And Elliot would be left alone in a world that preferred him rotting in an unmarked grave.
But the vestibule, even with its sumptuous decor, was more like a moonlit cavern than a castle, and as I searched for a weapon—preferably something extra sharp for whatever it was that wished to devour me—I found nothing of use. Apparently, the lord of this miserable castle never thought to invest in a weapon rack.
I was deliberating over a small table, wondering if I could use it as a shield, when a sudden wind ignited a series of hidden candelabras set deep into the walls. As they burst alive, their ghostly flames appeared in every gilded mirror, casting the paintings in an uncanny glow. Light filled the space, toward where it grazed—but didn’t quite reach—a haze of darkness atop a staircase cut in the center of the room. The stairs towered higher than the vestibule’s massive ceiling, winding away into the upper floors.
Then, in a rush, the haze disappeared.
Shadows poured down the stairs in thick tendrils, revealing a wide crack splitting the upper floors. Just beyond the hole, circling the castle in a suffocating sweep, came a horde of winged demons. They dipped and dove in front of an armored figure, growing nearer and nearer as if they wanted very much to be seen. The man raised his gauntlet-covered hands as if in greeting—and then a wild tempest of pitch-black shadow surged from him toward the mob of demons, sweeping out of the castle and into the sky. As the shadows swept around the demons’ bodies, they were silent.
Silent as if he had sated them.
A strangled sound of fear slipped from my throat. The figure turned, noticing me at last.
He was a serpent poised to strike, a powerful demon sculpted from the shadows themselves. Ornate black armor clung to his body as if molded to him, marked by epaulettes carved to resemble feathers or scales and a cape that fell like fog past his feet. His face was fully covered; a pair of horns, protruding from intricate metal panels, curled upfrom a draconic helm, and a caged structure was set over his cruel mouth and pale jaw. Save for his mouth, his eyes, and a sweep of moon-white hair that fell just above his shoulders, every inch of his skin was covered, even down to the clawed gauntlets that stretched across his hands. He took a step forward, moving as if he were a ghost. His cape trailed behind him, hovering like a shroud of thick smoke.
He was painted differently in the history books, more monster than man. I was used to seeing him with red eyes, a bloody mouth, and a hideous, beast-like body. He was always devouring souls, fighting Weavers, or dripping with gore. But even though he looked different, I recognized who stood in front of me. He was a plague that ripped apart families, destroyed souls, and isolated humanity from their dreams. A nightmare who had ruined my life.
The Shadow Bringer.
Shadows sparked from his clawed gauntlets, rushing forward as a current of snakes. They swept around my body before I could react, enclosing my rib cage with their cold, slippery forms. Once I was fully bound, the Shadow Bringer strode down the stairs, leading with pointed, armored boots.
“You aren’t of the demons or the darkness,” he said, voice dripping with contempt. “Therefore, you must be of my enemy.”
I thrashed and bit my tongue, focusing on the pain.
“Wake up,” I cried out, biting down harder. “Wakeup.” I flinched, surprised at how real the bite felt. The metallic tang of blood, warm as any human blood would be, pooled in my mouth.
As he loomed over me, the metal scales atop his shoulders—carved to look like feathers—gleamed. They cascaded down his back, settling atop the thick material of his cape, and jointed talons, made of the same carved metal, encased each of his fingers.
“Which Weaver sent you here to kill me?” he asked sharply.
When I didn’t respond, he clenched his fists. The snakes obeyed, squeezing my chest and binding my arms.
“Speak,” the Shadow Bringer snarled, materializing a light-eating black sword from his palm and ghosting it across my neck. “If you refuse to respond, I will draw the answer out in other ways.”
“Please let me go,” I whispered hoarsely, fear making my throat as dry as parchment. “No Weaver commands me.”
He scowled, and the snakes tightened in turn, constricting my lungs with their shrinking bodies.
“Lies won’t serve you here,” he warned, pressing the blade into the hollow of my throat. My skin buzzed where the metal touched me. “Especially pathetic ones.”
“I’m not lying,” I gasped.
“Youreekof lies,” he spat, sneering down at me with utter disgust. “The Weavers and their pets never change.”
“Please,” I begged, desperate for absolution. He pressed harder, forcing a cry from my lips. Maker, ithurt. “Have mercy.”
“You take me for a fool, whimpering like you deserve my mercy.”
“Idodeserve your mercy. You took everything from me.” Fear was beginning to ebb into despair. This monster stole Eden’s life. My mother and father, too. My future—my world. “You won’t have me, too.”
His eyes, resembling twin silver pools, flashed violently.
“I can—and will—have you. In this place, I can kill whatever and whomever I please. Particularly if you serve one of them.”
I gritted my teeth, thrashing hard against the snakes, but they did not relent.
“Every trespasser must pay the price,” he continued. “The darkness will become you, just as it has done with me. It will consume you, drain you of your light, and leave you cold and empty.” He held his mouth over my ear, smiling cruelly. The desire to bite him hard and make him bleed was overwhelming, but no skin was exposed for me to even try. “But since I’m feeling charitable,” he added, this time with a stab of sarcasm, “perhaps we can strike a deal. If you want my mercy, you must first set me free.”
