She’d fallen asleep outside the hall and one of his men had carried her to her bed. When Viktor’s condition hadn’t seemed to worsen, Oricus had him moved so the staff could get started on the cleanup. There was still a Lunvet Solstice Ball to set up for. He needed this event to take place. It was crucial to his plan that the people of Scondelade see and interact with his mate. She was likeable enough and she’d secure their loyalty faster than he could.
With only a few hours of sleep, Harlow looked about as exhausted as he felt. She’d expelled a lot of magic after keeping it locked away for so long. Her kind thrived on regular magic use. Suppressing it could have killed her, were she mortal.
Oricus finally peeled his gaze away from her and met Rasimus’s look. He gave a subtle nod to his brother before rushing out the door. Without stopping, Oricus stormed through the castle, noting the way the servants hid in alcoves as he passed. At the staircase that led up to his chambers, he used a burst of speed that had him at his door in an instant. The vines pulled away from the handle for him to enter. His door was one of the only doors in the castle that opened the old-fashioned way. When he was a teenager and the castle had been upgraded, he’d demanded to keep his manually opening door. His father had called him a fool and installed the upgrade anyway. Geoff had helped him design a door that did both.
Inside, his room had been cleaned up, though the window was void of glass. The vines had moved to cover it in a tight weave, leaving the space dark. Not that there was any light outside to offer. He snapped his fingers and the coil above began to glow.
With only two days until the start of Lunvet, the suns had almost completely moved away, the moons circling into orbit. The cycle of unending night would soon begin.
It suited him, a creature of the night.
Stalking over to his desk, he clicked the hidden lock open and pulled the drawer. Inside, the old houtai shell mirror lay face down. He brought it out, turning it over, and spoke to it.
“Empress Onoliza.”
The image rippled, illuminating the shroud of darkness.
Her vile voice—a blade scraping against a whetstone—came through the portal call before the image filled the mirror. “I’ve been expecting you, Oricus.”
His jaw clamped tight to hold back the lengthy list of obscenities he wanted to spew. Her alien face appeared, along with her bare, bony shoulders. No doubt she’d just finished with some poor mortal.
“What is happening to him?” he gritted out.
Her lips curved upward with satisfaction. “Which one sustained the bite?”
Her question told him exactly what he needed to know—the venom eating away at Viktor was lethal. He didn’t know how, but somehow, Viktor’s injury would kill him. Which meant she wanted him to beg.
“It doesn’t fucking matter! What do I need to do?”
She paused, cocking her head to the side to study him. “Why do you hide that mortal woman? Powers or no, she’ll die in the space of a tide’s length. I appreciate the art form that is the wards protecting you, but you know it won’t keep me out, don’t you?”
Frustration boiled over into rage. So this was about Harlow. No doubt the Empress’s assassins reported back that he kept a Morovitz. What she still had yet to discover was that he had two. The only two in existence. One was dangerous. Two could reshape the galaxy and destroy worlds.
Two could take down the wicked witch of the hoarfrost.
“Miss Marks is my brother’s Marked. My keeping her safe behind the wards ensures my brother suffers for all eternity.”
Onoliza gave a shrill chime of laughter. “Wicked Oricus. Very well. As part of my little experiment, we’ll see how long your precious clan member holds on to his immortal life, shall we? I’ll be in touch. Oh, and I hope you’re not keeping any Earthians there.”
She continued to laugh as the image faded, leaving the mirror blank.
Earthians? There were a handful in the castle that had escaped their servitude in Eqoraline and made it across the Harbijeer, seeking refuge in Onex and other towns. Whatever she meant, he knew it wasn’t good.
His hands shook, the frame groaning under the pressure of his grip. With a bellow, he launched the mirror at the wall. It shattered, debris ricocheting past him.
“There,” he announced to the black silence. “Now the past is officially dead.”
He strode out, abandoning the shattered bits of his only connection to his dead mother.
Starting now, only the future mattered.
The future he created.
HARLOW
With each moment that Viktor fought for breath and his beautifully tattooed skin burned away, Harlow felt her composure slipping. His wounds wept blood and a foul-smelling fluid that could only mean infection.
She held his hand, dabbing at what was left of his feverish skin, and prayed to whatever god might be listening for him to recover. Though she didn’t know him beyond the glares and looks of disdain he shot her, they were Marked. Just the thought of him dying made it hurt to breathe. But he couldn’t die, right? It was impossible according to Oricus. Then again, she’d never seen him falter before. There was uncertainty in his eyes. And that alone was a terrifying thing.
It was nearly a full day since the attack, with only a tray of sandwiches brought up at some point that she nibbled on whenever she got a chance. She was exhausted still, her body sluggish. When she leaned back, her eyelids grew heavy until she couldn’t keep them open any longer.
Geoff poked his head into the room, rousing her instantly. “Hey, want me to take over for a few hours? You look exhausted.”
She glanced down at Viktor, looking like he slept soundly despite the blackening, curling skin that had already risen another inch up his neck, and bit her lip.
