Chapter 2 #2
As the shadows shrouded me like a cape, covering even my armor, Bastian and the others stepped back, away from me.
The darkness spread over my face, leaving behind a skeletal frame that made the rebel piss and shit himself. The putrid smell instantly mixed with the fear clinging to the air.
“No… please. Don’t… kill me. Please.” Finally, the begging began. But it was too late.
Demented laughter rumbled in my chest, and I allowed my canines to lengthen like a vampyre’s, amplifying the horrific vision of Death.
The curse may have stolen my chance to rule the kingdom, but at times like these, I savored the dark power that enticed me to drift between the realms of life and death.
True to the Nightblade name, I could already command shadows and bend smoke to my will, turning them into weapons. But the curse amplified these gifts into something far more lethal.
I lifted a hand. Twines of black smoke-like threads flowed from me to the rebel, weaving into his soul like fine needles. Terror widened his eyes faster than a heart could beat. So much so that tears of silver streamed down his cheeks.
My Bloodsworn gasped. It took a lot for such a thing to happen—cry silver tears. The only equivalent I’d heard of were instances in the mortal realm where a human’s hair turned white after experiencing intense shock or fear.
I wriggled my fingers once more, and the dark threads of my magic curled around the rebel’s body in wisps of blackened mist, thick and shifting, like a storm without wind.
In the next heartbeat, the skin ripped off his body piece by piece as if I were tearing it off with my hands.
The scream that poured from his throat was unlike any other we’d heard tonight. It was raw and animalistic. Heartbreaking and distressing. Pitiful and deplorable.
Seconds later, every inch of his skin was gone, leaving muscles and sinew and organs exposed. But he wasn’t dead yet.
To fuck with him, I was purposely keeping him alive for a little longer. Just a little longer to stretch out that arduous pain so it would feel like he’d endured it for an eternity.
The air pulsed with death. The dungeon walls groaned and strained.
A final cry tore from his throat. Then the screaming stopped, and the darkness swallowed him whole, a twisting, volatile force that consumed flesh, bone, and soul in a single moment.
Then he was nothing.
Gone.
Erased.
Unmade.
No corpse. No mess.
The empty chains where his wrist had been bound clanked against the stone, and the air reeked with the rebel’s essence.
It was over, but the darkness continued swirling around my body, draining and stealing my sense as a familiar voice, gravelly as crushed bone, called to me.
“Join me. Become me. Be one with me,” it whispered.
“Join me. Become me. Be one with me.”
It would be so easy to let go. To stop fighting. To lose myself.
After five years of failing to find my father’s murderer and the ring to break the curse, what hope did I have left?
I’d been around for three centuries. Perhaps it was time to become something else and embrace my new calling as Death. Perhaps it was…
A hand rested on my shoulder, warm and firm and powerful like an anchor, grounding me. Through the grip, a flow of energy seeped beneath my skin and breathed into my soul, pulling me back to this world.
Bastian.
Only he would brave touching me when I was like this.
He had the power to manipulate emotion and energy, so as he took the edge off my fury and dimmed the wrath that fueled the darkness, my mind returned to me.
The darkness subsided, crawling back from whence it came, and the voice faded to a static hum.
I breathed out a haggard breath and looked at Bastian. His hand was still on my shoulder, bare of his gauntlet and blistered from the impact of my magic.
Slowly, my Fae looks returned, everything down to the long raven hair on my head and the deep scar that ran across my cheek.
Sometimes, this look felt like a glamor, an illusion of what I wasn’t anymore.
More and more, even when I didn’t use my death magic, I felt like I’d already become one with the dark.
With a hard stare, Bastian released me and straightened, clenching his jaw. He knew what I was thinking. They all knew. “Wolfe—”
“Don’t.” My voice echoed around us, fierce as lightning crackling over the Pangthorne Mountains. I didn’t want the reminder of the dangers of using my powers, especially during a Phantom Moon. “That bastard more than deserved it. Don’t you dare disagree.”
Bastian stared at me for a long moment before he nodded and his shoulders sagged with the burden of grief and defeat.
He’d known the handmaidens for as long as I had.
They both helped raise us. Their deaths would hit harder than the others, so there was no way he could utter a word against my decision to obliterate the rebel.
I switched my gaze to Garrick, who instantly bowed his head with reverence, allowing the ends of his long-plaited hair to fall over his armored shoulders. Then I stared at Alaric, who looked worried. Worried for me.
My brother, eight years younger than me, looked more and more like me every day, with the same shoulder-length black hair, light eyes, warrior build and height. He’d even copied the beaded plaits I’d worn in my beard. They probably made me look more pirate than a prince. Like me, he didn’t care.
As I stared at him, the ounce of compassion that still lived in me was grateful the blood tie that cursed me ended with me and didn’t affect him.
I would have hated for our situation to be reversed, watching him losing himself while knowing there was nothing I could do.
“What now, Wolfe?” he asked, breaking our silent stare. “This is turning into a nightmare. Now the rebels are attacking our own near the palace. And on the day of the festival. There’s a chance some of them got on the grounds.”
He was right. The festival, especially one as large as Nyxara Valtheris, was the perfect breeding ground for trouble.
I clenched my jaw, biting into my bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood coated the tip of my tongue.
“Each of you take ten of your men and stand guard at the towers. I’ll guard the King’s Hold.
” I’d be able to recuperate there with some privacy.
And I needed time to think about a new plan.
