Chapter 5
DAEMON
The shadow-walk left her retching. Luckily for her, I could only shadow-walk once a day without aggravating the curse’s effects.
I held her hair back as she emptied what little remained in her stomach onto the moss, trying not to think about how soft the strands felt between my fingers.
Dark brown, threaded with hints of red that caught the moonlight.
Her powers alone should have been enough to keep my distance, yet observations of her personality and features intruded on my thoughts.
“Where are we?” she gasped when the heaving finally stopped.
“Somewhere safe from the King’s eyes.” I released her hair and stepped back, restoring distance between us. Close contact made my magic restless, eager to tangle with hers in ways that would complicate everything. “The Cursed Lands hold no allegiance to any monarch.”
She scanned our surroundings with dark eyes that missed nothing, cataloging threats and escape routes with the efficiency of someone who had survived by her wits alone. The sharpness in her gaze brought an unexpected sense of relief. Stupid people died quickly in places like this.
And I needed her alive.
We stood in what had once been a market square, back when this village had a name and people who called it home.
Now the buildings were hollow shells, roofs caved in, walls scorched with patterns that formed shapes I deliberately avoided studying too closely.
The fountain at the center had run dry decades ago, leaving cracked stone and a faint lingering scent of sulfur.
“This place reeks of…” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Something you can’t identify,” I finished.
“A Veil-storm caught this village many years ago. Veil-storms are what happen when your ancestors recklessly use the Veil as a source of power. Everyone died in a single night, but their spirits couldn’t cross over.
They’re trapped here, reliving their final moments on endless repeat. This place is neither life nor death.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “And you brought me here because…?”
“Because the undead don’t care about the politics of the living. They won’t report our presence to anyone who matters.”
“Untie me,” she demanded.
“No.”
“If you want me to go along with your plans, you’re going to have to untie me. I’m not complying until I’m free. I’m sick of your bloodline putting shackles on me like I’m some animal.”
“I don’t view you as a beast like my father does.
The restraints are there for your safety, and mine.
They’re imbued with magic to help regulate your powers.
You can walk, talk, even scratch your nose if the urge strikes.
But your hands remain bound. I can’t afford to have your magic spiral out of control. ”
“Why? I thought you needed my powers. How am I supposed to use them if they’re completely shut off?”
I’d seen what she could do when her emotions flared. Her power called to mine in ways that made my shadows writhe like living things. Every instinct I possessed warned that she was dangerous beyond measure.
And that I was standing too close to the flame.
“Because,” I said evenly, “I don’t trust you not to kill us both.”
She glared at me with enough venom to drop a horse. “I wouldn’t kill you. I’d just maim you creatively and leave you for the wraith-hounds.”
Despite everything, my mouth threatened to curve into a smile. There it was, the fire I’d glimpsed in the ritual chamber. The defiance that had kept her alive through months of torture.
Good.
Broken people were useless to me.
“Untie me,” she repeated.
“No. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Everything’s a negotiation when one party has magic that can ‘tear holes in reality,’ as you so eloquently put it. You want my cooperation? Start explaining things. Real explanations. Not cryptic bullshit about prophecies and bloodlines.”
The shadows around my feet stirred, responding to my irritation.
She noticed, of course she did, but instead of backing down, she stepped closer.
Challenging me. Testing boundaries.
She raised her chin and met my eyes without hesitation.
“Fine,” I said as I undid her restraints. “But we walk while we talk. Standing still in the Cursed Lands is a good way to attract attention we don’t want.”
I chose our path carefully, avoiding patches where the ground looked too soft or where the air shimmered with heat that had nothing to do with temperature.
She walked beside me with surprising grace for someone barefoot on broken terrain, her movements economical and balanced.
Though she was only half Fae, that half clearly dominated.
She didn’t move with the effortless fluidity of the full-blooded Fae I’d fought before, but the signs were there in every measured step.
“Start with what I am,” she said once we’d put distance between ourselves and the dead village. “You keep calling me the last of the Veil-touched bloodline, but what does that actually mean?”
“The history has been wiped clean. I’m not sure who did it, but what remains is fragmented.
Zephyr and I have been hunting for answers for years.
What we know is that the Veil is not of this world.
It’s either a place or a portal of some kind, never meant to be used as a conduit for power.
The commonly accepted belief is that it’s a form of purgatory.
A realm of demons and monsters.” I glanced at her.
“I don’t believe that’s true. But it served its purpose.
It made it easy to demonize your people, the ones who once wielded that power. ”
She didn’t respond immediately, but she kept walking, trying to piece meaning from what I’d said. I was a monster created by the King, but at least I had always known what I was.
I wondered what it would have been like to grow up without that certainty.
We passed a grove of trees twisted inside out, their bark facing inward, roots clawing toward the sky. She eyed them warily but didn’t slow.
