My eyes stay locked on Daed as he charges, a force of lethal grace. In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, dissolving into a twisting cloud of black smoke, only to reappear mid-stride. His fist connects with his opponent’s chin with a sickening crack, the warrior staggering back, dazed. Before he can fall, Daed is on him again, his movements too fast to track. He vanishes once more, reappearing behind the Fae, grabbing him by the throat. With a savage strength, Daed lifts and throws him over his back like he weighs nothing.
The warrior crashes to the ground, his face quickly masked in crimson, a pool of blood blooming beneath him. But Daed doesn’t stop. He straddles him, his expression a dangerous calm. With a smooth, almost casual motion, he reaches to the sky. Smoke coils from his hand as he manifests a dagger, the blade solidifying in his grip, the jeweled handle gleaming in the faint light.
“Where do the weapons come from?” I mutter to Arax, struggling to find enough breath in me to speak.
“The void itself,” Ajax replies.
“Can all Mordorin do that?”
Arax's voice drops, a low, reverent murmur, as if speaking too loudly would disrupt some sacred truth. “No,” he says, the weight of his words palpable. “There is no one among us as attuned to the void as the prince. He doesn’t command it. He is a part of it.”
Another question lingers on my tongue, one that must seem obvious to the Mordorin, yet remains a mystery to me. I swallow my hesitation. “Whatisthe void?”
I feel the chill radiating from Arax’s skin as he speaks, his voice low and steady. “The void is the realm of the Father Below. While our faith lies in the Pale Eye, the Mother Above, the Father offers us gifts we cannot refuse.” His gaze narrows,holding mine. “Void walking. Berserking. Our strength and speed… but they come at a cost.”
The weight of his words settles heavy in the air between us.
“Venture too deep into the void, and you’ll be lost. Meat for the beast. And the beast isalwayshungry.”
Fear rattles within me, threatening to topple my already shaky resolve. If I weren’t struggling to stay upright, Arax’s demeanor would surely send me crumbling to the ground. In The Grove, everything is simple and serene; we worship the great trees and the winding vines, honoring the Souls of the Forest with peace and grace.
But to place faith in such a dark entity?
It’s no wonder the Mordorin are steeped in corruption if their power is tethered to a force that thrives on chaos and hunger. The very thought sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a dread that twists in my stomach. I cannot fathom how they navigate this treacherous line, walking so close to the abyss, yet calling it a source of strength. I can almost see it in their eyes, the flicker of something unsettling, a shadow lurking just beneath the surface. The thought sends another wave of dread coursing through me, each heartbeat a reminder of the chasm that separates my world from theirs.
Daed looms over his opponent, poised and ready to strike, the dagger glinting at the Blade’s throat. To my surprise, the warrior beneath him displays no fear, even in the face of death. I know that this merciless sparring is a brutal part of their training, yet a nagging doubt lingers in my mind. I remind myself of the ruthlessness I witnessed when he severed a head from its body as if it were nothing more than a branch to be snapped. And yet, in this moment, I cling to a sliver of hope that he is not entirely devoid of mercy.
I gulp, my fingers instinctively curling around Arax’s forearm. “He isn’t going to kill him, is he?”
I don’t intend to touch him, but when Arax doesn’t immediately pull away, I find a strange comfort in the connection. My heart sinks, though, when he replies, “If it pleases the prince... then yes.”
The weight of it all is suffocating. The sunless sky and the relentless rain, the centuries-old hatreds mixed with resentment and regret. But more than anything, I am exhausted by the death that permeates the air—putrid and overwhelming. It surrounds me. From the smoldering fires in my forest to the wars that have left both humans and Fae alike as bloody, mangled corpses, side by side on the battlefield.
My heart pounds in my chest, and anguish threatens to spill over, tears pooling in my eyes. I fight them back, summoning every ounce of strength as I call out, “No! Stop!”
My words slice through the thrum of the courtyard, silencing the last echoes of theRookchant. The Mordorin warriors freeze, their movements halting as they turn their gazes upward toward the balcony. I grip the railing so tightly that my knuckles turn white, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, each one a desperate plea for an end to the violence surrounding me.
Daed rises and two Blades hook his fallen opponent under the arms and drag him away. The dagger vanishes from Daed’s hand in a plume of smoke before he grins at me, in the same devastatingly alluring way I have come to fear.
“Arax,” he calls. “Bring me my wife. Will you?”
Arax frowns before swiftly shoving his helmet over his head to hide his annoyance.
“Princess,” he says to me, the only courtesy I receive before he effortlessly scoops me into his arms. His wings burst free from his back, revealing black feathers streaked with gray, mirroring his hair and beard.
With a powerful beat, he lifts a foot onto the railing and pushes off. We soar into the air as the wind rushes around us.I instinctively bury my face in his chest to shield myself from the biting gusts. Suddenly, he shifts direction, diving toward the courtyard with alarming speed. My stomach lurches, the raisin bread I devoured for breakfast threatening to resurface. I manage to swallow it back down just as Arax lands with a solid thump that reverberates through my entire body. He gently sets me on my feet and steps aside, standing tall and silent, his eyes staring blankly ahead through the visor of his helm as Daed strides past him.
The prince stalks toward me, his chest heaving with exertion, and I feel the familiar tension in the air crackle between us. His expression is a cold, disinterested glower.
“You’re the first human to witness the Blades spar,” he says, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, his voice steady yet edged with curiosity. “What are your thoughts on the display?”
Despite the magnetic pull he exerts on me, I can’t ignore the brutality of it all.
“Barbaric.” The word slips from my lips, dripping with disapproval. “What do you gain from beating each other half to death? It’s as if I’m watching beasts tear one another apart. This is nothing more than mindless violence.”
The collective chuckle of the Reapers and Blades catches me off guard, and when Daed’s deep laugh joins in, heat floods my cheeks. I try to hold my head high, but the way they’re laughing—mocking, really—makes me feel small and exposed, like a deer in a clearing.
“Why, thank you, wife,” he says, dragging his hand across his mouth in a mocking gesture. “But tell me, is this not the mindless violence you bargained for to keep your precious Grove safe from your own kind? It isn’t the Fae threatening your borders, but bloodthirsty human rebels who forget their place. Without us‘beasts’, your people would be left to fend for themselves against their own, would they not?”
