My mother’s.
“He destroyed me, too.”
The words cut deep, sliding beneath my ribs like a hidden blade.
“You must destroy him, Salvatore. He is evil, more than you can imagine. But before you strike, you must find it… my Tome of Shadows. He stole it. He trapped me inside. That is my prison, and only by finding it can you free me.”
Her voice faded like smoke pulled into the dark. But the echo remained, burning in my chest like a live ember that refused to die.
Severen hadn’t just twisted this prison. He had taken her. My mother. Her life, her soul, her power.
He had devoured her, too, and for that I would make him fucking pay.
The clang of iron wrenched me back.
The door to Amara’s healing chamber flew open, a bronze latch snapping, stone shuddering from the impact. Torchlight slashed across the floor, throwing long, jagged shadows over the three of us crouched there.
“Found them!” a guard barked, his voice thick with triumph. “Our filthy prisoners—and the healer who hides them.”
Amara jolted upright from the ground, eyes wide, lips parting in shock. For an instant, the chamber held its breath. Then the doorframe erupted with motion. Bronze plates glinted over linen tunics as the guards flooded in, the scent of sweat and metal dust clinging to them like armor.
Amara froze, her trembling hands rising instinctively, palms open. “Please—they’re hurt?—”
The nearest guard seized her arm and yanked her forward so violently she cried out, her bare heels skidding across the floor.
“Let her go!” Lazarus shouted, lunging forward, but another guard slammed the haft of his spear into his chest. The sound thundered through the chamber. Lazarus fell back into me, the breath torn from him.
“Stay down,” the guard hissed, spitting onto the stone. His eyes glimmered with something almost eager.
The head guard stepped forward, taller than the rest, his hair tied back, a cruel calm in his voice. “Take the prisoners to Severen. He’s waiting for them… for their last trial.”
Then he turned to Amara. “And you, wait until the Lord of Shadows learns what you’ve done. Your punishment will be ugly.”
Lazarus surged up again, fighting the grip of the men holding him. His chains clanged against the floor, iron biting his wrists. “No! Don’t you fucking touch her!”
A guard backhanded him hard enough to split his lip. Blood sprayed, dark against the limestone.
Amara tore free just long enough to reach him. “Lazarus!” she screamed, catching his arm. Her fingers dug into him, desperate, refusing to let go. For a heartbeat, their faces found each other, and in that single look, I saw something whole. Something untouched by the filth of this place.
“I love you so much.” Her voice cracked. Her nails scraped against the chain between them.
“Enough!” the guard behind her snarled. He drove his knee into her side, and she collapsed, coughing, clutching her ribs. Even on the floor, she kept calling his name.
“Amara!” Lazarus shouted, but they dragged him faster, one man twisting a fist into his hair to keep him upright.
My own chains jerked taut as they pulled me beside him. My shoulder slammed into his as the guards forced us toward the corridor. Behind us, Amara tried to rise, only to be shoved face-first into the stone.
“Lazarus!” she screamed again, voice raw, echoing through the chamber until it met the walls and broke apart.
I should have pitied them. But as I watched them—even in agony, reaching for each other through the iron, through the filth—I felt only the hollow burn of envy. They still had something left to lose. I had nothing. I always had nothing.
The guards shoved us forward. The chains dragged across the stone, shrieking. The air grew hotter with each step, thick with smoke and the smell of burning oil.
Then the corridor opened wide, and I froze.
Severen’s throne room was gone.
The space shimmered, warped into something profane. The stone walls pulsed as if alive, bleeding a dull black light that rippled outward. The air buzzed, heavy with the energy of dark rites.
