Chapter 35 #2
“And you are mine. So don’t you dare do something heroic and get yourself killed. Do you hear me?” Her words came out around a sob, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
Daemon crushed his lips to hers, pulling her against his body as her hands wrapped around his neck, holding him just as tightly. It wasn’t meant to be a goodbye kiss, but everything about it felt like it was. His heart and magic raged against the decision he had to make.
Leave the one person who meant the entire world to him and help his people…or stay and live with the consequences of that choice. Either way, there was a chance he would lose.
Auraelia broke their kiss, her breathing as heavy as his own as they pressed their foreheads together. “Promise you will come back to me.”
“I will always come back to you, my star. Always.”
It had taken him longer than he’d hoped to shadow-walk from Lyndaria to the border between the Court of Opal and the Court of Pearl, but as he stood in the center of the battlefield, the scene that was sprawled out around him momentarily froze him to the spot.
Opal’s warriors were easy to spot among the fray, their flowing white garb masking the armor and weapons hidden beneath. Magnolia flowers were emblazoned in gold across the chests of Pearl’s soldiers, and a sea of silver and blue marked the men who fought under his father’s banner.
Agonized screams pierced the air, mixing with a chorus of battle cries as droves of people clashed together in a cacophony of clanging metal.
Formations had long been forgotten as soldiers fanned out around him, meeting enemies from all directions. Bodies of members from each of the courts littered the ground, reducing the once grassy plain to nothing but crimson-soaked mud.
During his meeting with Lady Aesira, they’d decided to set up camp beyond the tree line that bordered her court, but with the chaos surrounding him, there was no time for a briefing. No time to get the lay of the land or the battle plans that had been established.
He’d barely had time to get his bearings, to breathe, before a soldier from Pearl charged him from his right.
Daemon’s body moved on instinct, his shadows spilling out of him into a solidified mass to block the man’s blow as he drew the swords sheathed across his back.
Letting the wall drop between them, he blocked the next blow with one blade while parrying with the other.
He met each strike from his opponent with a maneuver of his own until his sword met flesh just below the man’s breastplate, slicing clean across his abdomen.
The soldier staggered, his sword falling to the ground as he tried to hold his stomach together and sank to his knees.
Daemon sneered as he stared down at him, disgust churning in his stomach as he met the man’s gaze and plunged his sword clean through the magnolia on his thin armor.
He was the first in what would undoubtedly be a long line of enemies that met their end by his hand.
Rolling his shoulders, Daemon turned his head, his eyes locking on another opponent. The sound of metal scraping against metal sent chills down his spine as he removed his sword, spinning it once over his hand and letting a smirk tilt one corner of his lips.
And so it begins.
One by one, Daemon met his enemies, and one by one, they all fell to either his magic or his blade.
A warrior’s calm washed over him, numbing him to the chaos as more and more people succumbed to the perils of war.
He ignored the blood and mud that now caked his clothes.
He lost count of how many soldiers he’d slain.
He tried not to remember their faces or their garbled final words as the Goddess Keres came for their souls.
Though he’d lost sight of them as the battle raged on, he held onto the glimpses of Yvaine and Sariah fighting side by side and the wisps of his father’s magic that mirrored his own.
Of the way Lady Aesira and her warriors moved languidly through the throng of soldiers, leaving bodies in their wake.
As Daemon drove his sword into yet another soldier, a deep, guttural scream cut through the tumult, and the world seemed to slow around him.
He knew that voice.
Linked it to the bellowing laugh that used to fill his home. To the stories that were told and the teachings that had been shared throughout his childhood.
Daemon quickly pulled his blade from the man’s neck—thick, hot blood spraying his face and coating his hands. But by the time he turned around, he was too late.
“Father!” Daemon’s scream mixed with those around him.
He watched his father fall to his knees as Lord Kaemon of the Court of Pearl pushed his sword further into his father’s chest until it protruded from his spine.
Shock rooted him to the spot, but everything around him seemed to be moving in a blur as if time couldn’t decide whether to speed up or slow.
