A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

Prologue Onora

The Human Realm, Nemus

The last time Onora cried she was eight. A pyre blazed in front of her, casting flickering shadows as the heat dried her tears. The flames devoured her parents’ bodies and the tiny one wrapped between them. In a moment, she had learned how fragile life was, how easily her entire world could shatter.

And how easily controlled humans were by the more powerful and magical beings of the world.

A shadow approached her. His wings spread out behind him, black as the night, horns spiking back from his head. He knelt as a slow smile formed on his face.

She should feel fear. She should be trembling, screaming, running away. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Only a numbing coldness wrapped around her.

“What should we do with her?” another demon asked from somewhere in the dark.

“Keep her alive,” the male in front of her said. “This one has something I need.”

He took the shackles and carefully placed them around her neck, tightening it just enough that the iron bit coolly into her skin if she moved. The chain tugged heavily as it fell to the ground, snaking into the hands of her parents’ killer.

The Cruel Lord of Shadows.

She sat in the blazing hot firelight of the great hall, staring as the flames licked at the air, dancing with the shadows they created—similar, yet so different from that night five years ago. The iron choker still bit into her neck, the chain falling around her feet. She had a new master named Varek, no less vile than the current demon lord. Varek was the male that the ruler of the demons had set in charge of the human lands of Nemus.

The demons sat in the great hall that had once held the human ruler of these lands, drinking the mead the humans made, eating the food they cultivated and raised. The chain went taut, her head swaying to the side, and she looked up to see Varek’s drunken eyes taking her in. He tugged again, and she scrambled to her feet, coming to his side. His wings were gray, tucked behind the custom chairs they’d made shortly after occupying the village. His horns were thick and curled like a ram, his blond hair falling messily around them.

“Yes?” she asked.

He frowned, giving a sharp tug on the chain that made her stumble forward, bracing against the large armrest of his chair. “Watch your attitude, girl.”

A million retorts rested on the tip of her tongue. A million words she’d like to lob at him and the other demons. But she’d seen where that had gotten her friend Amberly. Lifeless eyes and cold veins in the ground. So she held her tongue, pursing her lips, unable to stop the hatred in her eyes. She had to watch her steps. She had plans to execute and impatience would ruin them.

He ran a finger along her cheek and she involuntarily jerked back, internally cursing herself because she knew, even before she felt the hit, what he would do. Her face swung to the side as the back of his hand hit her face, and then she fell forward when he tugged again on the chain, this time chafing against her neck.

“I would have killed you ages ago if you weren’t the Lord’s special pet. He’s saving you for something big, and when your destruction comes, I’ll be front and center to watch, girl,” Varek spat.

She stared up at him, trying desperately to be demure and failing. Her eyes darted beyond him to her friend Jackson, who sat next to his master. He gave her a pleading look.

How many times had he urged her to apologize, to grovel, to kneel? He’d begged her one night, sobbing because she was all he had left, and it was the only thing that kept her from defying them to her death. It was the only thing that made her scheme and plot and plan.

Her own life was forfeited. She hadn’t thought of her future since she’d been taken captive. But each day she woke and saw the indignity with which they treated Jackson lit that spark of life light in her chest again.

Onora had only two things left: her honor, and her unyielding need to save Jackson. Sometimes both of those contradicted each other. Sometimes she begged them to stop her beatings because if she didn’t, they would kill her. Sometimes she took his beatings so they wouldn’t kill him.

The night wore on and the drinks kept flowing. There was always one demon who stayed sober, watching, lurking. She’d learned early on that as much as the demons viewed humans as weak, worthless, and stupid, they knew that hatred could make a powerful enemy of anyone. So they partied with abandon, but someone always kept their wits to make sure that no one tried anything.

That was fine. Onora didn’t need them all drunk, only Varek. He kept her close by lately. The Cruel Lord was set to return soon, and he’d specifically told them no harm was to come to Onora. She didn’t know why, but it couldn’t be good. She had to act soon.

Tonight.

Varek laughed and joked with the demons next to him while others played music and danced in the middle of the hall. No one looked at her or noticed anything she did.

She’d been practicing this for a year now. It had started with her and Jackson. Then she’d moved on to some of the lesser demons, slipping her hand into their pockets and stealing inconsequential things.

None had caught her, though a few had looked at her as if they thought she’d bumped into them. She had practiced and practiced until it was done without error. Still, sweat dripped down the small of her back.

If she messed up now, they wouldn’t beat or kill her. Instead, they would target Jackson to punish her. Taking a steadying breath, she reached into Varek’s pocket and carefully grabbed the keys to her and Jackson’s locks. She’d been so careful to never give him the impression she’d ever try this. Others had, and so the keys went solely to Varek. Because his pet only had a smart mouth. They’d told her many times she was weak and stupid, and she played into it. She talked back because she was a brat, not because she would ever actually do anything.

