Chapter 26
Hawk
S ylvan is almost too drunk to stand on his own feet, so I’m in the middle of carrying him to our wedding suite when the music comes to an abrupt stop and all the elves go so quiet their silence rings in my ears like a scream. Danger crawls up my back, a scorpion about to attack whether I pay attention to it or not. I know this feeling way too well.
I look back, narrowing my eyes when a cool breeze combs back my hair. It brings the scent of forest and steel, and by the time I zero in on two soaring figures standing at the entrance to the tavern, one of the men, a broad-shouldered yet lanky elf with long golden tresses speaks up in a clear baritone.
“Sir Lorsen Gloombane, captain of the Nightcloaks. Prince Tristan Bloodweed, my second,” he adds, gesturing at a muscular elven man standing to his right. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of an exile. Cooperate, and you will soon be able to return to your present activities.”
A raid can’t… be good. Especially as I’m holding an exile in my arms.
I do a one-eighty and head for the stairs in the hope that we can slip out the window and disappear in the dark, but then the blond elf calls out a familiar name, and a whole chain of quiet curse words drops from my lips.
“The Grimsmith, Tassarion, is missing. He is an elf with ears mutilated to look like a human’s.”
Relief floods my muscles when I realize it’s not us they’re looking for, but then Prince Tristan calls out for my new husband, and Sylvan jerks in my arms, demanding that I let him go. If he wanted to be discreet about it, that did not work out, since the thud of his boots hitting the wooden floor is loud like a fire alarm in the night.
Tristan shouts his name again, but Sylvan’s already grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the stairs, as if he thinks we can walk out without a confrontation. I don’t fight him, since that would only result in more commotion, but the loud creak erupting behind us tells me I better look for a weapon, and fast.
We’re halfway up the stairs when the red-haired elf in shiny dark armor appears on the landing, staring at us as if we were two children caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s garden. I’m confused to see him there, because he was behind us moments ago, but then I realize that the broad, elongated shadows extending from his back aren’t a trick of the light.
This man has wings and is hovering two inches above the floor.
Despite having an obsidian-like sheen, they appear light as wisps of smoke, and I’m left staring, because what else do I not know about this world?
“Can… you do that?” I ask Sylvan.
He whips his head around and scowls. “Whose side are you on?”
Behind us, the voice of the golden-haired elf comes from way too close for my liking, and I squeeze Sylvan’s fingers before glancing over my shoulder to spot Sir Lorsen Gloombane at the bottom of the stairs, cutting our only way out of this mess.
“Sylvan? Sylvan Goldweed? Your cousin, whom Lord Kyran banished merely two months ago?”
Cousin?
I don’t see any familial resemblance between my pocket-sized elf and Tristan, who’s built like a wildcat in its prime, but I only care about their connection if it can help us wiggle out of this mess. My hopes are dispersed the moment the redhead speaks.
“The very same. We should have been alerted about his crossing by the sigils on his collar, but looks like he's not wearing it.”
“Interesting that the man we’re looking for is one of the few who could remove it.” Gloombane says, unsheathing a long, curved sword in a silent threat.
A drop of sweat rolls down my back as I note five more Nightcloaks with chest plates bearing the symbol of a gate. They’re standing down for now, but their posture tells me they’re ready to step in the moment their captain commands them to. One can fly and could hunt Sylvan down like an eagle capturing a chihuahua for dinner, so how can I possibly defend my man?
But Tristan can’t hear my inner monologue and lands on the floor, folding his wings. “Look, Sylvan, you might be a traitor, but you did save my life once. I don’t want bloodshed. You are the last Goldweed of your generation. Please, stand down and follow us outside along with your… your human.” He frowns, taking me in as if I was a pet, not Sylvan’s spouse. “We both know you can’t win this.”
Sylvan’s sweaty hand twitches in mine, and something pulls at the very core of me, somewhere beyond flesh. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’m capable of!”
I stiffen when the stairs creak, and a glance down the steps tells me one of the soldiers is climbing our way with a rope so matte and black it looks as if it’s made of coal. We’re surrounded, and the noose tightens around us, leaving little breathing room.
