash cut into his back. Keriath’s eyes did not leave his tortured face.
‘What did you do to my brother?’ she hissed. ‘Taelyr is a lot of things, but this isn’t him. You did something. You changed him.’
‘Did I?’
Dell’s blood was running in rivulets down his legs, staining the stone beneath his feet. It was black, tainted by the poison of the Shade magic … her Shade magic. She shoved the thought away as Mazron flooded her mind with more pictures of her brother.
She watched as Taelyr bowed before the Oak Throne, bowed to the Shade Princess he’d helped to claim it, with that same beautiful, arrogant smile he’d had since boyhood. She saw that same cruel glint in his eye, the scheming expression on his breathtaking face when a plan was forming in his wicked mind. Rumours might claim Keriath to be the child of shadows, but Taelyr was the one with the soul as black as night.
She watched the Princess take him by the hand, leading him to her bed, and felt nothing. For Taelyr, the choosing of lovers had little to do with attraction or even morality; it was just a question of what he might gain from his liaisons. His actions and their consequences were always meticulously considered, and his motivations were never anything but self-serving. He would readily debase himself with someone like Zorana if he thought he might benefit from it. While it was a flaw she had long ago accepted, Keriath had no desire to witness it. Mazron showed her anyway.
