Neither have I felt anything like the moss at my back, which is soft and spongy and damp, but not in a bad way. More cooling than anything else.
I add it to my list of ‘soft as’ comparisons.Soft as moss.
There’s so much of the world I’ve never experienced. My mother taught me as much as she could, described as much to me as she could. Much of my recognition of the world around me now comes from the images I saw in whatever books our jailer deigned to bring us, from children’s picture books to random encyclopedias.
There’s so much I don’t know.
Mere days ago, I discovered that humans like to ride waves using rectangular-shaped boards, that pizza is delicious (second only to burgers), and that teenage human girls think fluffy, little doggies are so cute that they’ll risk losing a finger to pat one.
Now, I’m surrounded by trees so colossal that I feel like a bug lying on the forest floor beneath them.
Diavolo’s expression has changed, a kind of serenity coming over him, and it makes me wonder how much of a cage he keeps around his power every second of every hour.
Black light glimmers at his fingertips, sparking briefly around the crown-shaped ring on his left hand.
I shiver at the cold emptiness of that light.
It’s pure, dark magic.
Even though it’s the power that forms the very fabric of my being, it’s a frightening force for one simple reason: Dark magic feeds on life. Using it means taking life from the living things around us.
Usually, the keeper chooses not to access his dark magic. After all, we can’t have things falling dead wherever we go. Drawing that kind of attention would be very unwise.
Which is why he instead chooses to use the power in the ring to create illusions. He described that process as simply rearranging what’s already there, no draining of life required.
His crown allows him to access every kind of dark magic there is: sorcery, witchcraft, shapeshifting. It gives him the knowledge to use that magic and harness the energy in the environment around him.
But he also made it clear that there are limits to what he can do without accessing true dark magic. Like healing me when particularly dangerous magic has hurt me. In the first instance, that was when Jonah’s old magic burned me.
Now, suddenly, I’m startled to realize that Diavolo was using enormous amounts of dark magic against my father… but I don’t know where he sourced it from.
That level of dark magic would have instantly drained life from any number of living beings nearby.
But… whose life did he take?
I’m fine. Anarchy is clearly full of wrathful energy because she’s prowling back and forth between me and Lucian… who has remained in an undignified position but is finally showing signs of waking up.
So… who or what did the keeper kill to produce that dark magic?
My eyes have flown wide. “Back in my father’s lair, whose energy were you draining?”
“Your father’s.”
My panic fades. “Oh.” Then I’m filled with confusion. “But he didn’t die. He didn’t even stumble.”
Diavolo’s jaw clenches and he blows out what sounds like an unhappy breath. “I should have clarified: Iattemptedto drain his energy. What I actually took was the energy from the light magic he was producing. As much power as I drained, it simply replenished, as if it were coming from a limitless source.”
I can’t stop my shudder. Is my father’s power limitless?
“How can that be?” I ask. “He’s a dark creature. He shouldn’t be able to control light magic in the first place, let alone a limitless amount of it.” A possibility occurs to me, since my great-grandfather was originally a Sentinel, able to use his pure soul light before he turned to the dark. “Is it something to do with his ancestry?”
Diavolo is aware of my father’s family history because I told him about it. He chews his lip, a troubled crease forming in his forehead. “All I’m certain of is that that much light magic can’t possibly belong to one creature.”
I quail a little. “Is he somehow siphoning it off others? Some sort of… dark magic draining off light magic.”
I’m not sure if that even makes sense.
None of it makes sense.
