Breathing seemed to require more effort and labor here, as well. I pressed my hand against my chest, unsure if the weight on it was from the air or from my emotions. Probably both.
While the Syphon Bond held me hostage, I fought to keep my love for Gray pure. Minute flashes of the real me were able to latch on, but only briefly. The dark magic was too strong. And with each soul I consumed, I drifted further away from the person I truly was.
My newfound Infernal magic slithered beneath my skin. Before, it made me feel all-powerful and strong. But now that I was myself, I saw it for what it was—insidious. The shadows writhed like oily serpents. I missed my element and the vibration of my Kinetic magic in my veins. Now I had the decomposing energy of souls that I’d consumed inside of me. And the worst part about it was that I craved more. Like an addiction, I needed more to keep going despite knowing how disgusting and horrid it was.
I attempted to swallow past the tightness in my throat. Hot, unshed tears wanted to fall over the edge, but I stood motionless and refused to blink as I denied them. I couldn’t allow my emotions to emerge here. I didn’t know how much time I had left with Slate’s magic before I returned to my new reality. I couldn’t waste this opportunity to find something to undermine Celanea and Forest in their goals.
I cleared my throat, clenched and unclenched my fists at my side, then shook my head in an attempt to rid myself of the onslaught of emotions.
The gates recognized my power as I laid my palm against the rusting metal. Innately, I wanted to summon my element to destroy it. To warp it until nothing but a pile of twisted iron lay at my feet. But my element had forsaken me.
Having an element while being Infernal would be too much power for any individual. It was the universe’s way of keeping some sort of balance, given that shit like Infernals even existed at all. I couldn’t fathom the level of hell I could’ve brought upon both worlds if I still had the ability to wield metal and electromagnetic pulses.
Even the stones outside Goshen Castle seemed sharper and harsher, with a darker sheen of black. The bridge leading to the portcullis was crumbling into disrepair. Chunks, large and small, gaped along the edges of it, making the path narrow as I crossed over the darkened moat. I wasn’t sure what the water below me consisted of, but I didn’t have any inclination to find out. Surely, it was lethal.
The walk gave me a chance to compose myself, to lock down the emotions that suffocated me. I donned the mask of the impassive, callous monster I’d become. Curling my lip into a slight sneer, I focused on the anger that drove me forward. Upon my arrival, the portcullis raised, sensing my energy approach.
The sprawling Gothic castle towered high above me, seeming to stretch across the grounds for miles. As usual, the front courtyard was empty despite the unseen darker energies in the distance. I didn’t know why Celanea chose this kingdom to inhabit. She didn’t have an overload of followers to fill the place out. But I chalked it up to her ego, unless there was more that I wasn’t aware of.
The massive door loomed before me as I neared. My adrenaline spiked, nervous about having to cosplay a disgusting version of myself in order to survive. The door swung open without me having to announce my presence, allowing me to continue walking without slowing my pace.
I strolled through the corridors as if it were my own castle, my boots thumping against the dark stone, as I made my way to the west wing, where Celanea’s chambers resided.
Clearly, the Goshen Kingdom had once been lush with Gothic and Baroque beauty. I couldn’t help but picture Celestials reveling incelebrations, gathering in good company, and vying for the ruler’s favor here. I wondered if it had been less intense than it was at the Royal Palace with King Forest. For now, I liked to believe it had.
Approaching the door to Celanea’s chambers, I used my essence—as much as I now hated it—to search for Celanea’s energy. My heart pounded in my chest as I begged any gods that existed for the sorceress not to be there.
After several seconds, I didn’t get a read on her. There were a few other energies, probably servants or slaves, but not her—and not Forest. I could handle the rest.
I swung the doors open into the receiving room, finding it empty. Celanea’s throne stood at the far end beneath a stained-glass window that depicted dragons and griffins fighting together in a legion with warriors saddled on their backs.
The door on the left led to her withdrawing room. I’d never been past the receiving room, but there was always a first time for everything. I used my shadows to sense her energy here, too.
Absent. I slowly released a stifled breath and pulled the door open, cringing as the metal hinges squealed.
Crossing the threshold, I shivered as the air seemed to thicken even more with dark, heavy magic. The frigid temperature squeezed beneath the collar of my shirt and snaked its way down my back.
More stained-glass windows with depictions of Celestial battles sat high up on the wall to my right, and a chaise lounge perched at the front of the room before an unlit fireplace. Bowls, mortars, and pestles, as well as various herbs and dark stones, sat askew on a small table off to the side. But what caught my attention more than anything else was a large knife crafted from bone with blood glistening on the blade.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering who or what she’d recently bonded to. I’d learned that Syphon Bonds were what fed Tempests. They fueled their magic while making others’ souls completely subordinate to their own. If the victim wasn’t strong enough towithstand the power of the dark magic, they would eventually die as a husk—a skeletal corpse.
Ignoring the remnants of the dark magic from the Syphon Bond, I pushed through the withdrawing room into the next one, to her personal library.
I bit my fist as the magic that bathed this room seemed to smother me with an oppressive force that made me want to collapse to my knees. My bones felt as if they’d break. Gritting my teeth, I sturdied myself on a bookshelf. I clearly didn’t have long, but something told me that whatever I sought resided in this room.
Limping, I began to scan the tomes on the shelves. Despite feeling as if I were being ripped apart from the inside, I focused through my blurred vision on the titles of the books. I expected they would contain titles of a darker nature, but surprisingly, they seemed to be benevolent sources of information. I caught glimpses of words like “Celestial Nature,” “Elemental Versatility of Druids”, “Healing Mystic Rituals,” and “Deals with the Dryads.”
Furrowing my brows through the pain, I moved along, searching for something regarding Tempests, but nothing stood out. How could that be possible?
A slicing pain erupted along my torso, making me double over and stumble. I braced a hand against the shelf and hobbled forward several steps, doing my best to breathe through the agony. When I glanced up, my eyes caught the words “Seraphite Stone.” I grunted, my forearm still hugging my torso.
Slate’s magic began to wane, stripping me of my real identity. Hopelessly, I clutched for it as whatever dark magic protected the library ravaged me and snatched it away, strengthening the Syphon Bond.
My fingertips dug into the hard leather-bound tome, and I pulled it from the shelf. I flipped it open, skimming through the words until something stood out.
The excruciating pain climbed higher up into my chest. I battedaway the beads of sweat dripping from my brows and into my eyes, determined to stay focused. I didn’t know when I’d get another opportunity to search this library again, if ever.
I stopped swiping through the pages, slapping a page flat, unconcerned that the book looked and felt ancient. My breath was expelled from my lungs as if I’d been power punched in the diaphragm. Any tiniest spark of hope that flickered inside my heart was snuffed out with the words hand-inked on the page.
