Chapter 16
Silence swallows the room. No one shouts. No one barks orders.
We are all just a circle of onlookers staring down at the fallen man with varying expressions.
Mine is the only one horrified.
I swallow down bile, and healer instincts overtake my fear.
The man lies on his side, facing me with unseeing eyes. No blood spills from the gaping wound in his chest. The flesh is charred, edges blackened, as if the shadow burned straight through skin and bone.
A broken bow sits beneath his body. My lungs constrict.
The dark cloud above shifts, drifting closer to me. The shadows writhe and swirl, and the marks along my arms mimic their movement.
Augustus sighs. “That’s the second guard of mine you’ve killed today.”
My gaze flies from the corpse to the mayor, my scowl deepening at the mask of indifference he wears.
Is he serious?
What kind of leader watches his men die and reacts like he’s discussing the weather?
Rian doesn’t miss a beat. “He aimed a weapon at one of my own.”
“I see.” Augustus’s eyes flick to me, lingering on the dark cloud coiled overhead, before sliding back to Rian. His mouth curves. “You’ll need to temper those displays if you intend to keep your identity a secret.”
“That will not be an issue. We will not be in Virendrell for long.”
The mayor exhales, the sound heavy with regret.
“Even if I wished to help you, Prince Zylen,” Augustus says, “doing so offers no benefit to my people. Only risk. There is a reason Shadow Fae are not permitted on our shores.”
“And yet,” Rian replies, “here we stand.”
His cloak lifts, stirred by an unseen current. Tension swells.
“We cannot allow you to roam freely through the city,” Helen cuts in, shaking her head. “The people would never accept it.”
“We’ve been glamoured since the moment we stepped onto your docks.”
My body reacts before my mind does: muscles locking and chest tightening.
What?
“The only thing your citizens saw,” Rian continues, unbothered by the shock rippling through the Virendrellians’ faces, “was a group of travelers under military escort. I allowed only you, your soldiers, and your son to see us as we truly are.”
Allowed.
The word settles between my ribs, heavy and inescapable.
If Rian can alter perception so completely…what else has he changed? Has he used it on me?
Augustus, Helen, and Jason recoil in unison.
Jason recovers first; perhaps he’s the impulsive one.
“That’s impossible.” The mayor’s son scoffs. “How could you—”
“Because I am powerful,” Rian says.
My thoughts race back to our arrival in Virendrell. There were no screams. No panic. Only curiosity, edged with mistrust.
“Our identities remain secure,” Rian adds. “Anyone touched by my shadows has had their memory cleared. Isn’t that right, Draven?”
The surly Fae grunts once.
The mayor’s jaw clenches. His wife grips her son’s arm with her lips pressed in a hard line.
“But as a gesture of goodwill,” Rian continues, his tone polished, “we will agree to wear these.”
He motions in my direction, and Darius releases my arm.
My brows furrow as he steps forward and slips a pack from his shoulder. I hitch my own straps higher, fingers curling hard around the leather as he reaches inside his sack.
Metal glints. Then a sharp rattling echoes in my ears.
The room narrows.
No… It can’t be.
Darius lifts the cuffs from the sack, and my vision blurs for a split second before locking onto the dark, familiar shape dangling from the Fae’s fingers.
They are the manacles from the dungeon beneath the barracks in Verdanthia, the same ones that chained me to a wall.
Sweat beads along my hairline, and the floor tilts. My knees tremble. I force them straight, pain lancing through my joints as I anchor myself in place.
Those manacles held me captive and left me at the mercy of General Ironheart and his cronies.
They rendered me defenseless against Fief when he tortured me for information about the Fae. Information I didn’t have.
My throat dries. I try to swallow but fail, the effort breaking into a cough that is too loud in the quiet.
No one reacts.
No one, except Silas.
His dark eyes flick over his shoulder, finding mine. Something unspoken passes between us. Recognition. Sympathy. The kind that only comes from enduring the same darkness.
Augustus straightens and leans forward in his chair, eyeing the items Darius holds. “What are they?”
Helen sniffs the air and stiffens, her hand flying to her chest.
“Is that what I think it is?” Her voice comes out shrill.
“Magic-suppressing cuffs,” Rian says calmly. “Confiscated from Verdanthia.”
My heart thumps in my chest.
Why in the Gods’ names would they not destroy those blasted things?
Silas faces forward again, but I catch the way his shoulders lock into place, his spine rigid.
Helen hisses. Jason’s jaw drops. Augustus’s mouth twists into a scowl.
“The humans possessed those abominations?” the mayor demands, voice low and tight.
“They didn’t just possess them,” Rian replies. “We believe they forged them.”
A sharp intake of breath ripples through the family while mine lodges in my throat.
There are only so many people in Verdanthia who use a forge…
“How?” Jason blurts. “How could they possibly have that knowledge?”
“That is what my cadre and I are working to uncover.”
Is that true?
I have my doubts.
After all, the Shadow Fae only came to Verdanthia to heal Darius. Their plans to find the Sea Fae existed long before they learned of the astlerium manacles.
