And so would she. She would become unstoppable. If she couldn’t inspire loyalty, then she’d demand it through fear. And the world feared darkness. The Shadowbloods were long extinct, and now nothing stood between her and the concentration of their power—nothing but the Woods where wild Shadows roamed. But once she could figure out a way to get through those Woods, she could raise an army even Shadows couldn’t kill.
As she walked alongside her horse, she looked at the violets in her hand and realized she hated them. They were fragile, weak, and mocked her pain and betrayal. With a summon, a whisper of Shadow withered the life from them, and she crushed them into dust between her fingers.
22
Picture of Darkness
Caramyn
Caramyn tore off her dress down to the thin-strapped delicate chemise underneath remained and threw herself onto the bed, tucking herself under the covers to fight off the chill of the night creeping in through the window. Her meeting with Asterious had left her feeling sick, so much that she thought she might see the return of the meal she had just eaten.
She should've known better than to think he truly might’ve cared about her in the slightest. There was nothing genuine about his apology. She was just a pawn in his game, and she had fallen for it. Comforting her with this room, giving her thesefineries, allowing her "freedom" in the court, the quick glances and flatteries—it was all just his attempt to convince her to do his bidding.
He’d probably lied about not having a choice to kill for his father. He’d probably lied about everything. He truly was as wicked as the rumors claimed he was. And for all she knew, he would kill her, or at the very least leave her behind once he got what he wanted and leave her abandoned once more in the shadows. Just like her father had done. Just like everyone did eventually.
The fleeting hope for some connection that he had kindled in her was snuffed out tonight. And it embarrassed her to think that she’d shown such weakness to the prince. How could she have broken down in front of him so easily? She hated that he made her feel so confused. That she could crave the sound of her name on his lips one moment and wish for his final breath the next. That she could long for the feeling of warmth that surged through her at his nearness, while also imagining plunging a knife through his heart. And some stupid part of her wished she could believe him, even as every instinct screamed at her to flee.
She closed her eyes as her raven settled on his perch at the top of the bedpost. Though her bruised heart still ached from disappointment, she planned to take advantage of her newly granted freedom. She hoped a visit to the stables in the morning would help her forget everything for a while.
As she lay there drifting to sleep on the pillow damp with her tears, an unearthly, bone-chilling howl in the distance made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
She didn't see the prince for days after that. Nor did she hear him or his men when she wandered the castle. And she didn't care. She didn't want to see him. And she didn't know what she would say if she did. So, she settled into a new routine of waking, having breakfast in the garden below her room, and then spending hours in the library, dusting off old books of Lightborn records, history, and legend.
She searched the texts for answers. Answers about her eyes, about the strange branching sigil etched into her chest, but found nothing. There was no mention of magic marking an unborn near death—aside from the Shattering, when the gods’ essences first scattered into mortal wombs and created the Lightborn. She found no record of the Veil. No trace of the Shadow Woods that might confirm even a fragment of what Asterious had told her.
Perhaps that would make sense. The Lightborn had fallen, and the fallen did not write their own histories. What remained had been shaped by those who survived and gained power. Written by human victors who had likely manipulated their way there. And it was chilling to think that the only accounts of what truly happened lived on, filtered through their hands, their fear, their prejudice, and their need to justify the ruin they had wrought.
And that must have been why the more she uncovered about the past, the more it stirred something unsettled within her…
Then she found the spellbooks, tomes and grimoires. Some of Spellbound origin—which utilized spoken words and runes—and others for the enhancement or strengthening of the Lightborn’s innate power through hand motions, breath control, body positioning, and gestures.
She thought to try, just to see if there was some hint of magic within her. Perhaps these magic books were superior to the old tomes from her witch’s cabin. She considered attempting to control the flame on the candle flickering beside her but then decided that if she were a natural fire mage, she’d know by now. Fire had already given her too much trouble. And her purple-hued eyes were far from the burning ember flames found in a fire mage Lightborn.
Instead, she stared at a quill pen across the table, and touched it to join herself to it, just as the books instructed. Then she drew back, willing it to move with her inner strength, with controlled breaths and a flick of her hand, even reciting the incantation recommended to beginners to help summon the power within for those not used to doing so. She compelled the pen to move so fiercely that her hands began to sweat, both from nervousness and frustration. But her efforts amounted to nothing. And confirmed to her what she already knew, without any more answers than when she started.
She left the great library, a strange sense of both disappointment and relief weighted in her chest. As she rounded a corner, she heard the echoes of urgency in Riven's voice.
"Sinevia sent soldiers to Misthelm. A siege on the city. It was still burning when Gariel left." Caramyn stayed locked in place, listening from the other side of the corner.
"Did they leave anyone alive?" It was Asterious, his voice strained.
"I don't know. We couldn't get close enough to check for survivors. But the town is gone."
There was a sobering silence before Asterious’ words carried through the hall. "We must help them if we can. I want to ride out there and see what my sister has done."
It was Gariel who spoke next. "We don't have time, Asterious. And even if we did. It's too dangerous for obvious reasons. What if it's a trap?"
"We can't just leave those people in ruins when we are merely a two days' ride away. If I am to rule these people one day, they must know that I am on their side. Gather Tyrios and Wryan and as many sentinels as we can spare. We leave immediately."
Caramyn peeked around the corner to see the two spies and the prince walking as they talked. The alarmed edge in their voices had sounded dire, and there was no way that they could’ve known she was there to fake it. If the siege they spoke of was real, then maybe there could’ve been some truth to Asterious’ warnings. Even if he was a royal, arrogant, manipulative ass.
She didn't think before she stepped out from around the corner, blocking their path. "I want to come with you."
They halted, and she noticed the corners of Gariel and Riven's mouths curve into smirks. Asterious narrowed his eyes at her and tilted his chin curiously. "This is far from how I expected to meet again. But with you, I've learned to expect surprises. At least you're not naked this time." His comment earned a confused look from the men beside him. He must not have told them about that encounter.
"That wasn't a no." Caramyn squeezed her fingernails into her palm, wondering what the hell she was doing.
She could’ve sworn the prince was staring at her lips, before his gaze slid to her eyes, and he offered a single word in return. "Why?"
