11. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
D aed circles the courtyard below, his movements a calculated prowl. His bare chest gleams beneath the overcast sky, every ripple of muscle accentuated by the sweat glistening on his skin. His runes pulse faintly, a reminder of the raw power humming beneath the surface. There's a feral intensity to his gaze, sharp as a blade and just as cold, as he sizes up his opponent, unhurried but certain, like a wolf savoring the chase before the kill.
And I, watching from above, feel it—the pull, the quiet terror, the strange, undeniable attraction. My breath quickens, a flutter in my chest like the rabbit I freed from the snare as a child. That rabbit had stared at me with wide, terrified eyes, unable to move even when I released it. Trapped not just by the rope but by the fear of what awaited it beyond.
I wonder if I’m that rabbit now, caught in a different kind of snare. Am I paralyzed by the same mix of fear and fascination? Or am I just waiting for the moment when I’m too far gone to run?
My eyes stay locked on Daed as he charges, a force of lethal grace. In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, dissolving into a twisting cloud of black smoke, only to reappear mid-stride. His fist connects with his opponent’s chin with a sickening crack, the warrior staggering back, dazed. Before he can fall, Daed is on him again, his movements too fast to track. He vanishes once more, reappearing behind the Fae, grabbing him by the throat. With a savage strength, Daed lifts and throws him over his back like he weighs nothing.
The warrior crashes to the ground, his face quickly masked in crimson, a pool of blood blooming beneath him. But Daed doesn’t stop. He straddles him, his expression a dangerous calm. With a smooth, almost casual motion, he reaches to the sky. Smoke coils from his hand as he manifests a dagger, the blade solidifying in his grip, the jeweled handle gleaming in the faint light.
“Where do the weapons come from?” I mutter to Arax, struggling to find enough breath in me to speak.
“The void itself,” Ajax replies.
“Can all Mordorin do that?”
Arax's voice drops, a low, reverent murmur, as if speaking too loudly would disrupt some sacred truth. “No,” he says, the weight of his words palpable. “There is no one among us as attuned to the void as the prince. He doesn’t command it. He is a part of it.”
Another question lingers on my tongue, one that must seem obvious to the Mordorin, yet remains a mystery to me. I swallow my hesitation. “What is the void?”
I feel the chill radiating from Arax’s skin as he speaks, his voice low and steady. “The void is the realm of the Father Below. While our faith lies in the Pale Eye, the Mother Above, the Father offers us gifts we cannot refuse.” His gaze narrows, holding mine. “Void walking. Berserking. Our strength and speed… but they come at a cost.”
The weight of his words settles heavy in the air between us.
“Venture too deep into the void, and you’ll be lost. Meat for the beast. And the beast is always hungry.”
Fear rattles within me, threatening to topple my already shaky resolve. If I weren’t struggling to stay upright, Arax’s demeanor would surely send me crumbling to the ground. In The Grove, everything is simple and serene; we worship the great trees and the winding vines, honoring the Souls of the Forest with peace and grace.
But to place faith in such a dark entity?
It’s no wonder the Mordorin are steeped in corruption if their power is tethered to a force that thrives on chaos and hunger. The very thought sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a dread that twists in my stomach. I cannot fathom how they navigate this treacherous line, walking so close to the abyss, yet calling it a source of strength. I can almost see it in their eyes, the flicker of something unsettling, a shadow lurking just beneath the surface. The thought sends another wave of dread coursing through me, each heartbeat a reminder of the chasm that separates my world from theirs.
Daed looms over his opponent, poised and ready to strike, the dagger glinting at the Blade’s throat. To my surprise, the warrior beneath him displays no fear, even in the face of death. I know that this merciless sparring is a brutal part of their training, yet a nagging doubt lingers in my mind. I remind myself of the ruthlessness I witnessed when he severed a head from its body as if it were nothing more than a branch to be snapped. And yet, in this moment, I cling to a sliver of hope that he is not entirely devoid of mercy.
I gulp, my fingers instinctively curling around Arax’s forearm. “He isn’t going to kill him, is he?”
I don’t intend to touch him, but when Arax doesn’t immediately pull away, I find a strange comfort in the connection. My heart sinks, though, when he replies, “If it pleases the prince... then yes.”
The weight of it all is suffocating. The sunless sky and the relentless rain, the centuries-old hatreds mixed with resentment and regret. But more than anything, I am exhausted by the death that permeates the air—putrid and overwhelming. It surrounds me. From the smoldering fires in my forest to the wars that have left both humans and Fae alike as bloody, mangled corpses, side by side on the battlefield.
My heart pounds in my chest, and anguish threatens to spill over, tears pooling in my eyes. I fight them back, summoning every ounce of strength as I call out, “No! Stop!”
My words slice through the thrum of the courtyard, silencing the last echoes of the Rook chant. The Mordorin warriors freeze, their movements halting as they turn their gazes upward toward the balcony. I grip the railing so tightly that my knuckles turn white, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, each one a desperate plea for an end to the violence surrounding me.
Daed rises and two Blades hook his fallen opponent under the arms and drag him away. The dagger vanishes from Daed’s hand in a plume of smoke before he grins at me, in the same devastatingly alluring way I have come to fear.