Fools, the lot of them.

She stuck the keys in her trousers, securing them so they wouldn’t clank, and settled back, leaning against the wall, watching as the demons drank themselves into oblivion. As Varek had the last drinks of his life, the last laughs with his friends, as he imbibed and lived joyously, completely unaware that tomorrow would not come for him.

Onora lay on the ground next to Varek’s bed, the chain laying slack on the floor. She moved, letting them clank, and looked up to see if he would wake. His mouth hung ajar, his arm off the side of the bed, hand brushing the floor as he snored. She clanged them again.

Nothing.

It felt impossible, unreal, that she was moments away from having this iron away from her neck, a moment away from grabbing the dagger Varek so carelessly left strapped to his thigh. She breathed in, then out, and carefully grabbed the keys. Unlocking the choker, she set it down. Her neck felt oddly light, the sensation disorienting. She rubbed the chafed and calloused skin, something expanding inside of her that she hadn’t felt since they’d put the iron on. Something that grew and unfurled, stretching like a cat, reaching up and up.

It was cold as the dead of winter, vast as the stars, and distinctly alive.

Hello. It seemed to whisper, and she slammed it down, her breath coming out hard and fast.

She stood carefully and put her hand on the dagger, ever watching him. The blade fit perfectly under his chin, against the apple in his throat. She could kill him here and now, do it quietly and be done.

But she didn’t want that. It was too easy. He deserved to die full of fear. Just like her parents and brother had. Just as she had felt for the last five years. Taking the iron shackle, she clasped it around his neck. He stirred, flopping on his back and blinking awake. He took her in, frowning.

“What are you doing, girl?” he rasped out, reaching for his dagger, then sitting up hastily when it wasn’t there.

She yanked hard on the chain, and he yelped, bending forward, his eyes going wide with realization.

“This is for my family,” she said, driving the dagger into his heart. He let out a muted cry, and she pulled it out, slamming it in over and over again. Warm blood sprayed her face, her clothes. Time ceased to exist and her being along with it. When she came to, he lay cold and dead, covered in blood.

Her hands shook, and she stumbled back. It was a nasty sight and not nearly as satisfying as she thought it would be. She turned and vomited on the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She shouldn’t have done that. What if someone heard? She needed to get Jackson out.

Padding into the hall, dagger in one hand and the keys in the other, she made her way to Jackson’s room two floors down. Not a soul stirred, and she breathed in relief as she carefully opened his door and roused him.

He rubbed his eyes, then shot to his feet. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Varek is dead,” she replied flatly.

Jackson swallowed, nodding. “Good.”

She unlocked his chains, grabbed his hand, and they snuck out, looking around corners, leaving the estate as carefully as they could. On the first floor were guards—demons that weren’t allowed to take part in the celebrations. They stood at all the doors, front and back, so that would be a no-go. Looking down at the keys, she realized the key to Varek’s study was there. They snuck to the room, looking around before unlocking it. When they got inside, she locked it again and ran to the window. She didn’t see any guards on patrol, but she did see the stable.

A horse would be best for traveling. They could make good distance before anyone realized they were gone, and they rarely kept much of an eye on the horses. The demons could fly to destinations faster than a horse could gallop, so they only kept them as beasts of burden or for the humans.

She hauled the window open and looked out to make sure they were clear. When she felt confident, she climbed out, feet landing softly on the grass, then beckoned for Jackson to follow suit. They darted to the stables, afraid each moment that her feet hit the ground that they would be found out. But some goddess seemed to be watching over her because they came to the stable without incident. They saddled two horses and opened the doors.

“If one of them shoots me, Jack,” she said, “you have to keep going.”

Jackson nodded. “Likewise, Onora.”

She nodded but knew she wouldn’t. If Jackson was shot, she’d do whatever she could to save him. With a deep breath, they opened the barn doors, mounted their horses, and fled into the night. No one followed. Not a sound stirred as they crossed the plains. Hours passed, and her fear slipped away like the midnight hours.

“Where are we going?” Jackson asked, the first words either had dared to speak since leaving.

“Venatu,” Onora said. Venatu was the last human stronghold against the demons. It was the only place safe from their rule. “To the Hunter’s Guild.”

Because after her mind had cleared, Onora realized that killing one demon wasn’t enough. She needed to train with the Hunters, the people specially equipped with magical weapons from the elves, to fight against demon kind.

Because some day, the Lord of Shadows would be felled by her own hand.