Chapter 76
Seventy-Six
Obsidian
There’s something…wrong about this place. Like it’s trying to be a pretty castle when it’s really a decaying soul beneath smooth flesh.
Obsidian floors glitter against the pale blue glow that lines the ceiling, the light emitting from floating lanterns that look like bottled moonlight.
Anisia drifted into the background the moment we arrived at the ball, leaving me to fend for myself—though her being by my side wouldn’t have made me feel much better anyway.
My pulse kicks up a notch as a few of the attendees turn my way. There are only twenty to thirty in attendance—odd for such a large room, though I’m eternally grateful there aren’t more.
Attendees doesn’t fully describe the grotesque creatures littering the room. Their movements are unnatural; heads twisting further than they should, bodies disfigured and limbs bending in places they shouldn’t.
My blood rushes in my ears as creatures I didn’t know existed stare at me like I’m the strangest thing here.
One catches my eye, staring back at me with pupils formed into tiny slits.
Her skin is slightly green, with small scales covering her entire body.
She flares her nostrils, breathing in deeply.
A smile slips across her face, and a forked tongue slithers from her mouth, a hiss accompanying the movement—reminding me of Anisia.
I swallow, feeling like I’m in a nightmare version of the balls in Crea.
The black-paneled walls are painted with vertical rows of deep crimson roses. On the opposite side of the room sits a bronze throne, ornately carved with sharp armrests made of swords.
And seated upon the throne is my father—Lord of Shadows, ferrier of souls to the depths of the Vale, and bringer of darkness.
He’s clothed in black robes that sweep to the ground.
A gold chest plate crisscrosses over his heart, connecting to sharp, matching shoulder plates that spike upwards off his body.
But what scares me most—what causes my heart to freeze in my chest—is the mask he bears: a wyvern skull fitted perfectly, with long horns that curl slightly together at the top, a hood pulled up just behind them.
It’s much smaller than any wyvern I’ve seen, which only causes the pit in my stomach to grow. Nausea roils through my body as the wyvern-scaled armor he gave me weighs heavily on my shoulders.
He sits relaxed in his throne, one hand dangerously positioned over the blade armrests, while the other rests beneath his chin.
I can’t see his eyes, can’t look for a flicker of emotion that I likely won’t find. All I can do is walk forward, the crowd parting for me as hushed whispers swirl in the air. They close in tighter when I’m halfway to Daimon’s throne, their eyes hungry and beady and venomous.
If they want to see me scared, they’ll have to try harder than that. I’ve spent my life being looked down on by those who thought they were better than me—half of them simply because I’m a woman.
But I’ll be damned if that happens here.
I push my shoulders back, letting them look. If it’s a spectacle they want, then I’ll give them exactly that. With a steadying breath, I meet their gazes as I pass. Some shove each other out of the way, claws slicing scaled flesh as fights begin to break out.
The path they made for me slims as they close in—far too close for comfort.
A dark creature with swirling shadows enveloping its form steps toward me, its slightly transparent hand reaching for me.
I bare my teeth and snarl, my ears pulling back slightly.
The shadowy being pauses and cocks its head to the side, assessing me. Everything slows to a halt, the other attendees pausing to watch the exchange.
Well, fuck.
Just when I’m beginning to wonder how much control Daimon has over his guests, pearly white teeth gleam on the creature’s face. It’s smiling. A gurgling sound burbles forth—something akin to a laugh.
The path between Daimon and me widens, leaving more room for me to walk through. When I start toward the throne again, I notice all of the creatures grinning at me, looks of glee mirrored across their faces.
My pulse quickens as I get a clear view of the throne and what’s below. Who’s below.
Graylen and Opal.
She has her arm threaded through his, and his gaze is set ahead—eyes blank and uncaring. Opal is watching me with curiosity, her gown blush-pink and puffy. It causes her to stick out oddly, the gown more fitting for a ball in Crea than the Shadow Realm.
I reach the bottom of Daimon’s dais, pausing before six steps that raise him on a platform above the crowd.
Graylen doesn’t even look my way as I stop.
“Welcome to the heart of the Shadow Lands, Lunaria,” Daimon greets, his voice deep and commanding. It quiets the crowd immediately, an eerie silence abruptly falling over the room. “Please, come and stand with me.” He sweeps his arm out to the side. “An heir should stand beside her future throne.”
I consider ignoring him and staying put, but there are things I need to know. With my eyes fixed on his skull mask, I walk up the steps.
When I’m positioned beside him, he waves his hand lazily at the crowd, and the party continues.
My gaze finds Graylen and Opal again, where she’s now whispering into his ear. His snake slithers around their feet, winding in and out of their legs. I beg for him to turn around, to feel me behind him with an awareness he used to have.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge me.
Someone walks up the stairs to us—they could almost pass as human if it weren’t for the curled horns protruding from their head.
The creature gives Daimon a silver chalice rimmed with rubies at the top. Daimon pushes the wyvern skull back, his eyes visible but revealing nothing, and takes a sip from the cup. From where I’m standing, I can see the thick crimson liquid sloshing around in it.
My body pales when the metallic scent hits me.
Daimon is drinking blood.
“It isn’t polite to stare,” Daimon says with an amused laugh and lifts the cup toward me. My nose wrinkles, and he shrugs. “If you’re disgusted by this, then I take it you haven’t made the final connection to your Essence yet.”
My mouth tightens. With everything that’s happened, I almost forgot the way my trial ended—those of us who did make it out didn’t complete the trial fully. What should’ve been the night I finally connected with my immortality became a night of loss and death.
Something I still don’t know the full ramifications of.
