“I’m fine, Hazel.” He tries to reassure me, but there are cracks.
The guard’s footsteps echo down the dark hallway, pausing when he stops to unlock a cell. The clang of metal is followed by screaming as he drags a pretty, young Fae from the dungeon. Her face is caked with dirt, but her eyes are bright. She has freshly woken magic, ripe for the taking.
If Syrus finds out Alasdair and my brother are responsible for the missing Fae in Echme, a new war may be unleashed, which is why he can never know. Those forests are the last left untouched by the Well. Where magic still grows freely. Soon, that too shall pass, but until then, the raw power of those Fae is Malachi’s only hope.
Each day, this sickness spreads, cracking through the light that used to shine so pure inside him. Each day, he grows stronger and weaker. And still, I’ve been unable to figure out what type of poison is mangling his magic.
The guard forces the female forward. Obsidian shackles bind her wrists so she can’t fight back. A belt at her waist contains the rest. There is barely enough strength for her to match his steps as he pulls her along.
They pass by me, and the female’s green eyes meet mine. She panics, pulling away and trying to avoid me. It does nothing but bring a smile to my face. They always fear the shadows, not considering what might be revealed by the light.
The guard brings the female to my brother, and she sinks into his arms. He brushes her hair back, and she finds it in her to smile. I wonder what lovely picture he paints in her mind to erase her fear.
His fingers graze over her cheek, and she softens in his embrace.
“I didn’t do what they said I did, Your Majesty.” Her eyes are filled with such hope.
Hope that he might hear her.
Hope that he might save her.
“I know.” He brushes his hand down her throat, and she smiles. “You are innocent. I scent it in your blood.”
His hand continues to roam, and I glance away. It’s the sickness spreading, turning him into something he isn’t. With enough magic, he will heal. He will be himself again.
The female moans as he grabs her between the legs.
“Please, my king.” She begs for him, even as her shackles rub her wrists raw.
Shackles he put there.
“What is your name?” he asks, moving her over his lap so he can get better access.
“Neola.”
“Very pretty.” He breathes her in, pausing at the vein on her throat. “Would you like to save your kingdom with me, Neola?”
“Yes.” She heaves out a breath as he holds her closer.
His gaze meets mine over her shoulder. “We are going to save Lyrichia, aren’t we, sister?”
“Of course”—I glance down the long hall of cells, haunted with the sounds of rattling chains and muffled sobs—“the kingdom is yours. You made sure of it, brother.”
My gaze finds his, and the sapphire pits are nearly as black as mine. His grin stretches as he pets his prisoner a final time. With that touch, her fear swells. He slips away his mask and lets her seewho he really is. Her screams echo until his teeth sink into her throat, and she can barely gurgle a cry while he drinks her magic from her blood.
No, it is not the darkness that one should fear. It is what lurks within it.
Chapter 31
Elorie
My room isempty without Isolde. No one comes to check on me when I return from Ruse Village. Another cold reminder that she’s gone.
It’s clear the king has no plans to replace her with someone else. While he might intend it as a punishment, I prefer it. The last thing I want is to grow close with someone new, only to watch them be slaughtered when the king decides I’ve grown too attached.
I don’t need any more blood on my hands. King Malachi might have been the one to steal her life, but I’m the one who failed to bring her back.
Staring into the mirror, I wonder if I’ll ever be strong enough to wield the magic inside me like those I fought beside tonight. Magic, like the kind Wilder tunneled into after he drank from me.
