Chapter Eighteen- Brother Dearest
In true Netherhelm fashion, the Celebration of Severance—when the Titans were sundered from creation—goes on despite the death of the Queen. The Age of Severance took place over five hundred years ago, after the last of the Titans fell.
Xeusis fell last, needing to see to it that the overabundance of power shared with his fellow Titans was properly returned to the Earth to be distributed to all life.
There were once five Titans in total, each possessing a unique magic source that left five kingdoms in their wake.
It took a century for the kingdoms to rise and for the magic sources to be found and harnessed.
That era was marked by suffering, death, and war.
Plagues spread amongst humans and whittled them down to skeletal numbers.
It refined the blood lines as if willed by the Titans themselves to tease out inbreeding and ailments like lice.
From those generations rose Arcanists, prepared to rule anew.
They were not merely born as others were.
Their magic did not awaken gently, nor did it come without cost. This was true of all those born of a Titan’s bloodline.
The magic clawed its way through their veins, reshaping them, binding them to the will of their respective fallen Titan.
In Indendria, some burned from the inside out.
Others in Frostguard fractured beneath the strain, freezing and shattering.
Those who lived became something… altered.
Revered by the desperate. Feared by those who remembered what they had been before.
None asked for power. But once it took root, they refused to relinquish it.
The Shadowfall bloodline was directly linked to Xeusis.
His only child—Avane—survived the transformation untouched by madness, untouched by decay.
Where others were forged, she was chosen.
She sired the first true generation of Shadowfall Arcanists.
While others toiled through their transformations to earn lesser powers, the Shadowfall magic would endure for centuries.
It would never lessen, remaining pure Stygian magic, unlike any others.
Avane insisted it endure—carrying the blood of Xeusis through every generation that followed, unbroken, unchallenged.
It’s why the Shadowfall name is so sacred in our ruling class, why they were the first to be placed on the throne.
It would not be challenged, it had not been challenged.
It even remained unchallenged when the kingdom groaned under the authoritarian rule of King Dreven, off-balance since the time of Phoenix Shadowfall.
The history of our world is painted on the ceilings of the west wing of the palace, vaulted high above.
The palace is humming with voices, scattered conversation seeping through the halls between the varying ballrooms and courtyards. Noble and wealthy families file in from every direction. Thousands of people join and socialize as we remember the Titans who sleep.
Once again, Aleksander is choosing to torture Thorne following the palace-wide event. Perhaps the distraction that it provides is ideal.
I tighten the straps of the masquerade mask around my head and bow deeply at two ladies as they wave at me.
Their cheeks redden behind their fox-like eye masks.
They’re young, perhaps the same age as the twins.
One of their familiars is actually a fox, weaving between her skirts.
Crowley lands on my shoulder and she smiles at him.
When one of the young girls places a hand on my chest, I wave the twins over from where they’re chasing three Basket Sprites around a banquet table.
They’ve already been yelled at for setting a dozen of them loose but their wide smiles and laughter is refreshing.
The innocence of youth remains within them even if they’re prone to trouble.
“This is Julien and Julius Shadowfall, as I’m sure you know,” I introduce them to the girls. Julien beams at them while Julius seems nervous, more interested in the Basket Sprites who are now turning over champagne bottles.
Julien seems to realize he lost his mask while Julius ties a plain cloth one over his eyes. The four of them begin chatting and I slip away to admire the statues of the Titans.
The onyx statue of Xeusis stands in the center of the stone pantheon, tall and formidable. Life-sized at fourteen feet tall in the middle of the ballroom.
He watches over the celebration indifferently with ruby sculpted eyes.
His signature half helmet is crafted carefully atop his head, trying to wrangle his thick curling hair that was once the deepest shade of black.
Two sharp edges cradle his cheekbones, similar to the piece coming down the bridge of his nose in a sharp menacing point.
The piercings in his lips are accurate according to the sacred texts of his appearances, four in his mouth in total.
As an homage to his beloved serpents, the piercings look like fangs.