“You know it’s true, cousin,” Tristan insists when the soldier dashes our way, spinning the rope in her hands as if it were a lasso. I step between Sylvan and her, ready to protect my man as the rope flies our way. Obsidian spikes rush from behind me, transforming the cord into dust at first contact. The shadow tendrils then leap toward the soldier and soften to the consistency of flesh, slamming into her. The railing breaks when the black tentacle shoves her off the stairs and into the nearest wall. Her fall is met by stunned silence, which then transforms into panic as all our wedding guests and tavern workers fling themselves at the exits.
I’m frozen, unsure what’s just happened until I realize that it’s Sylvan who controls the dark force behind the tentacle.
One of the other Nightcloaks dashes to his fallen comrade, but raw fear put its claws into every single person around us, even Tristan, who pulls out his own sword, watching us, wide-eyed. “What did you—” His voice chokes when he stares at the black expanse at Sylvan’s feet, then sees where it originates. “That shadow…”
Something pulls deep inside me again, making me lightheaded as the black goo covering the floor simmers.
“Out of my way!” Sylvan slurs, shaking off my hand, and dashes forward so abruptly his tall and muscular cousin recoils like a wolf that might have met its match. My husband’s footing is unsteady from all the booze he’s drunk, but he’s not letting that stop him and claws much longer and sturdier than the ones that killed Tassarion erupt from his fingers toward Tristan.
I’m about to follow him and ensure he doesn’t end up impaling himself on that stuff when an icy fog settles around me. Gloombane is a faint shadow below, but he too disappears, with a coppery flash in his eyes. My jaw drops open when I realize I can’t spot the railings anymore. Even my own hands remain obscured by cold gray mist. How am I supposed to fight magic ?
Just as I’m about to head forward, Sylvan’s voice echoes from the wrong direction. Could it be that I’m lost without any visual clues to go by? Or is this mist made to confuse my senses?
Squawks resonate everywhere around me, as if I’m surrounded by a maze full of hungry mice. I turn once. Twice. Thrice, because my sense of danger is ringing in alarm, but I can’t spot anything in this fog. My heart thrums. My back is damp, but just as I’m about to blindly run forward, the gray cloud around me disperses, creating a bubble of clear air. Huge bats smash against the translucent shield protecting me from the fog one after another until the smoke disappears. It reveals Gloombane scowling from across the room. He must have been the one causing the fog, so the only logical conclusion is that Sylvan shielded me with his new powers.
I’m in way over my head.
The tavern spins, then rocks like a ship during a heavy storm, and I find myself dropping to my knees. Blood drizzles to the wooden floor and it takes me a moment to work out where it originates. My nose and gums. I can taste iron, but a little nosebleed isn’t enough to stop me. I’ve survived drowning, an overdose, two car crashes, and a stabbing. This shit is nothing. When I look up, Sylvan is a blurry figure three steps above, but at least I can see him again. I summon my strength and drag him back to me.
“The kitchen,” I whisper, wiping my bleeding nose on the sleeve of the coat that was carefully tailored to my size not that long ago. Sylvan’s eyes are bloodshot when he glances my way, but at the top of the stairs Tristan is picking himself up from whatever happened while the fog kept me blinded. We both stumble down the steps, because we either flee or confront all the Nightcloaks, and I’m definitely not up for fighting men who can create rabid bats out of smoke.
Gloombane stands in our way with two of his men at the flanks, but the floor below them turns black, then burns like paper around a fallen ember, and all three elves fall into the void. Are they dead? Trapped like that poor wedding guest was earlier? Can’t pretend that I care, but another bout of weakness forces me to grab the railing for support as I stumble. I couldn’t have drank that much , could I? My eyes remain open though, and I watch the hole in the wooden planks turn dull before retreating under Sylvan’s feet like a matte oil spill sucked back to its source.
“Captain!” one of the remaining wardens cries. His face is stiff with tension, but the moment he raises his sword and charges, Sylvan’s arm transforms into a fat tentacle, which slams the man into the nearby table. The thin wooden legs break from the force of this freaky magic, the floor cracks, and we make a dash for the open kitchen.