“Don’t worry, if anything happens, we’ll let you know. You should sleep.”
Reluctantly, she nodded, scooting slowly off the bed, careful not to stir him and send him into another fit. On her feet, she stretched, a yawn slipping out. “Just a few hours and then I’ll be back.”
Geoff’s gaze heated. “Yeah,” he rasped.
Harlow was too tired to feel much, but she paused to press a peck to his cheek before slipping out the door and making her way back to her room. She showered quickly even though the hot water felt incredible on her stiff muscles. After dressing in the warmest pajamas she possessed, she slipped under the covers. Even with her stomach knotted with worry, she fell into the darkness of sleep within minutes.
Outside her window, the rain lashed the single-pane windows. The brilliant burst of light outside cast the shadow of a beastly maw stretched wide. Harlow screamed, pulling the blanket over her head, mussing her wild mane of curls.
The boom that followed shook her bedframe. Her body trembled as a sob escaped her. There’s no monster outside your window. There’s no monster outside your window. She chanted the words over and over, but when she peered from under the hand-stitched quilt her mother made last Christmas, another bolt of lightning pierced the darkness outside. The shape was different. Bigger. Closer. Long, twisting horns came from the top of its head.
She threw off her blanket as the clap of thunder vibrated the house. A shriek caught in her throat, but she was already out her door, following the glow of firelight flickering on the bottom floor.
When her feet carried her down, she knew who she’d find. Two tall-backed armchairs stood in front of the burning fire. The figure occupying the first chair turned at the sound of Harlow’s footsteps. A kind smile lit the woman’s delicate face, but for some reason, Harlow couldn’t make out any specific features.
“Harlow, baby, did the storm wake you?” her mother called. The voice was tender and filled with warmth that made her heart swell.
Sniffling, she nodded, coming to stand between the two chairs.
“Ack, come here, little one,” a gruff voice said to her right, and large, strong hands pulled her into the comforting embrace of
her father. He smelled of tobacco and ink, a familiar scent that had her curling in closer, the coarse hairs from his beard tickling the top of her head.
The lightning that flashed outside barely lit up the space behind them, but the rumble of thunder made her frame stiffen.
“No, my girl,” he admonished gently. “There is nothing to fear. Tis only the gods above celebrating. The thunder is them all dancing at once, and the light is because it’s so bright in the heavens that some of it leaks out and comes down to us. It rains because they are feeding our soil so that we have food to eat.”
Face scrunched up, she tried to picture what her father had said. “What are they celebrating?”
Her mother’s light laughter sounded behind her. “They celebrate you of course,” she answered. “You’re a special girl, Harlow. So special.”
Relaxing into her father’s arms, she felt them band tighter around her as he began to hum softly.
She yawned. “What about the shadow outside my window?” she asked sleepily.
Her father’s body went rigid, and somehow, she sensed that her mother had also stilled. The two of them were silent for several minutes.
“That’s just your guardian, my love.” Her mother’s voice quivered just slightly. “He’s one of the gods. He knows you’re special too, and sometimes he comes to make sure you’re safe.”
A shiver ran up Harlow’s back, making her father’s hold tighten even more. Though it had scared her before, she closed her eyes now, knowing that she was protected and loved. The sound of her father’s humming along with the lessening cracks of thunder lulled her to sleep.
The rhythm changed, growing in speed.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Harlow opened her eyes, the sound growing more frenzied. The house was gone. Her mother and father were gone. Beneath her was wet, dewy grass. Directly in front of her, rows and rows of leather boot–clad feet marched past her, but the sound came from all around her.
She sat up abruptly and scanned the rolling velvet-green hills around her while an army in silver armor continued to march steadily past. They all carried a strange weapon resembling a gun, though a long tube that sat atop it glowed with eerie red light. The soldiers were somber; their faces were covered with helmets that looked to be fashioned from steel.
She whirled, gasping at the extent of the army that seemed completely oblivious to her. They spanned out as far as the eye could see, and above, the sounds of motors whirring drew her attention.
The morning sky alight with gold, red, blue, and violet was filled with hovering spacecraft, while more had landed in the distance.
What was this? Who were these soldiers?
“Hello?”
When no one looked at her, Harlow reached out to touch the figure closest to her, but her hand went right through the padding on their shoulder.
She backed up, looking around again for any indication as to where she was or what was happening.
Her heart was already pounding when she heard the weapons fire and the shouting start.
Panic jolted through her and she shot upright in bed. Her room was cast in an eerie orange glow, allowing her to see her breath puff in clouds before her. It was so cold her teeth chattered. Hugging the blankets to her chest, she eased her breathing, but her lungs burned while she tried to recall what she’d been dreaming about.
Vaguely she brought forth the image of wet grass and the soldier her hand had traveled through, but the rest trickled away, vanishing to only the desperate need to get warm.
Her head lowered to her knees, her fingers burying into her curls. Just a dream, she told herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been too real. Trying to recall the first part of the dream simply made her head hurt, but she’d clearly felt the sensation of comfort and warmth. Of being protected.