“Arax,” he calls. “Bring me my wife. Will you?”
Arax frowns before swiftly shoving his helmet over his head to hide his annoyance.
“Princess,” he says to me, the only courtesy I receive before he effortlessly scoops me into his arms. His wings burst free from his back, revealing black feathers streaked with gray, mirroring his hair and beard.
With a powerful beat, he lifts a foot onto the railing and pushes off. We soar into the air as the wind rushes around us. I instinctively bury my face in his chest to shield myself from the biting gusts. Suddenly, he shifts direction, diving toward the courtyard with alarming speed. My stomach lurches, the raisin bread I devoured for breakfast threatening to resurface. I manage to swallow it back down just as Arax lands with a solid thump that reverberates through my entire body. He gently sets me on my feet and steps aside, standing tall and silent, his eyes staring blankly ahead through the visor of his helm as Daed strides past him.
The prince stalks toward me, his chest heaving with exertion, and I feel the familiar tension in the air crackle between us. His expression is a cold, disinterested glower.
“You’re the first human to witness the Blades spar,” he says, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, his voice steady yet edged with curiosity. “What are your thoughts on the display?”
Despite the magnetic pull he exerts on me, I can’t ignore the brutality of it all.
“Barbaric.” The word slips from my lips, dripping with disapproval. “What do you gain from beating each other half to death? It’s as if I’m watching beasts tear one another apart. This is nothing more than mindless violence.”
The collective chuckle of the Reapers and Blades catches me off guard, and when Daed’s deep laugh joins in, heat floods my cheeks. I try to hold my head high, but the way they’re laughing—mocking, really—makes me feel small and exposed, like a deer in a clearing.
“Why, thank you, wife,” he says, dragging his hand across his mouth in a mocking gesture. “But tell me, is this not the mindless violence you bargained for to keep your precious Grove safe from your own kind? It isn’t the Fae threatening your borders, but bloodthirsty human rebels who forget their place. Without us ‘beasts’ , your people would be left to fend for themselves against their own, would they not?”
I can feel the sharp glances of Fae eyes piercing through me, each one a reminder of my status as an outsider. But I refuse to shrink before them, and even more I refuse to allow Daed to spread vicious lies.
“We are not part of the Legion,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “They’re more like you than they are like us.” I enunciate each word, ensuring there’s no room for misunderstanding. “Cold-blooded killers.”
A hush blankets the gathering of Mordorin, their eyes now fixed on Daed. He stands unfazed, an air of calm arrogance surrounding him as if nothing could rattle his composure.
“They sound marvelous,” he drawls, almost stifling a yawn. “Perhaps I should have married one of them instead.”
“Perhaps I should have bargained with the Golden Son instead of you,” I shoot back, my tone sharper than I intended. The weight of my words sinks in too late.
Daed’s eyes blaze with a fierce intensity, the first fracture in his icy demeanor.
“Perhaps,” he breathes, his gaze so penetrating that I struggle to hold his eyes.
Daed’s gaze drifts to the sky just as the encroaching storm clouds swallow the last remnants of sunlight. A crack of thunder precedes the sudden downpour, rain cascading over the chiseled planes of his chest. He closes his eyes, tilting his face upward, as if savoring the cool rush that dances over his skin. Water trails down the contours of his body, accentuating every sharp angle, and when he finally turns back to me, he runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction.
“In any case, this has merely been a sample. It is the first night of The Warrior’s Eye moon. My Blades and I depart for the thrall house of Eyr’Drogul.” The Blades erupt into eager cheers and applause around him. “So, I’m afraid, wife, I will be denied your company for a time.”
He looks at me with that soft haze masking his hard edge, and I will not allow myself to fall under his spell.
“I’m sure you will manage,” I reply curtly. I turn to Arax. “I think we are done here.”
I turn my back on him, striding towards the sanctuary of the castle as the rain continues to fall, not daring to look over my shoulder. Arax follows, but we both come to a stop when a cackle comes from behind us.
“She has you on a short leash, Arax.”
We turn as the Reaper pursuing us removes their helmet, revealing Frane smiling beneath. I know for certain she was not a Reaper aboard the ship. She was a Blade, like the rest. But something has clearly changed since then.
“It looks good on you,” she taunts. “Babysitting this human. Do you nurse her from your breast as well?”
“Watch your tongue, Frane,” Arax growls. “She may be human, but she is still a princess of The Mordorin, and just because you wear the armor does not make you better than me.”
Frane grits her teeth as she steps into him. “No. Being better than you makes me better than you. What say you, old man? Care to spar, or has the human made you weak?”
Arax looks over at me, his eyes narrow, his face calm. “Get out of the rain, princess. I will join you soon.”
Frane’s gaze is like standing too close to fire. I feel it hot on my skin, and if I linger too long, I will surely get burnt. I nod reluctantly, hurrying into the fortress and seeking refuge from the rain.
