Chapter 10 #2
The shadows whispered their impatience, urging me to skip the preliminaries and go directly to the dragon-shifters. But some vestige of tactical thinking insisted I gather as much information as possible before confronting Livia's other mates.
The cell beyond the door was spacious by dungeon standards, furnished with simple beds and basic necessities.
The two men inside looked up as we entered, and I felt a jolt of recognition despite having never seen them before.
There was something in their bearing, their alertness, that reminded me of Livia—the controlled readiness of trained fighters, the way their eyes immediately assessed us for threats and weaknesses.
The older of the two was a man in his forties, with greying hair and the kind of scars that spoke of a lifetime spent in battle.
But it was his eyes that caught my attention—intelligent, calculating, and filled with a determination that reminded me uncomfortably of the woman I had claimed as my mate.
The younger man was perhaps my own age, with the lean build of a gladiator and hands that bore the calluses of someone who lived by the sword. When he looked at me, I saw recognition flicker across his features, though we had never met.
"You're the shadow mage," the older man said without preamble. "The one who took Livia."
Took, the shadows hissed. He speaks as if you stole what belonged to them.
"I am Taveth, High Shadow of this city," I replied, my voice carrying the harmonics that marked my power. "And Livia is my mate, claimed according to the laws and customs of my people."
The younger man's hands clenched into fists, but the older one placed a restraining hand on his arm. "I'm Marcus," he said. "Former gladiator. This is Antonius. Septimus. Jalend. We've come to negotiate for Livia's return."
"There is nothing to negotiate," I said, surprised by the calmness in my own voice. "She is mine by right of conquest and blood."
"By right of conquest?" Antonius's voice cracked like a whip. "You mean by right of kidnapping, don't you? Taking a helpless woman from a battlefield and forcing her into your bed?"
The shadows exploded outward at the accusation, and I felt the temperature in the cell drop by several degrees. Both men tensed, reaching instinctively for weapons they no longer carried, but neither backed down.
Kill them, the darkness urged. They insult you, challenge your claim. Show them the price of such boldness.
"Careful," Malachar warned quietly, his hand moving to the hilt of his blade. "Your power is affecting the containment stones."
I forced the shadows back with an effort that left me trembling. "Livia is not helpless. If you knew her, you would know that. She came to my bed willingly."
"Because she had no choice!" Antonius surged to his feet, ignoring Malachar's drawn blade. "Because she was alone and afraid and you were the only option for survival!"
"Enough." The word came out with enough shadow-magic behind it to rattle the stones in the walls. Both men staggered, clutching their heads as the harmonics battered against their minds. "You will not speak of my mate with such disrespect."
When the echoes faded, Marcus was looking at me with something that might have been pity. "Look at yourself," he said quietly. "Look at what that power is doing to you. Is this the man Livia chose, or is this what you've become since claiming her?"
The question hit like a physical blow, because he was right. The man who had first approached Livia with gentle words and careful touches would never have used shadow-magic as a weapon against unarmed prisoners. The darkness was changing me, making me into something Livia herself would fear.
They seek to weaken you with doubt, the shadows whispered. To make you question your own strength. Do not listen to their poison.
"Where are the others?" I asked, changing the subject before my resolve could weaken further.
"Others?" Marcus's expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the flicker of something in his eyes.
"The dragon-shifters. My people who travel with you."
"In the adjacent cells," Malachar answered when neither prisoner responded. "They've been more... difficult to question."
I left the Imperial soldiers without another word, the shadows writhing around me like hungry serpents as we moved to the next set of cells.
Here the doors were reinforced with additional bands of metal, and I could hear the low rumble of voices from within—Talfen voices, speaking in the old tongue.
Traitors, the darkness hissed. Dragon-shifters who serve the Empire deserve no mercy.
“These two claim to be the woman's mates as well," said Malachar, indicating a door marked with fresh scratches.
The shadows roared their approval as I reached for the door handle.
Here was the source of their rage - two other men who had touched what belonged to me, who had left their marks on Livia's skin and claimed her heart.
The darkness showed me images of what I could do to them, how satisfying it would be to watch them beg for mercy that would never come.
The cell beyond was smaller than the one that held the Imperial soldiers, its walls lined with the same energy-absorbing stone that contained the lost shadow mages. Two men turned as we entered, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of the first one.
He was massive, even by Talfen standards, with the kind of build that spoke of incredible physical strength.
His white hair was longer than fashion dictated, and his clothes bore the stains of recent battle.