Blood rushed through his ears, blocking out the sounds around him, and his thoughts spiraled through every conversation and argument he’d had with his father.
As Lord Kaemon pulled his sword from King Evander’s chest, every thought racing through Daemon’s mind ceased and was replaced by a deep-seated rage that burned away every fiber of calm he’d been trying to cling to.
His breathing came in harsh inhales and ragged exhales. His nostrils flared as he watched his father’s blood drip from the end of the sword.
Drip.
Pure, blinding hatred twisted in his stomach.
Drip.
His shadows responded in kind, turning to frigid darkness in his veins and spilling out of him in waves as he made his way across the blood-soaked battlefield.
Drip.
“Kaemon!” he shouted, his voice rising over the noise and echoing across the field.
Lord Kaemon slowly turned his way, a sinister smile painted across his face as his head canted slightly.
Fucking bastard.
Shadows swirled around him, creating a wall of impenetrable night, while tendrils slithered at his feet, striking out at anyone who tried to get in his way. Nothing—and no one—was going to keep him from ending Lord Kaemon’s life.
Kaemon’s smile broadened as he got closer, and he called out, “Your shadows won’t help you here, boy.”
Daemon’s steps faltered for a moment as his father’s teachings about other courts and their leaders sprung to mind.
Lord Kaemon is a siphon, son. No magic can touch him.
He simply absorbs it and can turn it against the original wielder.
And whatever you do, do not let him touch you with a bare hand.
He can draw the very power that runs through your veins and, if he chooses to, drain you of it entirely.
No one is safe with a siphon, not even in the shadows.
“Scared, Prince? Or should I say, Your Majesty?” Kaemon called out, his brows rising as his gaze ran over Daemon from top to toe—as if he was assessing if he was worth his time.
Your Majesty. That phrase slammed into him harder than any blow. In one fell swoop, Daemon’s world had been turned upside down in more ways than one. He’d lost his father and gained a kingdom in the same breath.
Tonguing a canine, Daemon pushed that thought aside, and shadow walked the rest of the way to Kaemon, making sure to leave enough distance between them before spooling his magic so far into his veins that it was barely a glimmer.
“I don’t need my shadows to end your treasonous life, Kaemon.” Daemon took a step closer, his grip on his swords tightening. “As a matter of fact, feeling your blood spray across my face before you drown in it sounds like a much better option.”
Daemon struck as Kaemon’s eyes widened with surprise, swinging one blade to slice across the Lord’s body and following it up with a diagonal, downward strike.
Kaemon staggered back a step to avoid the first, then blocked the second, the sound of metal crashing together reverberating through the open field.
They moved together in a deadly dance of blades.
Each strike was met with a countermove. Each step was accentuated by the sound of mud squelching beneath their feet.
Despite his heart pounding in his veins, Daemon kept his breathing steady, his eyes constantly tracking the subtle movements Lord Kaemon would make so that he was ready for a counterattack.
This duel wasn’t easy—not that he’d expected it to be after Kaemon had taken down the very man who’d put a blade in his hand when he was five.
But as it dragged on, the mixture of sweat and blood that coated Daemon’s palms made it harder for him to grip his hilts.
Lord Kaemon knocked the sword from Daemon’s left hand with one heavy blow and lunged forward.
Spinning to the side to escape the full force of the blow, he groaned as the edge sliced through his shoulder, sending rivulets of blood to spill down his arm.
White dots flecked his vision as the wound throbbed in time to the beat of his heart.
It wasn’t deep, but it was severe enough that it would need to be mended.
“Call on your shadows, boy. Seems you can’t beat me without them.” Kaemon chuckled darkly.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Daemon gripped the hilt of his remaining sword with both hands and met Kaemon’s gaze head-on. “Over my dead body, will you get your hands on my shadows.”
“That can be arranged.” The cocky smirk on Kaemon’s face made Daemon’s blood boil.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed his mind and focused.
His breathing slowed, and it was as if time followed suit.
Swinging his blade overhead, Daemon turned his body to the left before switching directions. The maneuver forced Kaemon to defend his left side, leaving his right open for the taking.