Chapter 27 Malec
Malec
“What did you do to it?”
I pick up the small pendant Queen Marcella gave me, right from where Mariano dropped it near the office door. It’s pulsing now—brighter, steadier. Stronger.
I glance around.
Everyone—Mariano, Mom, Dad—is staring at the glow in my palm, just as confused as I am.
I shove it into my pocket before anyone says anything. I hope it’s not damaged.
I promised Queen Marcella I’d find her daughter. The thought gnaws at me, relentless and sharp, reminding me of how little we actually know.
Out here on land, we don’t even have the smallest lead. Nothing to hold onto. Just shadows and the gnawing ache of uncertainty.
“I’m getting tired of this weird magic shit…” Mariano sighs, flopping down on the couch next to my father’s desk. “It’s been over twenty years, and there’s always something new.”
“If you’re tired, imagine what I deal with,” I mutter, then shift my attention to Mom.
There it is again—that same feeling.
She’s hiding something.
“Mom, what are you not—”
“Malec,” Dad cuts in, stepping out from behind his desk and leaning against the front. “What about Fedor’s daughter? Did you get anything out of her?”
It takes me a few seconds to adjust to the sudden shift.
“I feel like she hates her father as much as we do,” I say with a smirk. “Maybe even more. But something’s off about her. I think… she’s sick.”
Mom steps forward. “What do you mean? What did her soul tell you?”
My fingers twitch as a chill runs down my spine just thinking about it. Thinking about her.
“It didn’t tell me anything,” I say slowly. “I’ve never seen a soul like hers.”
That’s when my gaze falls on the black satin cloak draped over that at the edge of the office.
Not a cloak someone wore. Just a cover.
Thrown over the case like a shroud no one dared to lift.
Dust clings to the fabric—thin, undisturbed. But the memory slams into me faster than I can brace for it. My pulse spikes.
“Malec?” Mom’s voice trails behind me, careful but close.
I ignore her.
That case—sealed since that night—has sat untouched for years, too terrifying to face. It became part of the background. Another later problem on Mom’s list.
I remember the black tendrils of her soul. The whispers. The golden threads that trapped her spirit in place.
The Coral of Life made her like that.
Could Roran—
I grab the edge of the cloak and yank it off in one motion.
The case beneath is smaller than I remember.
But just as heavy.
Just as haunted.
And when my eyes meet hers—black, glassy eyes locked behind the clear surface—it’s like staring into a demonic porcelain doll carved to terrify. Not live.
But I don’t flinch.
I’m not five anymore.
And I know better now.
“Malec, what the hell are you doing?”
Dad’s voice roars behind me, but it sounds far away—muffled by the storm building in my chest.
“I think he’s on to something,” Mom says softly.
I block them out.
Close my eyes.
Focus.
Her soul used to whisper. Used to move.
Nothing.
I reach deeper. Feel the heat of my marks awakening, the familiar burn crawling beneath my skin.
“I need you alive,” I whisper. “Just for a second.”
“Malec, stop,” Myko warns inside my head. “You’ll lose control in there, your father and uncle will be toast.”
“I won’t,” I snap. “I’m still a bit hungry. But I’m in control.”
I shut him out.
I lean closer.
Waves of black soul start to rise from her skin—trembling with the same strange sound I felt from Roran. And there they are again: golden threads.
Everywhere. Wrapping around her. Sealing her in.
If we break them—will she die? Wake up like nothing happened? Would she still be human?
Does she have what Roran has?
I pull back. Breathe deep. Call my power back before it scorches the room. The marks across my skin fade. One by one.
Then I turn.
“Was Grandma sick?”
I brace for my father to explode—I promised I wouldn’t go near her again until they found a cure. But Mom steps in, placing her hand on his chest. That stops him.
“I can feel you’re anxious,” she says gently, “but I can’t read your mind, Malec. Please. Tell us what you’re thinking.”
Dad inhales sharply and looks at me. Waiting.
I speak carefully.
“Fedor’s eldest daughter’s soul looks exactly like Grandma’s. I think she had the same sickness Roran has.”
Dad stiffens.
“Eldest daughter?” he repeats, brushing off the rest like it didn’t register.
I nod.
“Yes. He has another daughter—Diana. Probably around Kayla’s age. He locked both of them up before the wedding. Roran begged me to get her sister out and let them stay here. I agreed.”
Dad narrows his eyes. His soul stirs—messy, unsettled.
“If they stay here, he won’t have a blood relative left to marry off to Ivan,” I add. “It was the smarter move. You can decide what to do with them later.”
He hums, rubbing his chin. Glances at Mariano, who’s casually chewing on Mom’s favorite crackers like this isn’t the middle of a family crisis.
“Taking her was smarter. Now Ivan and Fedor can tear each other apart once the betrayal hits. Better than killing Ivan ourselves and dealing with the mess.” I add with a smirk.
Dad’s soul is finally calming. That’s a good sign.
I join Mariano on the sofa, but my thoughts stay on her. Roran.
Her soul.
The strange sounds it made.
The way her breath hitched when I leaned in.
Something about her keeps tugging at me—not loud, not obvious, just… persistent.
Maybe it’s because I can’t read her like the others.
Or maybe it’s something else.
My mind flashes back to her tight corset… those big blue eyes. The heat of her skin.
Too warm. Too real.
I shouldn’t still be thinking about it.
The way she knelt down...
My pulse kicks—sharp—before my father’s voice snaps me back to the room.
“Mariano, send Matteo to track Diana.”
Mariano nods and dials, business as usual.
“Now—about the sickness,” Dad continues. “What do you mean by that? Chronic illness?”
Mom’s watching me too now. Focused. Something still on her mind.
“Could be. Was anything ever wrong with Grandma before?”
Dad leans back on the desk and breathes deeply.
“I don’t remember anything chronic… But I do remember my father saying she started hearing weird things about a month before she went sailing. He brought in at least five private doctors. All of them said she was fine.”
I blink.
That’s the first full detail he’s ever shared about her. No riddles. Just truth. And it sounds like what Roran described.
“If Roran has the same issue… does that mean if we find a way to break whatever it is, she could actually live?”
His eyes meet mine.
Mom’s silent, but I feel her shock too.
I pause.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Then add, “But it’s possible. I think.”