CHAPTER 7
Itell myself I am staring because I have never seen a city before, and because Andell rises from the mountainside like something that should not exist. The kingdom spills across the cliffs beneath towering peaks, while at its heart stands a palace of polished black stone draped in silver banners.
Its towers spear so high into the clouds they look as though they were carved to wound the sky itself.
In truth, I haven’t seen a city before, especially one this—grand.
I don't have the exact words to describe what I’m seeing right now, which is a shock in and of itself because I always have words.
I also can’t seem to look away from the city sprawling before me because something beneath my skin has begun to wake as if answering an unknown call, and I don’t care for the feeling at all.
Andell feels— wrong. I can feel the suffocating weight of dark magic here, winding its way through the city and into my skin.
I can’t help but wonder if it is the Shadow King himself that commands it.
A prickling sensation crawls up my spine and stings in certain places, and I feel a headache beginning to blossom at my temples.
It feels as if my magic is fighting to counteract this place but to no avail, and I know without a doubt that I will not leave this place willingly.
I can feel Andell attempt to suck me in and claim me—but I fight it with every ounce of willpower I have, using my magic as a shield.
I resist the pull, as the sting attempts to seep through my skin, searching for the source of my magic.
Why would it do that? What in Illurine’s name is wrong with this Andell?
It feels like the city itself is breathing, and I have never felt anything like it. Then again—I haven’t been to many places, so I wouldn’t know if there are other places with this same atmosphere. Maybe it feels that way the closer you get.
Something that feels like a razor-sharp rope tugs at me, and my reaction is visceral.
I let out a low grunt of pain, doubling over as the sensation brings me to my knees.
What in the seven hells? What kind of reaction is my body having to this place?
I wouldn’t know if it’s normal or not, because I’ve never felt magic of this magnitude before. It nearly takes my breath away.
“Lyra?” Onyx moves closer, dropping to one knee as he cups my face with his hand, scanning me for signs of injury.
There aren’t any that he can visibly see, but I let him assess me anyway.
Normally I wouldn’t let anyone get this close to me, let alone Onyx.
I would have a smart remark, tell him to back the hell off and that I don’t need his help.
But right now… gods, right now I’m finding it difficult to breathe let alone tell the man to stay away from me. I guess I do need his help after all.
My eyes meet his for a brief moment before I shut them tightly, fighting the headache that now has a roaring pulse.
I can feel the threat of an oncoming blackout, and know I must look exactly how I feel because the expression on Onyx’s face is one of genuine concern—a look that I’ve never seen cross his face.
So he laughs, and has other expressions besides stoic and bored— what a revelation with horrible timing.
“What’s wrong?” He’s touching my face, fingers moving to check my pulse as his eyes roam frantically over my body.
“Onyx, this place….” I grab his shoulders for strength, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to meet his eyes.
I try anyway. Our eyes meet and for one minute I see it—he genuinely cares if I’m okay.
Not just because he was ordered to bring me to the palace unharmed, but because he isn’t as much of an asshole as he pretends to be.
Or maybe he is; he’s just an asshole that happens to have a conscience.
“It’s the city’s magic—your body isn’t reacting well to it.
Tell me what it feels like,” he demands, placing two hands on the sides of my face as he gently shakes me to keep me conscious.
I stare into his eyes—gods they’re beautiful—and shake my head.
I don’t think I’m capable of forming a coherent sentence. The city is kicking my ass right now.
“I—I can’t, Onyx,” I breathe between words, leaning into his broad chest to rest my head. “Gods, it hurts, what is this?”
He interrupts me, gaze burning into mine. “Fight it, Lyra. Use your magic to suppress the city’s magic. Use your gift.” He says it like a command.
I look at him, face contorted in pain, and nod my head in resolve. Onyx knows I am different, so I don’t have to hide who I am from him. And my magic is begging to fight back.
So I let it.
I let my magic rise to the surface, to show whatever forces commanding this darkness that I am not defenseless.
