The words fell on me like slabs of stone. My heart hammered, trapped and furious, disgust rising until I thought I’d choke on it.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t move.
“Your bloodline is mine, Lazarus,” he said, spreading his arms as if to bless me. “The power to ascend runs in your veins. All that remains is for the shadows to claim you. Once they do, you will not merely survive…” His teeth flashed, yellow and jagged. “…you will become a Shadow Lord.”
I stumbled back, bile burning up my throat. My stomach revolted at his voice, at the way it dragged my mother’s face through filth. The memories I had of her—soft, tired, kind—twisted under his words until I could hardly breathe.
I felt unclean. Defiled. As though my blood itself was crawling to escape me. The ground shifted, the torches guttering; even the Dreadhold seemed to recoil from what he’d said.
Salvatore’s eyes darted between us, confusion breaking across his face. He pushed himself upright, blood streaking his jaw, voice cracking as he shouted, “My mother was never fragile or weak. You’re a fucking liar!”
Severen chuckled, the sound sliding over the stone like a blade dragged across bone.
“Am I? Then tell me, how else do you explain your weakness? You inherited her fear. Her cowardice.”
His gaze slid between us, black eyes burning.
“But Lazarus…” he whispered, reverent and cruel. “…Lazarus carries me. My blood. My power. He will rise. And you, Salvatore—you will kneel beneath him.”
Salvatore’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped to a low, shaking growl.
“My mother was powerful, Severen. She was the first Mistress of Shadows—and you despised her because her power rivaled yours.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
For the first time, Severen’s grin faltered. The shadows at his feet froze, listening. His head tilted; the bone charms across his chest rattled softly. His eyes narrowed into black slits.
“What did you say?” His voice wasn’t mocking now. It was sharp, dangerous. A hiss instead of a laugh. “Who dared put that name in your mouth?”
Salvatore didn’t flinch. “I know who she was. My mother was a Mistress of Shadows.”
The moment that name left his lips, the Dreadhold seemed to draw breath.
Chains trembled on the walls, links groaning as if pulled by unseen hands. The braziers flared and sputtered, their flames bending to the side, fighting to stay lit. The air thickened, as heavy as blood.
“Marianna is dead,” Severen hissed. Each word hit like a chisel splitting stone. “Buried where even her shadows cannot crawl back into this world.”
But the words didn’t sound like the truth. Beneath them was a fracture—a tremor that wasn’t grief, but something rawer. Fear.
Salvatore lifted his chin, blood still streaking down his jaw, his voice shredded but steady.
“Looks to me like you feared her,” he rasped. “That’s why you got rid of her. But don’t worry—” he spat blood onto the floor, his eyes burning bright in the dim—“I’ll find her. I’ll bring her back. With every ounce of power in me, I’ll make her rise again.”
Severen’s smile snapped.
The sound that followed wasn’t thunder—it was worse. A tremor rolled through the throne room, splitting through the air. The braziers screamed, flames twisting into black tongues before collapsing. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Then Severenexploded.
His shadows burst outward in a storm of black fire. They rushed across the chamber, devouring everything—air, light, sound—until only their hiss remained. They slammed into me, ice and flame all at once, wrapping around my chest like chains forged from smoke.
I hit the ground hard. My knees struck stone. The shadows constricted, crushing the breath from my lungs.
Salvatore gasped beside me, clawing at his throat as black tendrils coiled around him, hoisting him from the ground. His feet kicked against the air, his face turning pale beneath the slick of blood.
The chamber shook. Cracks spidered across the walls. Severen’s fury filled every inch of space, his voice erupting like iron shattering on the anvil.