I shake the dampness from my dress, wringing out the rain-soaked strands of my braid. Just as I’m about to find some solace, a flicker of movement catches my eye in the shadows. There, I spot the unmistakable shroud helm of a Reaper tucked beneath one arm, while his other arm wraps possessively around the waist of a slender Fae girl. They are lost in a passionate, breathless kiss, oblivious to the world around them.
When I gasp, they pry apart. The girl’s hand shoots to cover her mouth while the Reaper quickly pulls his helmet on, but not before I glimpse his dimpled chin, wide set jaw and long raven hair knotted at the back of his head.
“Your Highness,” he says gruffly as he bows, then swiftly walks past me to rejoin the Mordorin in the courtyard.
I’m left alone with the young girl who I know too well, her dark eyes welling with fear.
“Solena,” I say.
She gulps. “Your Highness… I…”
Arax appears behind me and takes in the situation. “What are you doing here? You are not allowed near the courtyard.”
Solena’s lips tremble, and I stand in front of her, blocking her from Arax.
“She was looking for me,” I say, sparing her Arax’s wrath.
Arax furrows his brow suspiciously, but I blurt something out before he has time to delve too deep.
“I want to return to my chambers straight away. I am soaked to the bone.”
Arax bows his head. “Of course.”
He strides ahead of us and Solena touches my arm as I follow him.
“Why?” she whispers, her eyes brimming with confusion. “Why lie for me?”
“I thought seeing you unhappy might bring me some joy, but I’ve realized it doesn’t. No matter how much this place tries to change me, I refuse to lose myself here. I know who I am, and that person does not take pleasure in the suffering of others. I understand the laws of the Reapers, but I have no desire to see them enforced.”
Solena bows her head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
She lifts the hem of her dress and breaks into a run, and I watch her disappear around the corner.
I quicken my steps to catch up with Arax.
“So, did you fight her?” I ask.
“No, I did not,” he replies tersely.
“She doesn’t like me,” I say.
“No, she does not,” Arax agrees.
“Do you like me, Arax?” I ask, tilting my head.
He stops in his tracks, turning slightly to reveal the weary frown that’s becoming all too familiar. “You are not completely unbearable.”
A laugh escapes my lips, and the rare sound eases the tension in my shoulders and his. “Well, that’s high praise coming from you.”
He grumbles. “Hurry along now.”
I don’t take my eyes off Solena as she fumbles around my chamber, her flushed cheeks and trembling hands betraying her nerves. She drops nearly everything she touches and every so often, her gaze flickers toward me, only to dart away before our eyes can meet. Despite my assurances that I have no interest in exposing her relationship with the Reaper, I can see the doubt etched on her face. She’s bracing for the other shoe to drop, waiting for a threat or some personal gain to emerge from the knowledge I’ve gathered.
Perhaps, in another person’s hands, such knowledge would be weaponized. But not in mine. I’ve had decisions made for me before, often under the guise of good intentions, and I refuse to impose that on anyone else—even on someone who could be considered my enemy. That is not who I am, or who I want to become.
Solena helps me out of my damp clothes and into something dry.
“That will be all,” I say, but the sound of her restless shuffling lingers.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, knowing clearly there is.
“I need to explain what you saw. It’s a misunderstanding.” Solena clasps her hands, her knuckles tight with anxiety. “Orios was only comforting me. We've known each other since childhood and…”
“I may have spent my life in the woods, Solena, but I’m not naive. Besides, I’ve already told you—your secret is safe with me.”
But I can see the doubt lingering in her eyes. I remind myself who I’m dealing with: Fae. Scheming, meddling, deceitful Fae. Of course, she doesn’t trust me; she’s used to that kind of game.
“But why? Why show me such kindness? There must be something you want,” she presses, her tone tinged with suspicion.
I shrug. “Perhaps one day I will need your help, and you can remember that, in this moment, I chose kindness.”
Solena nods, but I can tell she is still not entirely convinced. If she wants to live with that threat looming over her, so be it. But if it means she doesn’t glare at me as much, then I’ll let her believe what she likes.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed. While she is here and amenable, I might as well have her answer some questions plaguing me.
“The Warrior’s Eye,” I begin, “Do all Mordorin celebrate it?”
“Only Blades,” she replies. “And the warriors of the thrall houses. It’s hosted by a different house each year. This year, it’s House Eyr’Drogul.”
“And what do they… do?” I press.
“Get drunk and beat each other to a pulp,” Solena sighs. “It’s believed the Pale Eye blesses the strong on this night and protects them in battle. So they fight for her favor.”
“And for how long will they be gone?” I ask, glancing around the room, feigning indifference, but Solena’s smirk hints she sees right through me.
“A few days,” she replies.
“Good,” I say quickly. Too quickly . “I will happily be rid of the prince for a while.”
She nods. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Souls, I wish I was a better liar. I push up from the bed, but immediately wince. “Damn it!” I shout, cradling my hand.
Concern flickers in Solena’s eyes. “Your wound isn’t improving. We should tell the king and queen. They should know if you are unwell.”
“My hand is none of their concern.” Solena eyes me suspiciously as my chest heaves. “Please, Solena.”
At this moment, I wonder what choice Solena will make.
“I will not speak of it again, Your Highness.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, creating just enough space to finally exhale.