Didn’t they?
Augustus and Helen exchange a long, weighted look.
“So that is why you’ve come south,” Augustus says at last, his features drawn, tone grave. “To find who is creating these…monstrous devices?”
“Among other things.”
The markings on my arms slither.
The mayor and his family turn to each other again. Their voices are low, expressions guarded.
I drag a trembling hand across my brow, wiping away sweat, forcing my gaze anywhere but the cursed cuffs to avoid the memories.
Too late.
Fief’s breath ghosts across my face—hot, foul. His hateful laughter rings in my ears, sharp with delight as I scream.
Pain blooms against my ribs, phantom fractures stabbing deep. I squeeze my eyes shut.
It’s over.
You’re not there.
You’re safe.
Fingers curl around mine.
My eyes fly open.
I tell myself I’m not disappointed to find Silas’s kind eyes staring back at me.
His mouth curves into a faint smile before he turns back toward the room. He doesn’t release me.
I grip his palm tightly.
Augustus clears his throat. “Am I to understand that you have enough cuffs for each of you?”
Rian’s gaze cuts to Darius.
He opens his sack wider, tilting it so the mayor and his family can see inside.
Augustus shifts forward, peers in, then settles back in his chair.
He drums his fingers on the armrest, watching the Fae with a contemplative stare.
Then he nods. “Very well. If you each agree to wear the cuffs, I will send an envoy to assess your ship. If they find no hostile intent, it will be towed here for repairs.”
“That is not—”
“That is the best I can do, Your Highness,” Augustus interrupts. “I will not risk the lives of my men on your word alone.”
He lifts his chin higher then continues, “If what you say is true, Virendrell will aid your cause and help repair your ship. Until then, you and your retinue are invited to join in the wedding celebrations this week.”
The words may be an invitation, but there’s no mistaking it as anything other than a demand.
My heart races in my chest. Fresh sweat drips down my spine. I cannot wear the manacles. Not again. My power is almost non-existent at this moment. I can’t subject it to those oppressive, cursed cuffs again. I won’t.
Air rattles in my lungs, passing my throat in short, frantic spurts. Silas squeezes my fingers. I barely feel it.
Panic settles into my chest, pumping through my veins. Magic flickers, triggered by my distress, but unable to offer any meaningful help.
Jason’s head snaps to me. His brow furrows.
“What do you say, Your Highness?” the mayor asks. “Do you agree to my terms?”
I tear my gaze from the mayor’s son.
I wait for the shadow above to drop and smother the family in darkness, for tendrils to spear from the Shadow Prince’s body and cut down any man foolish enough to bar our exit.
“Very well,” Rian says smoothly.
My jaw drops.
What?
“Excellent.” Augustus rises. “Then we have a deal.”
My stomach sinks as Darius steps forward. A manacle hovers over his wrist.
Click.
The cuff closes with sharp finality.
Draven is next.
Darius cuffs his brother without ceremony.
Silas squeezes my fingers once before releasing me, stepping forward, and offering Darius his wrists.
The chainless bands snap shut.
One by one, the Fae’s power gutters out.
Not violently. Not with protest. Just…gone. Like candles snuffed between fingers, leaving no smoke behind, no trace that anything ever burned there at all.
My heart pounds hard enough to hurt. My gaze seeks out Rian’s, but he never looks away from the mayor.
I wait for the moment someone tells me to step forward—to bare my wrists for my own pair of manacles.
But that moment never comes.
Darius hands the Shadow Prince a set of the oppressive, dark cuffs. Rian holds Augustus’s stare as he snaps one manacle over his wrist, then the other.
The cloud above us dissolves, and so does the ever-present pulse of shadow magic that hums in my bones whenever the Shadow Prince is near.
Its absence is wrong.
Unnatural.
Darius approaches the mayor and holds out a thick, iron key.
Augustus accepts it with a curt nod. “I trust you will not attempt to remove the restraints?”
“It would be impossible without magic,” Darius replies, his lips thinning.
His skin looks…paler.
A cold wave crashes through me.
Gods…his curse!
My gaze drifts to Darius’s chest, to the place the curse lingers. Without his power to hold it at bay, what will happen to his body?
Helen clears her throat.
“We are honored by your presence at our son’s celebrations, Your Highness. Jason.” She turns. “Escort our guests to their rooms.”
I drag my gaze back to her son.
He’s already looking at me.
Watching.
A slow, knowing smile curls his lips. “Of course, Mother.”
My spine prickles.
“This way.” Jason strides toward the right side of the room and opens a door, the seams of which blended into the wall perfectly.
The Fae follow without a word.
I force a breath past the knot in my throat before I do the same, but cast one last glance over my shoulder.
Augustus and Helen remain stoic, composed, eyes gleaming with something sharp and satisfied.
Suspicion slams into me, sudden and absolute.
Virendrell is beautiful, but I need to be careful.
Or I fear I’ll be trading the dungeon in Verdanthia for a gilded one here.