Chapter 41
She’d done it.
She’d killed the Acolyte.
Ezer gasped and stumbled away. The blade was still stuck in his chest, handle deep.
It was the first time she’d taken a life. The first time she felt the crunch of skin and bone, the squelch of a heart beneath a blade.
Her entire body trembled, overcome with emotion as she stared at him.
She waited for him to fall. To slump over, a sign that she’d completed the kill.
But the Acolyte … laughed.
He chuckled as he looked down at the pommel of the fine black blade, and said, ‘You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?’
He reached up with hands covered in dark jewels. And slowly, delicately, he slid the blade from his chest.
There was no blood upon it. Not even a drop as he examined it, twisting it left and right before he handed it back to his Sentinel with a flourish.
‘Pathetic,’ the Acolyte hissed.
Ezer made a choking sort of sound, halfway between a scream and a sob, as his shadow wolves rose, hackles raised.
‘You could have bowed to me and found life,’ the Acolyte growled. ‘Instead … you will die.’
A second later, her blade was in her hands. But before she could even hold it out, something cold clamped over her wrist.
She gasped as she looked down to see a tendril of pure shadow slithering across her skin like a snake.
‘A clever attempt,’ the Acolyte said with a frown. ‘But not effective against those who cannot die.’
The shadow squeezed, and her sword clattered to the floor.
Then guards were at her back, blocking her exit.
‘No,’ she gasped, as one of the Sentinels rose.
The shadow held her in place, impossibly strong.
She screamed as the Sentinel reached her. The sound tore from her, ragged with terror. It changed to a cry of pain – white hot, surging through her so fiercely she saw spots – as the Sentinel dug its claws into her skin.
They cut through her like a knife in warmed butter.
Red warmth spilled down her arms, and she didn’t dare move to pull herself away.
She’d failed.
A sob tore itself from her.
Kinlear had lied to her. He’d left her for dead.
And it was all for nothing.
‘Take her away,’ the Acolyte said. He held out a hand, and the tendril of shadow slithered away from Ezer, back into his palm like a snake.
It coiled up his arm, until finally it disappeared into his chest …
filling the hole she’d just carved into him.
‘Question her, torture her if you must, and if she relents … throw her to the wolves.’
‘No!’
She was going to die.
She hardly recognized her own scream as the Sentinel dragged her away. Her heels scraped on the dais but it was no use. The pain in her arms – it was blinding.
‘Kinlear!’ She screamed his name, hating that she dared call out to him, but she had no one left. ‘Kinlear, you bastard!’
He was nowhere to be found as the crowd parted.
Please, she begged, hoping her mother would hear her. Please, don’t let this be how it ends. Send someone, send something.
But there were no ravens, here.
She wanted to live, she wanted to—
The wind suddenly howled past her, a furious gale. It circled her body and swept away, carrying with it the scent of her blood.
Right towards the dark throne.
‘Wait.’
The Acolyte’s voice called out from behind her. Sudden and commanding.
The Sentinel paused. Fresh pain struck Ezer like a bolt of lightning.
‘Who are you?’
She was going to pass out.
‘I asked you a question, Sacred.’
She tried to speak, but she had no voice.
‘Who are you?’ the Acolyte demanded.
He stood from his throne, moving towards her with predatory grace. Shadows swirled outwards from his feet, as if he were walking on a dark cloud.
He stopped before her … and a cold tendril of his power stretched down and lifted her chin.
She hissed at its touch.
‘Take note, child,’ the Acolyte said, ‘of how I, enemy to the Five, give even an assassin such grace.’ The shadow pressed deeper, cutting into her chin as he forced her to look up at him. ‘What is your name?’
‘I’m no one,’ she sputtered.
‘The truth,’ hissed the wind. ‘Tell him the truth!’
‘It’s no use lying,’ the Acolyte practically purred down at her. ‘I can sense that you are—’
He paused.
As if he’d just noticed something … and suddenly the shadow at her chin recoiled.
She sucked in a breath.
‘Where did you get that ring?’
His voice was a rough whisper. And though she could not see his face, she knew he was looking at her hand. At Styerra’s ring.
The wind caressed her, a reminder that she was not alone.
‘It was my mother’s,’ Ezer growled, as hatred rose in her. ‘A woman who died believing in you.’
‘Your name,’ he said again. ‘Speak now, before I send you to your death. She flinched as one of his shadows slithered across her face. Across the dark scars on her cheek. ‘This time, my wolves will not miss.’
‘Tell him,’ the wind hissed.
So she looked into that dark, depthless hood. She thought of the life she’d lived, the things she’d done. The mysteries she’d uncovered that parts of her wished she never had. She took a breath and said, ‘My name is Ezer. The Raphon Rider of Augaurde. Descendant of Wrenwyn.’
He knelt before her … and the shadows that concealed his face suddenly melted away.
Ezer thought, for a moment, that perhaps she was already dead. Perhaps she was just lost in her own dreams again, a nightmare that had twisted itself up all wrong.
But the pain in her body reminded her that it was real, it was true.
And the man standing in front of her … the Acolyte …
It was Erath.
Her father.
‘Erath,’ she breathed.
He had aged elegantly, his jaw broader, his face leaner. But it was impossible to deny … it was him. He had the same dark curls, the same half-smile. It was only his eyes, wholly black, that were different.
The wind danced through his curls now, almost joyfully.
Like Styerra was saying hello.
He closed his eyes and leaned into it. Like he sensed Styerra’s presence too.
‘Styerra was always good at hiding things … but this? This … is a surprise, even to me.’ He looked at her truly now. Every detail of her face, and it took everything in her not to shy away. Not to avert her gaze. ‘You … are all the best parts of her.’
‘You left her behind!’ Ezer screamed. ‘And it was your wolves that killed her.’
The wind whistled, tossing Erath’s curls about … not quite so joyfully this time.
‘Restless beasts, my wolves,’ he said, and waved his hand. ‘They are not always as loyal to my commands.’ Shadows reappeared, soaring towards him from the darkness like little birds to flit about his head. ‘And from what my shadows tell me … you also brought a wayward raphon.’
Ezer gasped.
He laughed, the sound cold and biting. ‘You thought you could just walk into my fortress, unannounced? I knew the moment the Door opened. My shadows see all things. Even the Shadow Tome you carry in your pocket.’
Cold dread filled her, because this was true power before her and around her, power that could put a Sacred Master to shame.
Enough to shatter worlds.
‘Take her to a cell,’ Erath said to the Sentinel still holding her in place. ‘And capture the raphon. I’d like to dig into its mind. See what secrets lie in waiting for me.’
‘No!’ Ezer screamed. ‘Please! Please, don’t touch Six!’
But her time was up. She was already being dragged away again into the darkness.
Away from the Acolyte.
Away from her father.