Chapter 25
The Old Ones loved chaos and could not abide its cessation. In the end, they were willing to destroy their own children rather than be restrained.
—OLD ONES, ANCIENTS, AND THE FOLK
Once in the shadow realm, Thea fell to her knees, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, her heart quickening with pain.
She put a hand to the right side of her chest, waiting for the worst of it to subside before she pushed to her feet, her steps uneven as she made her way toward the river.
When the boat slid up silently beside her, she stepped in cautiously, mindful of her bruises, and perched on the seat.
As she reached shore, Damon was silhouetted in the doorway to the castle, cutting a sharp outline that highlighted his upright posture, his perfectly neat hair and clothing.
She knew he was beautiful, dangerous, and deadly, but tonight, the shadow prince was more a friend to her than her own father.
Unable to execute her usual nimble jump, she stepped slowly from the boat, resisting the urge to hold her aching side as she made her way with ginger steps toward Damon.
Something about her stance must have alerted him.
He came down the steps in one jump, moving faster than she’d known he could, reaching for her before she could draw another breath.
His warm hands held her upper arms, steadying her.
She wanted to curl up against him and rest.
Dangerous, her mind warned. But she was too numb to listen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, the urgency of his tone weakening her defenses. A tingling behind her eyes worsened, Damon’s concern activating something inside of her.
“My rib,” she admitted, hating to admit vulnerability. She reminded herself she had already cried in front of him and had nothing to hide. “I think it might be broken.”
He sucked in a breath, his hands tightening on hers. “Another battle with the Skrattis?”
Her lips curved in a bitter smile. “My father. He wasn’t enthusiastic about me coming here.”
Damon jerked in shock. She swallowed, watching his face transform in the scant light from the castle, darkening into a fury that could rival the Sylvan king’s. The shadows clinging to his neck and shoulders writhed in agitation.
“What did he do?” Damon asked. It was more of an epithet than a question.
“Tried to stop me from leaving the fortress. I can’t go home.”
As she said it, she realized it was true, and the pain behind her eyes became intense. She turned her head to the side.
“Thea,” Damon said, stepping close. His hand found the side of her neck, moving up to cup her chin so he could gently turn her back to face him. “What does he know about what’s going on here?”
She met his eyes. “He knows my mother is trapped here. He knows I’ll have to take her place to free her.” She couldn’t hide her bitterness. “He seems willing to let her rot rather than risk anything to save her.”
“Don’t say more right now,” Damon said, his head moving from left to right. He sniffed once, and started to pull her toward the castle. “We have to go inside.”
“What is it?” she asked, following him up the stairs.
He pulled the doors shut behind him, then wove a shadow between the handles, leaving it there as if to block it. He had never locked, or even closed, the doors before.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her senses on alert. She moved her hand to her skirt, feeling for her knives. “Who are you trying to keep out?”
“Prospect,” he said in a low voice. “He’s been skulking.
He’s found some cracks in my protections.
I don’t think he believed the pretense that you and I had just met.
He has a way of sniffing out lies. Come away from the windows.
” He pulled her to one of the corners where they often spoke, the darkness weaving around them.
“The folk who dance here give my castle enough power to fend him off. But…” He gestured toward the ballroom, and Thea turned to follow his eyes.
It was empty. Somehow, she hadn’t even noticed.
“Fewer sources of life force. Less magic. Less protection against enemies.”
“Where are the dancers?” she asked, scanning the room to make sure she hadn’t missed anyone. She knew it wasn’t the ninth night for most of them. The black walls echoed the notes of one of the songs that often played here, but no feet moved in time to its melody.
Damon’s nostrils flared, his eyes serious as he turned to face her. “I did something foolish.”
Fear tightened her chest. What would the shadow prince consider foolish? “What did you do?”
He paused, sucking in a breath before continuing. “Last night, I…” His face went blank. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear to take another. Though I vowed I would never be weak again.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, putting her hands to his cheeks to try to ground him in reality instead of the memory that was distressing him.
“I couldn’t take their freedom.” His eyes found hers and clung, like a man in a swift current who finds something solid to hold on to.
“They should have been brought to my father and given the choice. Stay or leave.” He paused, his eyes going unfocused as he again surveyed the empty ballroom.
“Instead, I told them the truth. It seemed to wake them up. And I sent them home.” He swallowed. “I have broken every rule.”
“Will they be cursed, though?” Thea asked. “Will they sicken and die if they don’t return?”
“I don’t know. I think so. My only thought was at least they will be home among family for the time they have left.”
He wrapped a shadow between his fingers, wearing it like a glove while smiling gently at it before he allowed it to curl around his arm.
“Some of my shadows left me last night when I freed the dancers. They are probably telling my father of my great weakness.” His face lost all expression, his eyes cold and hard as he stared at the black wall.
“Something truly… unpleasant is in store for me. And despite my best efforts, I’m still not powerful enough to fight him. ”
“Then where can we go?” Thea asked, grabbing his wrist. “In Scarhamm, we have a war room that is warded on all sides from intrusions or eavesdroppers. Do you have anywhere like that?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking. “My own private quarters have always been beneath my father’s notice, and I’ve made sure to evict all his shadows from there. We won’t have long before he comes for me, though. Maybe one night.”
She gripped his shoulder, trying to lend him some of her strength. “Then let’s go back to your quarters, make plans, and leave before the night is through.”
“Thea,” he said, his eyes lacking the resolve she’d hoped to see. He looked more sad than determined. “I think your father was right that you shouldn’t have come here.”
She pulled her hands from him, taking a step back. “But you said my spirit is owed to your father and he’d find me in any case. And if I stayed away, I’d be abandoning my mother.”
“What if I was wrong?” he said, his hands fisted by his sides as if to keep from reaching for her again.
“My father claims a lot of things. Maybe I’ve been a fool to believe him.
You should go above, hide within the walls of Scarhamm.
I’ll see what I can do to free your mother. I won’t stop trying.”
She pinned him with a sharp look. “That is not something I can leave in your hands. If it were your mother, would you entrust her safety to me?”
“Without hesitation,” he said, honesty shining in his eyes. “But I would be by your side. I wouldn’t leave you to face it alone.” He gave her a look that said she’d made her point.
“Exactly.” She relaxed a fraction.
“If you choose to stay in your mother’s stead, you need to understand that I don’t have the ability to free you. You will become like she is now. Trapped. Without speech. Without hope.” His jaw clamped shut, his eyes looking haunted.
“I understand. It’s my choice to make,” Thea replied.
He looked angry, opened his mouth and closed it before replying. “I might never have the power to fight him. I can’t become him.” He looked as if he’d admitted something shameful.
She stepped forward to put her hands on his face, to tilt it gently so he would meet her eyes again. “I’m glad you will never be him. You have a strength of conscience that won’t let you follow in his footsteps. You are so, so much better.” And she touched her lips to his.
He closed his eyes, his arms coming around her. Their kiss was brief, harsh, and full of longing and promises neither of them could keep.