Page 34

An unseen pressure tightened around his wrist, holding him in place.

He sighed, lazily turning over his shoulder to see Alister folding his arms on the other side of the yard.

“The form isn’t changing if I pick it back up tomorrow,” Draven said.

“You’ll add another day behind Caine who, may I remind you, mastered it long ago.” Alister scratched the dark red stubble on his chin. “He’s quite talented at manipulating auras. Not long now and he’ll also be old enough to harvest souls. And he’ll know all of the weapon forms.”

Now the blows were getting too low. “Release me.”

Alister examined him from head to toe with his deep red eyes. “Make me.”

Once a telekinetic had its hold, it was almost impossible to get out, short of shattering your bones or theirs. And Alister was too far away to tug on his soul, something Draven wasn’t above doing.

His grip on the hilt of the sword tightened. Alister had his wrist, not his hand.

As fast—and as gracefully—as he could manage, he flicked the sword to his free arm and swiped it forcefully through the sand.

In order to latch onto something, a telekinetic had to see it. If this was enough to blind him, Draven could get out of this.

Or look like a fool trying.

The pressure eased, and Draven was free. He rolled toward Alister, scooping up another handful of sand and hurling it in his direction. Alister recoiled, shielding his eyes, but Draven was upon him quickly, pointing the sword at him with one hand and gripping his soul with the other.

Alister chuckled. “That’s dirty.”

Draven dropped his hands to his side. “I know. I threw it.”

“But resourceful, I’ll give you that.” Alister wiped the dirt from his bare arms. “It’s still wise to understand the forms. Really understand them. Not just go through the motions.”

Draven shrugged. He had enough to worry about. Not appreciating the forms wasn’t going to weigh heavy on his heart.

Staying here any longer would.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, snatching up his tunic from the benches. He waved to Alister over his shoulder. He didn’t wave back as Draven trudged through the lawn and into the castle.

If Failen was the crown atop the empire, its castle, Ironfall, was the jewel at the center. The Vulpes’ familial line, the Romons, had lived here for thousands of years. They personified the god’s curious nature and used it to build—to advance—beyond what any of the other Imordials thought possible.

Draven made his way inside, passing under overhangs, up a few short flights of stairs to the entrance hall—a large dome shaped room adorned with intricate carvings along the walls and marble columns that reached the ceiling. A checkered floor stretched under his thin leather shoes, the tiles washed with shades of red.

Twin staircases curved around the chamber’s centerpiece—a massive tree twisting toward the open ceiling. Above, the highest branches were left to grow as they pleased, the sunlight filtering through the leaves that had yet to fall.

The Everlasting Root—an ancient tree said to have been the first created by the Primordials, Ettan and Dabria before they split themselves into the Flares. It stood as a reminder of what they could accomplish when they worked together.

Draven placed a hand on the cold trunk. After all this time, it was still standing. He angled his head toward the dilapidated ceiling, taking in its bare branches and the collection of snow on the highest ones.

But life had left it long ago. All that remained was a hollow shell.

Ironfall was now dingy and dark. The once bright floor was a glossy black; the polished and maintained marble walls were dirty and cracked. It was so void of color that Draven was surprised there were any shadows at all to connect to.

The only remnants of anything living inside were vines of red roses growing up the railings of the staircase.

The wind howled above, and the Serpent coiled under his skin like an itch that couldn’t be satiated.

Why was it so quiet? Where were the servants? Stewards? Soldiers?

A horn bellowed outside. He turned to the window, peering through fog and light snowfall as a dim glow pulsed in the sky.

A gust of wind cut through the haze, revealing a jagged, black airship suspended in the air—then another beyond it. Far off, the city’s lights flickered, its buildings now stretching high above what he remembered.