A growl punctures up through the floor, and I bolt upright, heart racing. Hands shaking. Eyes searching for …
“What was that?” I gasp.
Pax grips the back of my shirt and yanks me down, helped by Seth who sits up and presses a hand to my chest.
“Darkness,” Seth mutters.
He hasn’t even opened his eyes. Neither has Pax. The house itself feels alive with the echo, even though I can’t hear the sound anymore.
“Killian?” I ask. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Seth mutters.
“We have to check on him,” I demand.
“I’m not going down there. That man’s deadly in his sleep,” Seth says.
Pax settles his arm over my waist, nodding into his pillow. “No one goes near him,” he agrees. It almost sounds like he’s going to add the words ‘that’s an order’, but he’s already falling back to sleep.
Killian’s gone quiet again anyway, but now I need to pee.
“Let me up,” I declare, wriggling towards the foot of the bed. Neither of them lift their arms, so I try again with something a little more pressing. “I need to pee.”
Both of them snag a grip on my shirt.
“Do you want me to pee my pants?” I ask, adding, “Or your pants?”
Pax almost-growls, opening his eyes a sliver and fixing his groggy gaze on me.
Damn, when Sabers sleep, they go down hard. No wonder these guys are paranoid about where they sleep.
“I can’t leave my bubble anyway, so I can’t go far. I’m going to pee, and you’re going to close your eyes and not watch me pee.”
He relaxes his grip. Seth’s fallen back to sleep, and I practically have to rip my shirt free from his fingers.
“Pax?” Seth asks, trying to sit up.
I put my hand on his chest and push him back down. “I’m going to the toilet,” I grumble.
I get myself off the bed and out of their reach as quickly as I can, then hesitate awkwardly until they’ve both rolled over. I’m almost certain Seth’s going to roll over as soon as I start to pee and laugh at me. But he doesn’t. Neither of them move when I wash my hands and wet my face either. The frog croaks joyfully at the bottom of the water pipe.
Killian lets out a series of low, angry growls downstairs. The sounds send shivers up my spine, freezing me in place. Like he’s in serious pain, soul-deep pain.
I follow the edge of my bubble, past Eydis’ clothes, towards the door, but not out of it. I can’t even glimpse down the stairs and see if Killian’s okay.
Which is a considerably stupid idea, because I’m pretty sure Killian is not okay. Another heart-stopping howl rips through the building, making me jump. A low whimper follows, and that’s the sound that hits me the hardest.
I run over to Seth, giving his shoulder a firm shake. He grips my wrist, wriggles over, and tugs me into the bed. “Sleep.”
“I need to check on Killian.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“You don’t have to check on him – you just have to walk me down the stairs.”
“Very…” Yawn. “Bad idea. He’ll break you…” Yawn. “Like a twig. Tiny Vexy.”
Pax groans. “Beautiful.”
“She’s here,” Seth whispers.
They both make an agreeing-grunting sound, then settle into silence.
Bralls, no. Killian’s gone quiet, but I need to see him before I can go to sleep. Which has nothing to do with these two being super-possessive and super annoying.
Okay, maybe a little.
Their attitude has certainly got my blood pumping a little faster, and my good hand curled into a fist.
“Seth,” I whisper. You can stay asleep for all I care – but you are taking me downstairs.
The sharp ache through my temple, and little trickle of blood under my nose, warns me that I just used Roarke’s Allure – but I get no warning before Seth’s on his feet, picking me up and carrying me from the room. I bite my lip to stop myself from squealing, looking back over Seth’s shoulder at the still-sleeping Pax.
Killian groans like a man being beaten to death, then thumps something hard enough to make the big bay window shudder. Seth doesn’t react, walking down the stairs with his eyes unnervingly still closed.
“Stop,” I say on the bottom step, then wriggle free from Seth’s grip.
I can feel that I’m inside Killian’s bubble – but I can’t see the man. The back of the couch is blocking my view. All I want to do is peek over the couch, see he’s okay, then go back to bed.
Maybe even shake his shoulder to wake him a little – that usually stops a nightmare. Or shake his shoulder a lot because he’s a big man, and the sounds he was making hint at the most intense nightmares a person could have.
Seth turns and stumbles back up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I hiss after him.
But he’s gone. I scratch my head, trying to remember what my actual instructions were. Do people obey to the exact words a person uses, or is intention enough?
Right, new plan. Check on Killian, then curl up in one of the single chairs and deal with pissed-off Pax in the morning.
Carefully, I step up to the back of the seat, practically tiptoeing. Every nerve in me is alive with Seth’s warning – ‘he’ll break you.’ But the big guy has gone quiet.
I peer over, stepping close enough to make out his features in the firelight.
He’s using the couch arm as a pillow. One foot is hanging over the far arm, and the other has fallen to the floor. His hand is at his side – where his sword would usually be – fist clenched.
I should register the huge sigh of relief that he lets out, but everything in me is focused on the scar down his face – vibrant with fresh blood that pools and runs along its length and onto his neck. The chest of his dark shirt looks equally wet – but I’m hoping that’s just sweat.
It’s probably not – likely more blood from the scar that cuts through his chest.