The level of destruction around us is pure madness, but I’m too exhausted and shocked to do anything other than grab Sylvan’s shoulder and let him lead. Surrounded by dust and the remnants of the gray fog, we’re about to reach our destination when Tristan Bloodweed’s formidable form lands in front of us. This time, he’s ready and lashes out at Sylvan, who stumbles over his own feet, saved from his cousin’s blade by my quick thinking. I pull him to my chest and spin around, alarmed by a clang of metal behind me. A dusky shape looms in the magic mist, and I blindly slam my fist into it, hitting metal, bone, and flesh.
The last Cloak collapses with a dull cry as pain flashes up my forearm, replaced by tingling heat. I fall over as a giant force rips Sylvan away from me.
“Stand down! I don’t want to hurt you,” Tristan cries, standing over Sylvan’s petite form like a monster about to feast. I scream out, dragging myself back to my feet, but my voice dies when an invisible force sucks the air out of me. All at once, I’m nauseated, dizzy, and tired. So , so tired.
I stare at my swelling fingers and follow the black inkblot of shadow over the floor, all the way to Sylvan, who rises off the floor, levitating. He throws a punch at his cousin. I fear he might hurt his delicate hand, but then obsidian claws erupt from his fingers and tear through Tristan’s wing.
The red-headed soldier shrieks, even though his cut appendage turns to dust before it can hit the floor. Shell-shocked, Tristan takes a step back, but Sylvan doesn’t hesitate. A massive shadow tentacle emerging from under Sylvan’s feet slams Tristan down, and then twists, pulling the other wing out, as if it were a single feather.
His pained cry rings in my ears as I crawl forward, focused on Sylvan, who collapses onto his ass and… vomits.
Shit.
Braving the lightheadedness making every move a fight, I reach him just in time to offer him my coat as a means to clean up. I don’t know if Sylvan’s this drunk, or if using those powers has such a detrimental effect on him, but I’ll worry about that later. With Tristan knocked out and the others gone, I need to seize the opportunity to disappear.
“Let’s go. Your shadow is… amazing ,” Sylvan mumbles when I scoop him into my arms and stumble toward the kitchen.
His words make me slow down, and while I get with the program and dash into the stew-scented rooms that should lead me to some kind of back door, my mind spins with questions. I noticed that he was manipulating my shadow to fight off the Nightcloaks, but is that why I’m so lightheaded and exhausted? Why my legs shake and my nose bleeds?
The way he fought Tristan, recklessly as if he wanted to prove something rather than just get us out of trouble, didn’t show any care for my wellbeing. When he first tried to convince me to start our arrangement, he claimed the exchange would happen at no real cost to me. Was he… lying all along?
Cold dread pools in my gut as I rush into a room full of dirty dishes, using the wall to support one of my shoulders. I’m panting with the effort of propelling both myself and Sylvan forward, but despite the ache in my chest, I remain desperate to get him to safety. Whether his intentions toward me were pure or not remains to be seen, but my feelings remain unchanged, and I would not abandon him.
I reimagine my dainty prince as the sea witch from The Little Mermaid , and saying, “It won’t cost much, just your shadow .”
I gasp at the sight of a narrow wooden door leading into the moonlit yard on the other side of the room, but before I can dash toward it, a wardrobe opens and Fenren whistles at me from behind the curtain of aprons and tablecloths.
“Follow me,” he whispers, and I don’t bother considering whether he’s a friend or foe. He’s not a Nightcloak, and in my book that’s more than enough.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know where I am,” I say when Fenren shuts the door hidden in the back of the wardrobe and picks up a torch.
His gaze scans me, then Sylvan passed out in my arms, and he shakes his head. “I’m only doing this because your groom ruined my tavern, and dead debtors don’t pay. You two better reimburse me once this is all over.”
So much for kindness and pleasant smiles.
I don’t have the strength to answer and follow him down a passage not built with someone my size in mind. But that is the least of my worries. The man I’ve banked my whole future on was flippant with my shadow—my health and life—all because he wanted to show off his newly acquired power. Is that really the boy I fell for so hard? The boy I decided to take so many dumb risks for? Could it be that… my family was right and I once again put my trust in the wrong person?
Going to prison for someone is one thing, but this strange parasitic arrangement? The truth is that I don’t quite know how the shadow bond that felt so good earlier works. Could he drain me at will? Keep me weak? Dispose of me when he’s bored?
Am I only my shadow to him…? After that vow of undying love?
Maybe three days really is too little time to get to know a guy?