She made a subtle motion with her fingers at the light overhead and it brightened to a summer’s day, but without the heat. It was still strange for her magic to suddenly feel so free. Stranger still was the natural way in which she seemed to recall using it.
Some part of her had known she could turn on the light without moving, yet it still surprised her when the light obeyed. Body racked with chills, she paused before attempting to send a wave of heat from her palm.
Flames erupted in crackling arcs and rained down on the bed around her. With a small scream she leapt to her feet and shot water over the wicked tongues of orange and blue. The fire hissed out, and black smoke curled and twisted up from the wreckage.
“On second thought, maybe not so natural,” she muttered aloud, and sighed. Now she was cold, her bed charred, and soaking wet.
With a huff she jumped off the bed and threw on the most normal clothing she could find, noticing that everything was suddenly skintight despite the measurements she’d given Emuria. The fabrics were different too, which made her think her friend was no longer the one making her clothes. As for the sizing, it was likely that one of the men she lived with had made the adjustment.
Even in the thickest sweater she currently owned, she still shivered. The boots adorned with buckles and straps that Emuria had given her seemed to be keeping her toes warm. She’d have to find Emuria and thank her for such amazing footwear.
Harlow made her way into the corridor hoping to find Rex to help her clean up the mess in her bedroom, but the delicate spidery veins of rime stretching over the walls made her falter.
“You finally woke up, eh? I was beginning to think you’d frozen to death in your sleep.”
Harlow whirled, finding exactly the man she’d been looking for. “Why is it so cold?” she asked.
Standing with his hands in his pockets, Rex wore a thin, knitted long-sleeve shirt that hugged his lean frame, along with dark denim jeans. He looked like an advertisement for some high-end clothing company.
“Is that what the sudden panic was about? I thought maybe you’d found a massive spider or something,” he said with a chuckle.
Harlow frowned. “I tried to warm up the room and set my bed on fire.” She held up a hand. “Yes, yes, it’s hilarious. I need you to help me clean it up. If that’s even possible. I don’t really want to ask for a new mattress.”
His lips quirked to one side in a smirk, but he nodded, and strode past her into her room. “You can’t create new material, so you have to focus your magic on undoing the fire and damage. It won’t be perfect, but you can likely undo most of it. The water is simple—you just draw it out and evaporate it.”
Harlow followed, stopping beside him. “So that’s how it works. I can’t create anything new. But what about the pure magic blasts that I used to fight. What is that?”
He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “That’s your essence. Just purely you. I can do it too, but I have to recharge by physically connecting with the land or water. You seem to recharge on your own.” He shrugged, turning his attention to her destroyed bed. The deep gouges where fire had decimated the material made her think it would be impossible to fix, but his palms lifted, and instantly she saw the blackened fabric curling back into place.
Determined to try it herself, she zeroed in on a spot on her duvet that was little more than ash. She willed the ash to reverse—to become whole again—but nothing happened.
“Why isn’t it working?” she asked with a frustrated growl.
“You have to force the ashes to reform. Once you sense the ashes, you can manipulate them by changing them back into fabric. Took me forever to learn how to do it.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “It was actually you that taught me how to do it.”
Her brows creased as she faced him. “I did?”
He nodded. “There was a time when we were separated and…I was able to use our bond to sort of float through your dreams and whatnot. For the longest time I wasn’t even sure what I was doing and I couldn’t manifest myself into a solid form that you could see or interact with. But there was a
certain…event that occurred where someone showed you how to put a window back together. In most places the glass had practically become dust. That simple demonstration showed me that I could do it too.”
She stared at him, puzzled by nearly everything he’d said. “You were in my dreams?”
He nodded without offering any more information, waving a hand to return the duvet to new.
“What event? Who showed me how to do magic? I thought only you and I had magic.”
Rex sighed, letting his hand fall to his side. “Technically Oricus and his brothers are the original blrochni, and they each have a little thread of magic, but they can’t do even a fraction that we can.” His grin was boyish and sexy all at once. “Come on, I know you want to see Viktor.” He grabbed her hand and successfully distracted her from getting answers, the connection flaring through her like an electric current.
In the hall a servant ran by shouting something in a language Harlow didn’t recognize. Screams echoed further down the corridor. They stopped, and she exchange a look of confusion with Rex. Then two more girls shouted. They came around the corner, the two supporting one who covered her face, wailing.
Rex stepped forward. “What is it?” he asked.
“She is unwell,” the servant with a dark blue hair answered. Their usual headscarves were missing, revealing pointed ears. Except for the girl who covered her face.
Harlow looked closer at the skin on the girl’s hands. They were splotchy with raised blisters. “Is there a doctor she can see or something?”
The girl lowered her hands, and Harlow fought not to gasp. Most of the skin on her face was gone, and what was left was covered in blood and pus. The smell wafted toward them and Harlow’s stomach turned violently.
But what was most shocking was that one of the girl’s eyes was missing. The other was cloudy, almost pure white. She sobbed harder, and Harlow looked to Rex for answers.
Chained to Darkness Page 18