Why the chuck are his scars ripped open and bleeding?
I gasp and grab him by the shoulder.
His hand is around my neck, and I’m being flung over the couch, over him, and down onto the floor before his eyes are even open. He pins me down, practically sitting on my chest, cutting off my air and any chance I had of talking. But just to be sure, he presses his hand hard down on my neck.
I grab at his fingers, trying to pry them off, but he grips my wrist and slams it to the floor.
The stiff leather splint creaks, then something cracks and pain shoots up my arm. His weight is so heavy I’m waiting for more bones to break, and ice cold wisps of shadow magic are rising from his fingers.
Black seeps into the world, narrowing everything to just Killian. Just the man easily twice my size, carved from stone, with blood running down the scar on his face and his eyes still closed.
Finally, he lifts his eyelids.
His brow pulls into angry lines, and the freshly-opened scar across his face is vibrant against the fear that fills his eyes. He shifts his weight, pulling his hand from my neck and letting the air in. I heave and choke, then cough, too out of control to find words.
“Shadow,” he growls.
His eyes are black, pure black, with no-whites-left black. His expression contorts in barely controlled anger – or rage. After the briefest moment of realizing that it’s me he has under his grip, he tosses me over his shoulder and storms up the stairs. I still can’t freaking breathe, barely drawing in gasps before his shoulder forces it back out of me again.
“Never go near me when I’m sleeping.” He grates the words out, “Never.”
As soon as he’s in the room, he tosses me down, and I land with a hard thud on the floor. Gasping and pressing my eyes shut tight against the seams of pain that threaten to rip me apart, I don’t even notice him leave.
But I do sense the stillness in the room and hear his darkness resume as he tries to sleep downstairs. His pain mildly overtakes mine and
actually gives me enough strength to try to wriggle my fingers – which hurts too chuckin’ much.
It’s not pain – it’s agony so bad that I can’t even groan.
The croak of the frog ticks by unhindered, and finally, I open my eyes again. The lantern has burned out, so I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here.
Downstairs, Killian grunts, then howls, his pain shredding through me again and again. Hurting me more than whatever is going on with my arm or the lingering bruises on my neck. Even if I wanted to go back to bed right now, I couldn’t. Killian has reset my arm enough times for me to recognize that that’s exactly what I need.
“Seth,” I whisper, pressing my eyes shut and digging through my soul. Come on, Allure, where are you? I order Seth to take me downstairs.
The fresh throb through my head barely registers against all of the parts of me pulled tight to the point of almost shredding.
It takes me a moment to realize that Seth’s picked me up and begun to carry me downstairs. It does occur to me, though, that all of this is just going to get me into more trouble. Seth’s going to be pissed. Pax is going to be really pissed. Killian is already pissed – and now I’m going to try and wake the guy up again, then beg him to straighten my arm.
Or I could just get Seth to take me up to Roarke and beg Roarke to take the pain away until morning.
Killian growls, the sound cut off suddenly as we step into his radius – where Seth promptly sets me down and pads back up the stairs.
I stagger, the world spinning in an agony-induced mess as I grip the banister and wait to see if I’m going to throw up. Above me, Seth has collapsed into a snoring heap just inside the bedroom door – I can still see his feet.
I edge into the sitting room, going as wide around the couch and Killian as I can.
He’s still. Peaceful.
The noises born from nightmares are gone. I lean against the side of one of the single seats, trying to judge how I can wake him without getting something else broken.
Between my head throbbing and the stabbing pain radiating from my arm, there’s not a lot of room left for a clear thought. Or a lot of strength.
My knees buckle, and I sink to the ground, crumpling against the chair. A chair which would have been quite comfortable to sit in, but I don’t even have the energy to get back up. I hug my right arm against my chest. Each of my breaths is a struggled, gasping effort.
Killian rolls over on the couch, letting out a soft, gentle noise. The kind a dog makes when he gets comfortable and ready to relax. The kind the dog on the estate, Chomp, made when he had a full stomach.
He’s facing me, but his eyes are closed, and the scar on his face has stopped bleeding. More than stopped bleeding. As I watch, the redness settles, and the angry intensity that was drawn into every line of his face smooths.
His big eyelids settle, and the man finds the kind of sleep he should have been having. The guy’s like a giant protector for us all, but every time he closes his eyes, there’s no one there to protect him.
What does he see? Are the nightmares of Darkness darker than anyone else's? Death? The death of his mother. Her last breaths as he used his own body as a human shield – and yet still failed. Does he look into Lithael’s eyes, look at his mother’s soul trapped inside one of Lithael’s glass necklaces, and feel his own soul being torn into pieces?
Does he see my death too?
The one thing to fight a grimm is something that’s finally dead.
Wait until your grief has passed, then – Seek the remnant beyond the border.
Speak to a man named Martin but believe the word of a bird.
Let your reflection go hazy in clear waters and see instead through a grey lens.
In Silvari glass is a blade that can pass, a soul that can kneel, and a world that can heal.
This is not a battle that can be won. Before this time can pass, the mortal soul from its beginnings can not last. There is no way a soul can rule and live.