Everything we’d done so far hadn’t worked.
“Let’s make sure the guests are safe tonight. ”
“And what about tomorrow?” The cold edge in Bastian’s voice was a dagger of truth. “What happens when tomorrow comes and the rebels conjure more shit for us to deal with? We need to do something different.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“If by that you mean using those powers of yours, you’ll have to find another way, Wolfe.” Finally, the warning came.
“I said I’ll figure it out,” I snapped, my tone a caution not to push me any further.
He took the hint and raised his hands in resignation, a surly smirk tugging at his lips. “Got it.”
I looked at Garrick with my brows raised, as he’d been silent this whole time. It was he who’d found the bodies of the handmaidens, and he’d wanted to kill the rebels on the spot.
“Nothing from me, my Lord.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Garrick only ever referred to me as ‘my Lord’ instead of using my name when he was following Bastian’s lead and didn’t want to start an argument between us. That didn’t help as much as he thought it did. Maybe when we were boys. Not so much now.
“Report back at dawn.” I acknowledged each of them, and they nodded.
I threw one last look at the space where the rebel had been, squinted in disgust at the memory of him, and made my way to the door.
It felt like I hadn’t done enough to punish him. And I was pissed as fuck that we’d gotten shit from him. Not even an ounce of a lead to work with.
I ascended the steps, leaving my Bloodsworn to their worries while mine dragged behind me like iron chains.
The dungeon door slammed shut behind me as I stepped into the courtyard.
The night air hit me like a slap, thick with spice and wine, music and laughter. Despite everything, Nyxara Valtheris was in full swing.
My parents were both gone now, but I still honored their tradition, opening the palace grounds for the festival the way they always had.
Ahead of me golden lanterns swayed in the breeze, throwing restless shadows against the stone walls.
Females danced in embroidered silks, their movements hypnotic beneath the glow of torchlights.
Males lined the sidelines, their voices rising in cheers and euphoria as acrobats and flame jugglers dazzled them.
It was a different world out here, where the Fae folk seemed to live in perpetual bliss. No one was thinking of the brewing war.
No one seemed to notice me either. The revelers were too lost in their drinking and merriment. Good. It was best.
They had no idea what kind of monster walked among them and I was in no mood to pretend I was normal to keep the hushed whispers of my curse at bay.
The festival was a distraction I would allow them. Better they have one night of joy before facing the reality that their kingdom was under attack and their cursed prince couldn't protect them.
Above me, the Phantom Moon hung in the violet sky, casting its ethereal glow over the land.
Only in Galaythia could one witness the full eclipse of the twin moons shimmering like a fractured prism with shards of souls dancing within.
In all other lands, the Phantom Moon completely eclipsed the normal moon.
But here, you could see why the magical realm called it the Eclipse of Souls.
Nyxara Valtheris celebrated the celestial connection between past and present.
A Nightblade was supposed to feel the ancient magic of those souls.
Our link to the dragons gave us the ability to harness all magic from the past. Yet I felt nothing.
I could barely feel the connection to my dragon anymore.
The curse had darkened everything. And that left me exposed to vultures like Dreynthor.
I loathed being under his control. Today's incident would only strengthen his proposal for me to marry into Thalyrius, our neighboring kingdom.
They controlled all trade across the western seas and northern isles, the most profitable route in Vaelthorne. Dreynthor argued that if the rebels saw Thalyrius standing with us through marriage, they'd back down rather than lose their main source of income. I hated to think he was right.
Fear was the only weapon those savages understood. But being forced to marry some princess while cursed wasn't the future I'd envisioned. The marriage might contain the rebels, but I'd still remain cursed. I'd never become king.
Which was exactly what Dreynthor wanted. He may not wear the crown, but he was already the true ruler of Galaythia. For someone who was never an heir to the throne, it was more than enough.
I reached the King’s Hold and walked out to the balcony, where I had a good vantage point of my parameters. From here, I could see everyone and the palace grounds below me.
Thoughts of what happened tonight sliced through my mind.
I had to figure out a way to contain the fucking rebels. One that didn’t involve marriage. I would not go down in history as the first Nightblade who couldn’t control his people by his own hand.
I looked toward the stables, checking the shadows beyond the torchlight. Then I felt it. Something changed in the air.
Whirling to my left, I watched a thick mass of shadows gather from nothing.
The air shifted. Grew colder. The scent of rot curled in the night breeze, clashing with festival spices. A whisper of darkness coiled at the edge of my vision. Shadows thickened, bending toward me. And then a massive hooded figure materialized, cloaked in darkness.
It was a wraith. But not just any wraith. This one was my tracker.
My tracker that I hadn't seen in close to five years. I'd sent him to find the ring when all other hope was lost.
The wraith's hollow eyes met mine, and something like satisfaction flickered in those voids. “Lord Nightblade.” His voice was like a dying whisper.
“What news do you bring me?”
“I found the thief.”
Those three simple words stopped my heart. Then it lurched back to life, racing with five years' worth of vengeful hope.
“Tell me.”
“A girl, my Lord. Young. Red hair like fire.” The wraith's voice carried something like dark amusement. “She bears the mark of both worlds. Mage and human blood. She performed blood magic under the Phantom Moon.”
A half mage girl.
My pulse slammed against my ribs.
After five years, I finally had a lead. A chance to break the curse and take back my kingdom.
“Show me this girl,” I commanded.
And the wraith obeyed.