And as she looked back at Asterious, something in her understood where her next steps must lead, and what she must do in that moment.
The prince stood stiff, tensed, his back arched and his body trembling, tears pouring from his eyes. Helpless, unable to move. Unable to escape whatever horrors Sinevia was putting before him.
She knew he’d asked for this. But something was wrong. Sinevia had shown him the truth, and now she was not letting go. He’d shown her he was strong enough to tame the beast, and now she was going to try and awaken it by force. And as Asterious’ body quaked and shivered, Caramyn reached for the sword in his hand.
Nocthar screeched above, battering his wings and circling with his warning call. And the moment she reached for the sword, he dove down in front of her as a crossbolt fired from somewhere in the Woods.
In a burst of black feathers, Nocthar dropped to the ground, his body pierced through by an arrow. Gone as quickly as one beat of his wings, he’d taken the shot meant for her without hesitation.
From the direction of the arrow, Wryan crawled out of the forest, his blood trailing across the shallow snow, just enough life remaining in him to have been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike. He held the crossbolt tucked beneath his arm, dragging himself along the ground with the other before he collapsed from the effort.
Of course he’d found Asterious, and of course Asterious had no other choice but to leave him alive. But she was not bound to grant him the same mercy. And at the sight of her beloved raven, impaled, gasping and flailing at her feet, she drew her own arrow and stormed over to Wyran.
With the tip of her boot, she nudged the underside of his jaw, forcing him to look upward.
Wyran spat blood as he glanced past her at Asterious still trapped within Sinevia’s trance. “Looks like the dog will not be able to save his bitch after all.”
“Now I know why the Shadows let you get this far,” Caramyn hissed, bowstring pulled taut and aimed at his head. “So I could put you down myself.”
“You can end me, but you and your kind will always be remembered as the villains of the story.” A cold smile crept across Wyran’s pale lips.
“Perhaps, but you will never again have the chance to help rewrite it.” She’d barely finished the words before she released the arrow. Directly into the space between his eyes.
She turned, ran, and dropped to her dying raven’s side, overwhelmed at the disasters unfolding from every angle.
“No…no! Nocthar…no,” she stammered through tears, pulling the gasping bird into her lap. His frantic breaths slowed. And she swore she could almost feel the small, waning patter of his heart. His movements stilled, as though her touch calmed him in his final moments. He turned his head, his glassy black eye reflecting the swirling void around them, and made an effort to curl his talons around her finger just before his body went limp.
She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t see through the tears.
Her raven was dead. Her guardian, her watchdog, her very eyes. He’d guided her through every turn of the seasons for the past five years. He’d led her to fresh water, to prey, and warned her of danger more times than she could count. And now he’d given his life for hers in one final, ultimate act of loyalty.
And now failing the Shadows, leaving the Veil vulnerable, were no longer options. Nocthar’s sacrifice would not be in vain. Some power in her was awakening, and she no longer feared the consequences of using it. And if Sinevia thought she could holdAsterious captive in his own mind and force him to succumb to his curse, she would face the wrath of the last Shadowblood. She would find a way to break him free before the beast did.
And that’s when she noticed it. Nocthar’s body in her lap became weightless. His night-black feathers faded like smoke, dissolving into the air as it coiled upward into nothing—into the Veil. She grasped at his vanishing form, desperate to keep him with her, but within mere seconds he had become mist, drifting past her, past Asterious and Sinevia, and toward the great Shadow abyss before them. Before his last feather fizzled out, she reached out in one last attempt to secure a piece of him.
The feather became a ribbon of shadow, wrapping itself around her hand as it twisted to reveal the faintest shimmering pulse of some amethyst and onyx magic for the length of a heartbeat before it snaked its way across her eyes and slithered down into the mark on her arm. And then she blinked.
“I created Nocthar,” she whispered under her breath.
“You manifested your own instincts—your own power—the only way you knew how.” Sinevia’s voice caught her off guard. She leapt to her feet, wiping the tears away in a frenzy as the queen continued, walking toward her, talking to her, fully present, though Asterious still stood steps away, frozen in her snare. “That’s how it happens. You don’t realize the extent of your power until one day you do something you don’t understand and there’s no other explanation. And you realize, it’s been there all along, bubbling up inside you like a pot boiling over…Until it spills out, and you realize you were never powerless at all. You just didn’t know how to use it,” Sinevia said. “You see, some of us are granted great power, and choose to waste it. And some of us are destined to take it, so that we can put it to proper use.”
Caramyn, chilled by her words, flicked a desperate glance over at Asterious, his mind locked away somewhere she could notreach, while his body remained cemented in place. Then she whirled back to face the queen, who was tracing some pattern with her fingers, as if drawing runes in the air.
“Nothing in these Woods belongs to you,” Caramyn growled. “Including Asterious. Let him go.” The demand seethed out through her teeth. “You showed him what he asked to see…and he’s shown you he cannot be controlled any longer! Release him!”
“Release him? And interrupt our lovely conversation here.” Sinevia trilled, stepping closer. “We were just getting to the good part.”
Suddenly cold, skeletal hands gripped Caramyn from behind. She glanced over her shoulder all too late to see a single resurrected Shadow soldier looming over her. The smell of rotting flesh and decay attacked her senses as much as it attacked her body, yanking each arm behind her so that she could not wriggle free from the grip of death that held her. And as she struggled, Sinevia closed the gap between them.
She stood inches before Caramyn now, the Veil groaning and rippling behind her, the Shadow wraiths wailing in protest around the border of the glade, where it seemed they could not enter. And even if they could, they’d be useless against an enemy already dead.
Sinevia lifted Caramyn’s chin. She pinched the sides of Caramyn’s face between her thumb and finger, digging the nails in as she stared straight into her eyes. “The last time I saw violets like those, I crushed them.”
Caramyn ripped her face away with a snap of her teeth. “Your brother would prefer to save you,” she said, “but I won’t hesitate to kill you if you leave me no choice.”
Sinevia seemed to ignore the threat. “Your power—your very life—is tethered to the Veil, to the last great source of Shadow magic. I don’t even know how it’s possible, but all that raw poweris funneling straight to you.” Sinevia reached forward, reaching a scarred finger towards her chest where she dragged it over Caramyn’s heart. Her pulse thrummed so loudly in her ears it drowned out the hissing Shadows surrounding them. The queen purred, tapping her lips in thought until a devilish smile formed. “That fascinating truth has placed you in my way. And for that, you must be removed.”
And that’s when it struck Caramyn—the faintest glimmer of a falter in Sinevia’s illusion. She’d flickered, off and on, as she spoke, almost unnoticeable. But just enough to let Caramyn know it was a drain on her power to maintain so many illusions at once—to summon a Shadow soldier long enough to restrain her, to hold Asterious in a trance from a distance, subjecting him to whatever horrible visions she was conjuring. And to still be here, talking to her.
