“No,” she agreed, smiling sweetly. “It won’t. Now, tell me about the fire.”
The shadow fire. No one should be able to manifest shadow fire naturally. It wasn’t rare. It wasimpossible.
As far as he knew.
He’d read the histories. Studied the records. The only way to harness that magic had been through ritual, through corruption. A sacrifice of self in exchange for shadowed flame. No human or fae had ever simply… woken with it.
And yet there she was.
A human. Manifesting it on instinct. Wielding it, even if clumsily. As if itbelongedto her.
He felt the shadows stir in response to the thought, a low hum beneath his skin.
“That little display from Varyth’s human pet,” Xyliria’s nails drummed lazily on the armrest. “You told me it was extinct. Dead magic. Impossible to bring back. And yet…” she paused, “there it was.”
“I don’t know what it was,” he said, calm despite the blood now pooling at his feet. “Shadow fire hasn’t been seen in millennia. Perhaps it wasn’t real fire at all, just an illusion.”
Xyliria’s laugh was musical, delicate. The sound made his stomach clench.
“An illusion that required my magic to counter?” She pressed the tip of the blade into the hollow beneath his sternum. “Do you think me a fool, husband?”
“No.” The word was careful. “Never that.”
“I asked you,” she said, turning her head toward him. “How that power exists when you told me it can’t.”
The blade dug deeper, leaving crimson trails that traced elegant patterns across his chest. Ashterion kept his face neutral, muscles locked against the pain. This was the dance they’d performed for centuries—her cruelty, his endurance. A rhythm as familiar as breathing.
“I want her.” Xyliria’s onyx eyes gleamed with a hunger that went beyond cruelty, beyond power. “Her magic.”
Ashterion held her gaze. “You want the human,” he repeated, stripped of emotion.
“Whether we can break her, and she serves us, or take her apart and make more like her. I don’t care. But she needs to be ours.”
The blade slid down his thigh, parting skin and muscle.
Xyliria’s lips curled into that smile he’d come to know too well, the one that promised blood and suffering, that meant she would get exactly what she wanted, no matter the cost. “I want her brought to me. Her and the High Lord.”
“Of course,” Ashterion said smoothly, betraying none of the acid churning in his gut. “Whatever pleases you.”
Xyliria’s smile widened, satisfied with his easy capitulation. She never questioned his compliance anymore. Why would she?
The blade whispered against his flesh again, another stroke that left fire in its wake. Ashterion’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she said, her voice light. “Ryleth will be arriving shortly.”
The name sliced through him more effectively than any blade. Ashterion’s control slipped for a heartbeat. His pulse spiked and his shadows writhed beneath his skin.
“Ryleth?” He kept the question steady through centuries of practice.
Xyliria smiled, watching the flicker of reaction with undisguised pleasure. “Yes. He’s always been talented at reminding you of your place.”
She finally stepped back, her blade slick with his blood. With a flick of her wrist, the chains binding Ashterion released.
He collapsed to the stone floor, muscles screaming from hours suspended. His knees struck hard, sending fresh waves of pain through his battered body.
“Clean yourself up,” Xyliria said, wiping her blade on a pristine white cloth. “I’ll allow you some rest before Ryleth arrives.” She smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. “You’ll need your strength for what he has planned.”
Ashterion remained silent, gathering his will to stand.
