The flames in her eyes blazed higher, and he found himself mesmerized by them, unable to look away. They called to the shard of Darkness that lived inside him, that animated and drove him. Was it truly possible she had found a way to leave this room, with every corner, door, and window warded?
He thought of the Darkness that had invaded Gadreel’s throne room, the way it had roiled along the ceiling, seeking escape. Had Elena somehow leveraged her link to the Shadow’s soul and the Darkness’s growing power to manipulate Sammael within the heart of his own realm, where he was strongest? Had her body lain here while her consciousness traveled elsewhere, doing her bidding aboveground—and if so, what had she done?
Surely not. Such a thing was impossible; his blood-magic was embedded in every stick and stone of this palace. No one but he could circumvent it.
Her claims were naught but grandiosity, he was sure. But that didn’t make her less dangerous.
Elena hated him now, that much was clear. She would hate him even more, if and when she learned the truth he had told no one, save the lover who was lost to him now.
Perhaps he had it the wrong way around. Perhaps he would have to kill her.
But as he stepped forward, arms out as if to embrace her, Elena’s eyes narrowed. The irises vanished, swallowed by the Darkness, her eyes blazing up like banked coals framed in alabaster. “You will not harm me,” she said, and Sammael found himself frozen, unable to take another step. Try as he might, he could not move.
Tendrils of blackness curled from her skin, winding her in their coils from head to foot, a maelstrom. And from her body emanated an icy wind, as cold as the one rumored to sweep over Lake Wraith.
“I will remain here for now, for it suits me,” she said. “And because the runes you have engraved on every surface trap me here. But make no mistake—when my time comes, I will rise. And then you will regret your choices, Sammael-of-the-Void. I will strip the flesh from your bones, and toss them to my Shadow to gnaw until they are naught but splinters. And then I will sit upon your throne and rule both above and below. For Darkness will be my king, and my Shadow my prince, and the world will bow to me.”
There was no point in reminding Elena that there would be no world, as the Darkness knew no boundaries, and would devour souls until none were left to fuel its power. Nor was there time to force the words from his mouth. For as he traced open on the door behind him, carving the rune again and again, it finally complied. The wind that blew from Elena gusted outward, sending him barreling into the hall, and the door slammed shut once more.
Sammael crawled across the polished floor, heedless of who might witness his debasement. On his knees, he pressed his hand to the door, retracing the runes that would contain Elena long enough for him to do what must be done. From within, as if sensing his desperation, she laughed—a sound so high and shrill that the crystal chandelier above shattered, bathing Sammael in shards of glass. One sliced his cheek, and blood dripped onto his hands, silver-blue in the fading sunlight, like the worst possible omen.
She had wounded him, mere feet from his throne room. On the other side of a locked door, she had already begun to make good on her threat. Fragments of glass dusted his frock coat, frosted his hair, and impaled the floorboards like prismatic daggers. Loosed from their crystalline prison, the tears of his enemies gave voice to their suffering, pricking his skin before they dissolved, flowing down the hallway in a stream of condemnation.
Wherever he looked, there was blood.
Sammael, Venom of God, Prince of Demons, and Angel of Death, stood in the hallway of his palace and roared his fury. His kingdom shook, and the earth shook with it. And far away, deep in the ice-coated, glassine waters of Lake Wraith, revenge began to rise.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
KATERINA
They had been traveling for two weeks. Two weeks, in which the forest’s floor bubbled up like tar without warning, grasping at whatever had the misfortune to lie within its reach. Two weeks, in which the lowlands gave gradual rise to the scrub pines and knotted oaks of the foothills that led to the Magiya. Two weeks, in which every rustle of brush triggered her fear of Gadreel’s assault and their recapture by the Druzhina; in which her Shadow refused to touch her; in which each day brought them closer to his eventual return to the Underworld, unless they could stop it.
Two weeks, in which she had come to feel…not quite herself. Not Dark or evil, the way Niko feared. But different, as if a veil of sorts separated her from her own consciousness. As if crucial knowledge danced just out of reach, evaporating whenever she sought to seize it. Even her body felt the weight of it somehow, her magic kindling with newfound strength.
Then again, maybe that was just desperation.
They had already lost so much time, trapped in the Druzhina’s dungeons: ten endless days during which they might have been making their way toward Volshetska. If not for their imprisonment, the white-walled fortress might already be in sight by now. Answers might be within their grasp. And instead, they were camping here in the foothills for the second week in a row, burning a rowan-fire to keep the creeping rot away, while Niko’s freedom trickled from him like sand through Chernobog’s hourglass.
Not for the first time on this journey, Katerina cursed the Black God, who surely found entertainment in observing their strife.
She had not dreamed of the Rozhanitsy again, nor had Ana attacked her. But sometimes she was sure that eyes watched her from between the trees, their cold weight heavy. Perhaps, she consoled herself, it was the Mavky or the Lisovyki, looking out for her. But she didn’t truly believe this. The gaze felt sinister, avaricious, an embodiment of the Darkness itself.
The farther they traveled, the worse it became. And the more reserved her Shadow acted, as if his very soul were withdrawing from hers. Worst of all, when he’d pulled off his shirt to rinse it in the stream near their latest campsite, he’d turned away from her, as if he had something to hide. Or as if he could no longer bear for her to look at him.
Katerina wasn’t sure which was worse.
Niko hadn’t called on his shades since they’d left Rivki, and Katerina was glad of it. He’d said the Darkness demanded a little more of his soul each time. But what would happen if they encountered terrible danger on this road once more—if the forest spirits’ protection failed them? She knew her Shadow well enough to surmise he would take any risk to keep her safe. What if, in so doing, she lost him forever?
They’d only made love once since he’d come back, unless you counted whatever had happened in Rivki’s dungeons…which they still hadn’t discussed. Katerina believed it had been real, that Niko’s shades had come to her, and through them, her Shadow. She treasured the memory, and the belief that even distance had not been able to separate them. But from the way her Shadow was behaving now, she was sure the incident had horrified him.
The last thing she wanted to do was to traumatize him further. Perhaps he had even been asleep, and unaware. No, Katerina would keep that memory to herself. But at night, as she longed to feel his arms around her, his warm breath on her skin and his hands tracing the lines of her body, she remembered. And Saints, she missed him.
It was the loneliest feeling in the world, to be right next to the person you loved most day in and day out, and yet be unable to touch him. To speak of what truly mattered.
The thoughts haunted her as the light faded on yet another day of travel. She, Niko, and Ana were the only ones who remained at the campsite, preparing food; the others had taken the horses down to the lake for water, and her Shadow had made it clear that under no circumstances would he leave Katerina alone with Ana.
It had been a fortnight since the dreadful incident when Ana had attacked her, and though the bruises that ringed Katerina’s neck had faded, the trepidation inside her had not. Her Shadow regarded Ana with naught but suspicion, and Ana’s normally boisterous nature had become subdued. She wouldn’t look Katerina in the eye half the time, and when she did, Katerina found herself scanning for something dangerous in the depths of her best friend’s gaze.