This city needs to know that I am not helpless.
I feel my magic radiating off of me in waves, taking on a life of its own as if it is protecting me.
It extends outward, and the pounding in my head immediately stops.
I exhale sharply, enjoying a reprieve from the pain
This place cannot have me. Nor will its king keep me.
Inhaling, I feel a healing calm wash over me, similar to the kind I give those who are ill or on their deathbed.
I need relief, and my magic knows exactly where to give it, in copious amounts.
The relief is immediate. I still feel dark magic radiating from Andell, but it no longer has a hold on me; I am no longer a person it can claim.
“How did you know that would work?” I lift myself off the ground with help from Onyx, gripping his shoulder for support. He lets me use him as support, eyeing me warily as if he’s afraid I might fall.
“I’m fine, Onyx. Answer the question and stop staring at me as if I’ll break.”
“Ah, there’s that wicked sense of humor that brings men to their knees. I’d almost forgotten you could be so charming.” He smirks, taking a step back as his eyes assess me from head to toe.
“You want me to bring you to your knees?” Now I’m smirking, massaging my temples at the spot where the ache was.
By now the ache is long gone, but the memory of it lingers.
How are the people of Andell able to stomach this sickly magic?
I can still feel the raw, unadulterated power radiating throughout the city but it can’t harm me.
“I know what you’re asking—” Onyx throws his hands up, tilting his head slightly as a tendril of hair falls in his face. “but you’re a little feisty for my liking.”
“Seven hells, I wasn’t—I didn’t—” I’m scrambling to find the words but I’m so flustered, I can barely manage a coherent sentence. “Go to hell.” I hope one lands.
Onyx lets out a low laugh and that makes me growl.
I want to kick him straight in the throat, but I’m still weak from my run-in with Andell’s magic.
This reminds me of the fact that Onyx still hasn’t answered my question.
He must see the question written on my face, because he raises a hand to silence me.
“This city and its people are protected by the king,” he starts as he waves an outstretched hand toward the sprawling kingdom. “Those who are born here and those who have sworn fealty. The magic doesn’t harm us. But you are new here, so it tested you.”
“Oh, that was a test? Let me tell you Onyx, I love being tested to the point of pain. I bet the king gets such a thrill out of that.” My words are laced with venom and sarcasm, and I think he takes the hint… but he doesn’t.
He smirks—there it is again, that snarky, smug little look— and for the second time in the span of a week… I lose my shit.
I punch Onyx so hard in his muscled arm that the effort nearly shatters my fist, but my effort does nothing to him. His head falls back as he laughs, a deep, rumbling sound. Heat floods my face as I cradle my injured hand, considering punching him again just for the hell of it.
I knew he was strong but gods, I didn’t think his body was built of stone.
Not only am I dying of embarrassment—I’m so angry, I want to use my magic to wipe that smug grin off of his face.
But I can’t do that. I won’t do it. And I don’t know what gifts he has lurking beneath his skin, so I glare at him, wishing I could set him on fire.
For a moment there, I thought he was an actual human, one I could possibly tolerate. Now, I hate him again, and he is an asshole. But he is also the man who convinced me to fight the magic surrounding this city. Again, two things can be true at once.
“Take me to the king before I hack your head off. I’m not the best swordsman but for you, I’d do my worst,” I brush past him, still cradling my sore hand that is throbbing, cursing myself for following him in the first place.
Secretly, I do enjoy our time together. His sarcasm is the most excitement I’ve had in— well…ever. Will I ever tell him this?
Absolutely not.
* * *
From my viewpoint, the palace looks as if it were carved from the mountain itself.
Obsidian spires rise into the clouds until I can't tell where the stone ends and the sky begins.
Towering stained-glass windows break up walls of black marble, their dark panes reflecting the dim light that hangs over Solaris.
Arches span impossible distances between towers, and every inch of stone seems carved with figures I can't make out from here.
The palace rises above the city beneath it as if daring anyone to forget its presence.