Because I heard what the Origin Spring said to the tallest forest tree – the key will be in the last of me.
Way down deep in the pit of my stomach, I’m pretty sure my imagination only just skims the top of what Darkness dreams of.
Which all makes me seriously consider just staying where I am, on the floor, in agony. Don’t poke a sleeping… anything… right? Not when he’s sleeping like a baby. All snuggly and relaxed. If I were Seth, I’d be thinking about sneaking up and putting Killian’s thumb in his mouth.
I’m in too much pain to be Seth.
I could throw something at him if he starts having another dream – if I can get to my feet. Like the cushion on the couch next to me. Or his boot – boot to the head could be dangerous, though.
Besides, there’s something in his boot. A shadow.
Which means I’m losing my marbles, because small shadows without small creatures attached to them don’t exist.
Killian lets out another sigh, a long, contented, comfortable sigh – and it’s decided. I’m staying exactly where I am – watching a shadow – until the guy wakes up on his own.
Killian lets out a house-shuddering growl, and I snap my fingers in the air, an automatic response that helps guide my power into one specific purpose – to silence the air around me. I need to concentrate – I’ll sleep later – and in the morning I need to save Kitten’s life.
Then, in my cocoon of silence, I set to work. Yanking at the buckles again, I manage to get one open just enough to hunt around for the small blue book inside.
‘Seed Lore,’ the faded brown lettering reads. Under the image of a pine cone. A sequoia pine cone – like the one lonely sequoia tree that’s visible outside the window.
I flip open the book, brushing my fingertips over the gold lettering of the index. GlassSeeds are a myth – I’m sure of that. But what are the other options?
ShatterSeed. ThreadSeed. ShimmerSeed. The names aren’t even in alphabetical order. EbbSeed. AllureSeed.
I stop there, hesitating. I already tore the page out and threw it in the fire when we were camped in the Inya Forest… before I gave the book to Kitten. The page might be gone, but the words echo inside of me…
AllureSeed. Born of the beginning and of the end, of all things to come and where they began. Holder of the right and the wrong. The one to start and end the song. The harmony of true love is the only thing to satiate the power within.
I swallow hard, as if the words actually rolled over my vocals. I’ve not sung anything, not even hummed, since I was a child. Just the idea of it is painful.
And of course I would turn a moment of furious research about Kitten into one where I’m… what would she call it? Having a pity party.
I force the moment to step aside and let some real thinking in.
As unlikely as the idea is, I flip the book open to the page on OriginSeeds, right in the center. This was always my least favorite passage. It’s delicate and pretty to read. Most people believe it, but I never could accept that Silva started with one race – the Origins.
“OriginSeed. Born with every choice in the land and the ability to Seed another. But the soul must choose only one – and that one must accept being chosen. That is the power and the curse they shall bear. The power to create those who can destroy.
Ridiculous. Origins were supposedly the only Silvari, when they existed.
Unions between Seeded Silvari only produce Seeded children when the parents’ powers have some kind of tie, some type of connection that causes the powers to seek each other out as even vaguely familiar. All these Seedless Silvaris today are the products of two Sabers with vastly different seeds having children. A StrengthSeed and a ShimmerSeed will not have the compatibility to create any seed in their children. How did our race evolve to a point where there was incompatibility when every child was born from Origins, and when Origins themselves could have just handed over new seeds?
Not just any new seed, a seed of the receiver’s choosing.
Logic says that every child would have chosen a seed of Allure. From a young age, all children desperately want something they can't have, another piece of chocolate, or a toy, or to avoid a chore, and Allure would grant them the ability to order their parents to comply.
Was there an age limit – you were granted a seed when you became an adult? But then, Sabers have their seeds from birth and parents have to deal with ShimmerSeeds disappearing into lightwaves even as newborns. Plus, if adolescents were offered any seed their hearts desired, we’d have a kingdom full of Seductions.
The world would be a mess. The OriginSeed is pure myth. Bloody waste of paper and ink, the lot of it.
I flip sharply back to the index. Working myself into a temper about a stupid legend is not going to help.
Right, Kitten has a seed of some kind, a tainted-by-mortal-blood and blocked-or-severed-by-magic seed, but a seed nonetheless. Something that works with glass, but is not glass.
SandSeed would make sense if such a thing existed.
SaltSeed – now that holds promise. I rush through the pages, finding it near the end of the book.
SaltSeed. To see the world down to something so small and value each grain as a handle on a door. Then hold that small-precious piece of life, and choose if the door shall be opened, or locked with a knife.
Bloody Silvari scribble.
There’s a red line through the title – extinct. So there isn’t any hope that I can find one and ask them how their power works. The line drawing is of something shattering, but not glass. It looks more like a salt crystal – or grains of sand.
I scan through the list of Seed’s once more. Flipping through page after page in quick Allure-sped succession. No Haryk-Larsan. None. Whatever a Haryk-Larsan is, it has nothing to do with Seeds of Power.
More questions, less answers, and now I need to sleep.
Eight Paces
I sense Killian stirring an eternity later. My eyes, glazed over but still opened, flicker to life. At first checking if the small shadow is still in his boot. Which it isn’t, because it wasn’t real.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 82
