Reluctantly, he gave in and closed his eyes. Just like when he’d been trapped as a disembodied ethera, he connected to his breaths, his heartbeat, the rush of his blood, the pound of his pulse. Slowly, he began to relax. His muscles uncoiled, his heartbeat slowed, and the most delicious euphoria struck him. The euphoria of being alive. In his body. In control. It wasn’t an impassioned or impulsive feeling. It was real and steady.
He shifted his thoughts to what he’d been considering.
No doubts stood in his way. No guilt. No fear. No remorse.
“I’m doing it, Emylia.”
* * *
Teryn didn’t waitto see if she followed him out of the castle to the charred field, the folded piece of paper stained with Darius’ blood in his hand. Maintaining the same calm he’d felt after sinking into his bodily sensations, he crouched at the edge of the dead field, just like he’d witnessed Morkai doing the day he demonstrated the abilities of his wraiths. He’d been summoning his Roizan then, but Teryn did it for a different reason now.
He unfolded the bloodstained paper and pressed it against the charred soil. Then he watched and waited. There was, of course, a chance that this wouldn’t work. He couldn’t perform Morkai’s ritual exactly, only use it to inform his own actions. He didn’t have any leftover vials of Morkai’s blood, just this crimson parchment.
Yet soon a rippling fog crept over the field, much like it had when Teryn had first met the wraiths. Body parts began to materialize—arms, legs, heads, torsos—until the field was filled with hazy soldiers with empty pits for eyes.
Slowly, Teryn rose to his feet and faced the army. Their forms undulated, as if they struggled to maintain their hold on sentience. There was no ferocity in them, none of the violence they’d shown when Morkai had ordered them to fight.
Teryn would have to stir that ferocity himself.
“You lost your lives fighting for King Darius,” he said, his voice carrying over the field. He internally winced, hoping none of the castle residents or staff woke up to his voice only to find him talking to himself. Or would they be able to see the wraiths too?
He continued. “You died trapped between worlds, and because of that, you lost your heart-centers. Your connection to life and the otherlife. Morkai gave you a second chance at your lives as great warriors and promised peace when he’d accomplished his goals. Yet he too left you behind.”
Some of the wraiths’ forms ceased wavering and began to sharpen. Their empty eye sockets seemed to lock onto him, craving more of his words.
“Your former masters may have abandoned you, but I will not. Unlike those you served before, I can make good on a promise of peace. You feel it, don’t you? That yearning.”
Even more of their forms sharpened, and he tasted their yearning in turn. It grew ravenous. Palpable. The entire field radiated with it.
He was suddenly aware of the danger he was in and how quickly this situation could turn. Should the wraiths want, they could swarm him. They could claim their own oblivion or cut him with their blades.
Clearing his throat, he spoke again. “I can give you purpose and peace. I can give you revenge for being so cruelly abandoned.”
His words were manipulative, he knew that. Neither master had meant to abandon them, but soft words wouldn’t instill purpose in an undead warrior.
“I won’t force you to fight again and again, driving your reanimation through blood magic.” The truth was, he couldn’t make them reanimate. Not without a blood weaving, and Teryn wasn’t willing to do that. And based on what Emylia had said on the battlement, Morkai had been able to secure the wraiths’ loyalty through promises alone, but being defeated in battle would end their bloodlust. Which meant Teryn was limited to how long he could use them. And he only intended to use them once. Whether it ended up being in defense of the castle or to defeat Darius at the border meeting, he’d only do this one time.
He continued. “I won’t make you wait for some far-off goal before I make good on what I offer you. All I ask is for one final battle. One last act of noble violence.”
He reached for the letter opener he’d taken from the bureau before coming to the field. Digging its tip into his forearm, he made a shallow cut. He held out his arm and let his blood drip onto the black soil. “This is my blood. This is the blood you will follow when next I call for you, to fight one last time. This is the blood that will end your hunger and lay your souls to rest.”
His heart hammered against his ribs as he waited for their reaction.
Then, as one, the wraiths bent to the earth on one knee and bowed their heads.
Seven devils, it worked. He’d earned their loyalty, just like Morkai.
He heaved a relieved breath.
“That wasn’t truly blood magic.” Emylia appeared beside him. Or had she been there all along?
“No,” he said, “just a blood vow. A promise I can fulfill.”
44
Oppressive heat filled Cora’s lungs, pressing in all around her, as if the air itself had grown heavy. With a gasp, she tore away from Darius. He released her, and she launched a few steps back. She hadn’t been prepared for him to take her so quickly, and the surprise sent shock waves through her legs.
She kept her eyes locked on Darius, who merely straightened the sleeves of his coat.