But it was the scars that covered his arms and chest that told the real story—the distinctive patterns left by Imperial slave collars, proof that this man had suffered under the same bondage that had broken so many of our people.
When he looked at me, his golden eyes blazed with an intelligence and fury that made my own anger seem pale by comparison.
This was a man who had survived horrors that would have broken lesser beings, who had somehow retained enough of himself to eventually win free.
This was an equal, a rival who could challenge me for Livia in ways the human soldiers never could.
"So," he said, his voice carrying the rumble of his dragon form even in human shape. "You're the shadow mage who stole my mate."
His mate, the shadows screamed. He dares to claim what is yours!
The rage that followed was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
It wasn't just my own jealousy and possessiveness—it was the accumulated hunger of generations of shadow magic, fed by every dark impulse that had ever whispered through the mountain's stone.
I felt my control shatter like glass, felt the darkness pour out of me with enough force to crack the containment stones lining the walls.
"She is mine," I snarled, my voice carrying harmonics that made the very air vibrate with malevolent energy. "Mine by conquest, mine by bond, mine by choice. You have no claim here, dragon."
The shifter smiled, and there was nothing pleasant in the expression. "No claim? Boy, I was her mate when you were still learning to hide from your own shadow. I shared her bed, her heart, her very soul. What have you given her except a cage made of silk and darkness?"
The shadows exploded outward with enough force to shatter the light orbs in the corridor beyond.
In the sudden darkness, I felt my human shape begin to waver as the shadow magic consumed what remained of my self-control.
This creature had touched Livia, had known her body in ways I was only beginning to explore.
He had been her first choice, her willing choice, and she would choose him again if given the chance.
Kill him, the darkness roared. Tear him apart. Show him what happens to those who challenge a shadow mage's claim.
I was moving before conscious thought could intervene, shadow-enhanced strength propelling me forward with inhuman speed.
Sirrax met my charge with the reflexes of a trained warrior, but he was unarmed and confined in a space too small for him to shift forms. My hands found his throat, and I felt the satisfying give of flesh beneath my fingers as the shadows poured their strength into my grip.
"Taveth, stop!" Malachar's voice seemed to come from very far away, barely audible over the roaring in my ears. "You're going to kill him!"
Yes, the shadows whispered. Kill him. End the threat he represents. Ensure that Livia has no choice but to remain with you.
But even as my fingers tightened, even as I felt Sirrax's struggles growing weaker, something slammed into me from the side with enough force to send me sprawling across the stone floor.
The impact broke my grip on the dragon-shifter, and I rolled to my feet with shadows writhing around me like living serpents, ready to tear apart whoever had dared interfere.
"Leave him alone!"
The voice that rang out was my own—but not my own. I spun toward the sound, my vision still clouded with rage and shadow magic and saw the second prisoner advancing on me with his fists raised. He was moving to place himself between me and Sirrax, his posture protective, defiant.
And his face...
The shadows fell silent for the first time in months, their whispers dying away as if they had been severed by a blade. In the sudden quiet of my own mind, I could hear my heart beating, could feel the weight of recognition settling over me like a physical thing.
The face that met mine was my own.
Not similar—not the kind of family resemblance that might be explained by distant kinship or coincidence.
It was my face exactly, down to the smallest detail.
The same bone structure, the same shape of eyes and mouth.
The only differences were his shorter hair, and those wide black eyes.
Where my white ones carried the weight of whispers and madness, his held a clarity and strength that I hadn't felt in years.
I staggered backward, my legs suddenly too weak to support my weight. The shadows that had been my constant companions retreated to the farthest corners of the cell, as if even they recognized the magnitude of this moment.
The man before me—this complete stranger who wore my face—looked equally shaken.
We stood frozen, studying each other's faces with the desperate intensity of men trying to solve an impossible puzzle.
Every detail was identical—the shape of our eyes, the line of our jaws, even the small scar on the left temple that I had carried since childhood.
The only differences were his longer hair and the absence of shadow-marks that had begun to etch themselves into my skin.
"This is impossible," he breathed. "You look exactly like me."
"How?" I managed, my voice cracking. "How do you look like me?"
Behind him, Sirrax had gone very still, his golden eyes moving between us with growing understanding. "Gods," he breathed. "Identical. Apart from eyes."
"But that doesn't make sense," the stranger said, his voice rising with confusion and something that might have been panic. "People don't just... look like other people. Not like this."
"Who are you?" I demanded. He shook his head, still staring at me, and I felt the frustration and shock explode out of me once again as she shadows ricocheted around the room
“WHO ARE YOU?”