“The kingdom’s histories call it the War of Unmaking,” I continued. “Reality tore at the seams. Entire cities vanished into pocket dimensions. It took three generations, and the sacrifice of most of the Veil-touched bloodlines, to repair the damage. Many humans died alongside them.”
“Most of them?”
“A few groups survived. Barely. The survivors went into hiding. They bore children in secret. Passed down just enough knowledge to preserve the bloodline, but not enough to repeat their ancestors’ mistakes.”
She was quiet for a moment, processing. “Where are they now?”
“Long gone. You’re the last of your kind.”
I regretted the bluntness as soon as the words left my mouth. She didn’t falter, but I caught the slight tightening in her shoulders.
She was accustomed to hiding pain.
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“Because I’ve spent the last ten years researching everything connected to the curse that’s killing me.
” The admission tasted like ash, but she deserved honesty.
“The same bloodline magic that nearly destroyed the world is the only thing capable of breaking the chain binding the Thorne line to the Hollow Throne.”
“What kind of chain?”
The familiar cold settled into my bones, the whisper of shadows not entirely under my control. “The kind that ensures every heir dies before their fortieth birthday. The kind that’s been draining my life force since the day I was born.”
She stopped walking. “You’re dying.”
“We’re all dying. I’m simply on a more aggressive schedule.”
“How long?”
The question hovered between us like a blade. I’d never spoken the truth aloud, never even fully admitted it to myself. But something about her made honesty feel… possible.
“I’m not sure. That depends on you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. My life depends on the choice you make.”
“You think I can fix it?”
“I think you’re the only chance I have.”
She seemed to have enough answers, for now. The conversation stalled, and a brief wash of relief moved through me. She wasn’t ready for what came next.
We continued in silence, following what had once been a trade road connecting villages. Now it wound through landscapes that defied reason. Trees grew sideways. Grass whispered secrets in languages older than human speech. A stream flowed upward, its water dark as blood.
She handled it all with admirable composure, though I caught her flinching when the grass tried to coil around her ankles. Smart enough to be afraid, but not paralyzed by it.
Perfect.
“What makes you think I’ll help you?” she asked finally.
“Because killing my father serves your interests as much as mine. He murdered your mother. He would have used you as a weapon against innocent people. He deserves to die.”
“Lots of people deserve to die. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start collecting their heads.”
“Even if it means freeing the kingdom from a tyrant?”
She laughed, sharp and bitter. “The kingdom that hunted my people to extinction? The kingdom that calls me a monster for existing? Why would I care what happens to it?”
“Because,” I said carefully, “something is stirring beneath the Hollow Throne. Something that’s been dormant since the War of Unmaking. Your awakening roused it, and if it breaks free…”
I didn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t need to. She was intelligent enough to follow the implication.
“What kind of something?”
“I don’t know. And I would rather not find out.
All I know is that it has plagued every member of my bloodline for centuries.
If it’s released, it won’t stop with us.
It will become a plague upon the entire world.
” I held her gaze. “I may be dying, but I intend to break this cycle before my final breath. That’s why I need you. ”
The watchtower rose ahead of us like a finger stabbing at the sky, its stones darkened by age and weather. It had once guarded the road between rival kingdoms, back when there were kingdoms worth guarding. Now it stood hollow, windows black, its purpose long forgotten.
But not abandoned.
Eyes gleamed in the shadows at its base.
Too many eyes. Burning with cold fire that had nothing to do with life.
The spectral wolves had found us again, or perhaps these were different ones. In the Cursed Lands, the distinction was meaningless.
They circled the tower in perfect silence, their forms flickering between solid and translucent. Waiting. Watching. Hungry.
“Well,” Seris said conversationally, “it seems like we’re expected.”
I counted quickly. Twelve. Maybe fifteen. It was difficult to be certain when they phased in and out of visibility.
Too many to fight outright, even with my shadows.
“They’re not attacking,” I observed.
“Yet.”
“They’re afraid of something.” I studied their formation, the deliberate distance they kept from the tower itself. “Something inside has them wary.”
“Should I be reassured or terrified?”
“In the Cursed Lands? Probably both.”
The largest of the spectral wolves stepped forward, its gaze locked on Seris with unmistakable hunger. It stopped abruptly at what appeared to be an invisible barrier, pressing against something that held it at bay.
“The tower is warded,” I realized. “Likely a last-ditch effort to survive the Veil-storm.”
“Can we reach it?”
“Only one way to find out.”
I reached for her hand, and this time she didn’t flinch when I touched her. I guided her toward the edge of the ward encircling the tower. The wolves tracked every movement with predatory focus.
“Stay close,” I murmured. “And stay calm. I’d rather not be disintegrated along with the wolves.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Together, we advanced. The wolves pressed nearer with every step, their forms growing denser, more solid. I could feel their hunger like a physical force battering against my shields.
Just before they could lunge, we crossed the threshold.
The wards flared to life around us like a cage snapping shut, and the wolves recoiled with frustrated shrieks that echoed off the ancient stone.
We were safe.
For now.