My heart stutters a beat when he takes another sip. Bile rises in my throat as he swallows more blood.
The rest of his words sink in. If I’m disgusted by it… Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve never heard of a fae drinking blood—either by need or want. “If you’re suggesting that any part of me would enjoy drinking that—”
“You’ll come to crave far more than a simple drink,” he drawls. “As my heir, you have much to learn about what it means to rule the Shadow Lands.”
A bitter laugh bursts from my lips. “What makes you think I would ever have an interest in ruling a place like this?”
Not that I would want to rule anything, but especially not here. My eyes drift out to the party, where the forked-tongue girl from earlier is now being held back, screaming obscenities at a man with beetle-like wings.
Beside them, a half-unclothed couple makes out against the wall. The woman is pushed up on top of a table, her translucent dress hiked up to her waist, while the man grips her ass. Their tongues tangle, their moans almost louder than the screaming forked-tongue girl.
No one is fazed by anything happening, as if this is a normal event.
“I think you misunderstand me.” Daimon shifts away from me, and I turn my attention back to him. “You are not heir to ruling the Shadow Lands, but heir to the kingdom Vidaris will raise. Why do you think you were brought here?”
I fight back the gasp in my throat at his words. Heir to the kingdom Vidaris will raise? Why would she need anyone to rule for her? I don’t even have my magic now, and Opal made it clear they would keep it safely tucked away from me in Nightfall.
The more he says, the less I understand my purpose here. But no matter what he expects of me, I will never give in to it. I will never stop fighting.
“You forget that I’m my mother’s daughter, too,” I seethe. His eyes lift to mine, stormy and unreadable. “I am nothing like you.”
A small grin curls the corners of his mouth upward. “And yet here you are.” He swirls the liquid in his cup and stares down at it. “Without a wyvern and without friends.”
Rage courses through my body, and I feel a flicker of my magic try to answer my call.
“What did you do to Zephyr?” I hiss, my voice a deadly whisper.
His eyes narrow, a small twitch of his lids—as if he’s confused but trying not to show it. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he answers, his voice equally low.
I take a step toward him, my chin high as I look down at him on his throne. A tremble starts in my fingers, so I quickly squeeze my hand into a fist, hoping he didn’t notice. But the way his eyes snap briefly to my fists, I know he did.
It took me years to perfect masking my emotions from Reichardt, yet Daimon notices every muscle that flinches. Every breath.
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “If you’re asking if I hurt her, the answer is no.” He tips his head toward me. “She is alive and well.”
My eyes narrow, not believing him for a second. “Prove it.”
A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he settles back into his throne, slowly searching the crowd behind me. Without looking at me, he says, “You’re right to not trust me.”
The words I don’t trust anyone sit on the tip of my tongue. But that isn’t entirely true—not anymore.
Before Graylen, Avery, and Addie took me to Penyth, that may have been mostly true. I trusted Linnick, but then he died. I trusted Opal, but she was taken away from me. I trusted Adrian, but he betrayed me…even if he did the right thing in the end. I still lost him after all of that.
And then I found Penyth. I met my mother—who may have lied to me about my father, but there has to be a reason.
I went from having no one to trust to more than I could count on one hand.
There’s Avery and Addie, who have been there for me since the moment I arrived in Penyth.
Then there’s Brielle and Leda, who have been firm but honest with me every step of the way.
Who I didn’t see coming was Graylen.
Infuriating and irritating Graylen.
From the moment I met him, he had me figured out. He saw through the mask I had so carefully disguised myself with. It was never about what I could do for him, but what he could do for me—something I wasn’t used to in Crea.
I gave myself to him in ways I’ve never let anyone else see, and I would do it again. If I ever get the chance.
So, no. The phrase I have lived my life by—to not trust anyone—wasn’t accurate anymore. There are people I love—people who need me—and I can’t let them down.
A flash of pink tugs my attention down to where Opal is pulling Graylen up the stairs toward us.
Finally, my gaze meets his.
He takes me in, watching me with a familiar intensity. For a moment, there’s a flicker in his eyes—a clearing of the darkness clouding them. It’s fast, so quick that I almost miss it. But it’s there.
Pain. Longing.
Feelings he hasn’t shown since the moment Opal did something to him.
Fire stirs in my chest as they stop a step below us, a renewed hope roaring to life inside of me.
“Lord of Shadows,” Opal greets with a curtsy. “An honor to be here, before the son of Nyx.”
Her gaze slides to me, a smirk on her lips.
But my eyes fly to Daimon, her words nearly sending me stumbling back.
Daimon’s fingers tighten around the armrests of his throne, but he doesn’t look my way. He simply nods to Opal and waves her off.
Her smile dims, and her lips begin to move, but the words don’t reach my ears.
Before the son of Nyx.
Those words were directed at Daimon—at my father. And he didn’t correct her. She said it loud enough for others to hear, but they don’t seem shocked.
Before the son of Nyx.
My thoughts begin to race, tumbling around my mind like rocks shaken in a glass jar.
The meeting with Nyx resurfaces, his words playing over and over again.
Blood of the gods. Daughter of both worlds.
My lips part, and this time, I do stumble back.
Nyx is my grandfather—my blood.
The God of Fear and Dreams, right hand to Vidaris. Not only is my father pure evil, but so is his father before him.
Another memory pushes into my thoughts, fighting for attention. My mother and Seretha took me to visit the Elder for advice, and their words brought more confusion than clarity: “A half-breed that smells like pure-blooded royalty… You smell strange.”
Memory after memory pours in, causing my heart to race.
Maybe the prophecy is right. Maybe Leda is the savior…and I’m destined for ruin.