Page 13

Caine tore his helmet off with a frantic hand, panting as he split worried glances between Alister and Draven. True fear was etched across his bronze features, seemingly as stunned as everyone else he’d managed to hit his mark. He looked to Alister and copied him, releasing his wound-up hair so the brown curls fell to his shoulders.

“That was bloody good aim,” Alister acclaimed. His normal mannerisms deteriorated further when a short laugh burst from his lungs. “You’ve done it, Caine!”

Caine nodded quickly, the action so much like the child he still was. Alister’s praise burned Draven’s insides beside the warnings creeping up his throat. There was so much he wanted to tell the boy but couldn’t with Alister celebrating a death at the hands of a child. Gods above, he was only fourteen!

He shouldn’t be here, saving my life by ending another. I should be able to handle it so he doesn’t have to.

Draven released the grip he had on Leona’s life. It slipped through his fingers like liquid gold, dissipating and returning to her chest, burning softer than before. Caine watched, curiously, until Leona inhaled a breath of air, her eyes widening as the glow of the Serpent returned to her irises.

“What are you doing?” Caine gasped.

“Ending her is my purpose,” Draven muttered lowly. “Not yours.”

“I killed her!”

“Then what is this?” He lifted his hand where the last of the golden aura floated back to Leona. “I thank you for your aid, Caine, but you’ve done no such thing. I will kill her, and I will take her soul.”

You will not bear such a burden in my place.

Teeth bared and brows plunged, Caine fumed under Draven’s glower.

He tried so hard to shelter the boy. To nurture him in a way Draven had sought but never received from their father. He wanted to be a kind hand, like that of his foster mother, a place of safety and security away from the grand plans expected of Valen Hazevale’s children.

But as he grew, Caine drifted from Draven’s shadow to their father’s. They may have shared a soul, but Draven and Caine were nothing alike. Guided by Alister’s words and Valen’s mannerisms, Caine surpassed Draven in combat and brutality. He enjoyed the thrill of battle while Draven gritted his teeth through it.

A new shadow appeared behind Caine. He glanced sidelong, all emotion fading from his face as he reached down and ripped his glaive from Leona’s back. Stamping the butt of the pole in the packed snow, he straightened his posture.

Valen Hazevale strode to Caine’s side as if he were strolling through a rotting garden. He had removed his helmet, revealing his shoulder length black hair. Hands firmly clasped behind his back, he tilted his head at the dying Imordial. Creases edged his cold, sharp features as his golden eyes examined her. An inhale filled his chest, and his gaze flicked up, landing on Draven.

“What happened?”

Fear tore its way to Draven’s core at the demand. He fucking hesitated, that’s what happened. Not once had he second guessed any of Valen’s orders. But this time he had and with it, possibly shattered Valen’s faith in the prophecy he instilled in his eldest the day he brought him home to the capital.

But Draven refused to let that happen. He was Valen’s weapon. Purposed with harnessing the Dusk Flares to purify their dark energy. Or, as Draven had come to see the truth, imprison the dark gods. Keep them under Valen’s control and use their combined power and influence to unite the entirety of Eocera, and then all of Eizreth under Valen’s vision of immortality. A world without death.

It was vital he kept the composure of a man ready and willing to accomplish that.

“Mind play,” Draven answered coolly. “Meager trickery on her part.”

“Meager?” Valen scoffed. “Fear in the throes of battle is natural, so I won’t fault you for that, but you should’ve known better than to fall for one of the Serpent’s illusions.”

“Preparation doesn’t replace the reality of one.”

He paused. “What did she show you?”

Draven’s gaze dropped to Leona, recalling how she defended herself like a cornered viper. Slicing, biting, and stabbing when she could, then wriggling away in the darkness to avoid the strike of a blade or pull from godly magic.

But Valen did manage to catch her—getting close enough he could grab her soul so she’d slow. Alister then latched onto her body with his blessing. Draven reacted, using his piece of the Guardian to draw her soul to him, to take it beside his own. But the slim, olive features of a grown woman with long black tresses changed in the passing of a shadow. For a split second, it wasn’t the Serpent and its vessel at his mercy.

It was Caine.

“You,” Draven lied. “I saw you in her place. My sincerest apologies, Father, but I’d never risk your life.”

Draven cringed at his admission of weakness, but something had to give. Attempting to manipulate his father wasn’t ideal either. There was none better than the man who used the Guardian’s own blessing against it, turning himself—a simple servant for the gods’ chosen vessel—into the vessel itself. Valen crawled his way into power and according to his followers, deserved every ounce of it.

Valen was as charismatic as he was cruel, but he could be forgiving. Flattery wouldn’t completely lift his ire, but maybe a little would release some of the pressure.

“I brought her low, father,” Caine interjected.