Dressed in the ancient garb that still appears to flow with the winds, he commands attention from the room.
It doesn’t matter how many times I behold the stone version of our deity, I am in awe every time I come across this intricately detailed version of him.
The statues we see outside of the temples are nothing compared to the beauty and power radiating off of this one, and I am transfixed.
Everything in my life comes down to his teachings, his belief that our dark magic should flow through us to create harmony and balance.
To correct the wrongs that plague this kingdom so that his people may flourish.
To restore balance between all of the realms.
To his right, the Titaness of Glacian Magic, Shivara, matches his towering height but is instead carved in marble.
Thick braids flow down her back and over her shoulders, said to have been the same color as Thorne’s hair—so white it was silver.
Small clips are even carved into the stone, showcasing the pieces she wore in her braids to match her sapphire eyes.
Everything about her sharp features scream cold, holy, immovable.
I swallow at the sheer beauty of her, knowing that if she still lived, I would grovel at her feet and beg to serve her for the rest of my days.
To the right of Xeusis is Kairenon of Incendira, the Titan of Fire magic.
His statue, made of tiger’s eye crystal, catches the light in its molten streaks, his eyes glowing orange, highlighting his wild and untamable nature.
His long beard looks so realistic I could reach up and run my fingers through it, but I would not.
No one dares touch the eternal statues. Besides, they’re warded.
On the left end of the row is Druviana of Terramora, the Titaness of Earth magic, while on the right end of the row stands Elyssin of Celestia, the Titaness of Light magic.
Blessed black wisteria vines secure the statues to the ground, grown carefully through the tiles from a Priestess of Earth magic who oversees the wellbeing of the stone pantheon. The vines and blooming flowers give the wards their power, ensuring no one lays a hand on them.
I jolt when a hand grips my waist as someone walks by. I see Thorne chatting with Asterin as they stroll past me into the eastern ballroom. Asterin laughs as my heart tries to remember its rhythm in the wake of Thorne’s touch but she didn’t notice it, laughing instead at something her brother said.
Just then, Fable hops from the ballroom and drops a small note at my feet. I look around and snatch it up before he disappears.
Asterin knows about our move for the Kyanite. She wants change. She will accept a marriage proposal from Prince Kapron Fogmaine of Terramora tonight.
—T
I relax my shoulders. No part of me wanted Asterin to be a casualty of our plight, but now that Thorne has trusted her with the information, I feel it is of the utmost priority to keep her alive alongside the twins.
I use a small flame to reduce the message to ash but I don’t respond.
Something in the way his raven-haired sister is smiling at him unsettles me.
Maybe I just don’t want more people involved in our plan.
Our plan.
Ours.
Us.
I shiver, not wanting to entertain the fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then the sound of him moaning my name replays in my head unprompted. Wretched prince. Vile prince. Deviant prince. Sexy, cruel, witty…
“Sir Darkbloom,” Morana purrs, which pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Miss Darkcrow,” I take her hand in mine and kiss it. She blushes and I realize this doesn’t elicit anywhere near the same feeling that Thorne’s reddening cheeks do… stop.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you looked troubled,” her soft voice lilts. She puts her light pink half mask on the right side of her face. It’s truly her color, matching her dress and bringing out the hue of her warm skin.
It’s common to show familiars at the Celebration of Severance as a kind of thanks to the Titans for bestowing them upon us. This is the first time I’ve seen Morana’s. A white mouse with red eyes and the cutest round ears peeks out from a fold in her corset.
“Something about the power they still hold. It’s…”
“Magnetic?” She asks.
“Yes, magnetic,” I grin at her but glance over her shoulder. Thorne holds a glass up to me in mock cheers with a devilish smile.
I can almost hear him make some sarcastic comment about distracting myself from the hold he has on me.
It’s not fair, truly. I possess the rare ability to hypnotize, yet he’s got me in his hold.
I know I’d have to halt the very rotation of the earth to stop the feeling he gives me, to forget his skin on mine.
When Morana looks at me in anticipation, I remember myself.
“Would you like to dance?” I flash her a smile.