Chapter 14 #2
Serafina stared at him, her mouth dropping open like she wanted to argue—but the soldiers were almost on them. She swore under her breath, spinning on her heel and melting back into the crowd.
“Well, you’re a tall one, aren’t you?” The first soldier stepped into Loren’s space, his sneer twisting the scar that cut across his lip. “Bit warm for that cloak, isn’t it?”
“Hood back,” the other guard ordered, his bored tone at odds with the way his sharp gaze lingered on Loren’s shrouded form. “Show us your face, halfblood.”
Loren smiled, the shadows buzzing against his skin. “As you wish.”
He pushed back his hood, making no move to catch the cloak as it slipped from his shoulders. It dropped to his feet in a whisper of dark fabric, pooling across the cobblestones.
“Shit.” The first guard stumbled back, his sneer faltering.
Fresh air brushed Loren’s skin, the morning light kissing the pointed tips of his ears and gleaming off his long fall of blue-black hair.
A ripple went through the crowd behind him—a collective sharp intake of breath as everyone shuffled away from him.
There was no mistaking him for anything other than full fae now.
Not with the full strength of his magic humming just beneath his skin.
But it was the shadows that sealed his fate.
They rose at his back, stretching and mantling like wings carved from a moonless night, blotting out the sun. Their familiar weight settled across Loren’s soul in a living, breathing promise.
Metal rang out, the second soldier drawing his iron-edged sword in a single, smooth motion. “By order of the Arcanum,” he barked, voice cracking despite himself, “you are wanted for questioning and immediate detainment. Surrender now, shadow-wielder, or we will be forced to—”
Dara’el struck.
The human soldier’s shout died on a gasp, the last breath he’d ever take.
The shadows sealed themselves over his mouth, sliding past his lips and slithering into his lungs.
His hands rose to claw at his neck, his forgotten sword clattering to the cobblestones as he crumpled to the ground.
He didn’t get up again, his bulging eyes wide and unseeing.
The second soldier breathed something between a prayer and a curse, not even drawing his sword before he turned to run—
He didn’t make it more than a few steps.
Bands of shadow wrapped around his legs, ripping them out from under him. They coiled around his arms, crushing tendrils lashing tight around his chest. His iron armor screeched against the cobblestones, the shadows dragging him back until he knelt at Loren’s feet.
“Gods—” he swore, his voice shaking. “You’re making a mistake. There are more of us than you can fight—but if you surrender now they might show mercy—”
“Mercy?” Loren echoed. “Like you showed her mercy?”
A coil of darkness wrapped around the guard’s throat, pressing into the soft flesh under his chin. His head tilted back, forcing his gaze up, up, up—until his wild eyes landed on Maerin’s hanging body.
“I didn’t—” he choked out. “I wasn’t involved. She was already hanging when I got here—”
Loren stared down at the human man, watching the tears leak from the corners of his eyes. Lie or truth? There was no way to tell. Not with humans.
But it didn’t matter.
The shadows twitched, tightening. There was a sharp, wet crack, the soldier’s body going slack in their grip. The darkness unwound itself from his limbs, letting his body drop lifelessly to the cobblestones, his head bent at an impossible angle.
Loren turned, searching for his next opponent. But the other soldiers had fled—no doubt racing for reinforcements. How long before this street was teeming with Arcanum soldiers? How many could he fight?
All of them, the shadows promised him. Every one that dares to stand against you—
As long as none of them were Jaxon Shaw.
“Can you get her down?” Loren asked the shadows. “Gently.”
Tendrils of darkness stretched upward, wrapping the rebel leader’s battered body in a living shroud. They lowered her gently to the cobblestones, her silver hair fanning out around her like a banner. Caela was there in an instant, her arms still bound behind her back as she dropped to her knees.
“Loren!” Finn shoved through the crowd, staring at Maerin’s body and the dead soldiers like he—the one person who always had a plan—wasn’t quite sure what to do. “We have to get you back under cover. If you’re still here when reinforcements get here—”
“No.” Loren gathered the shadows close again. They came willingly, folding in around him without protest. Waiting for his command. “We’re done running.”
“Loren—” Finn dragged a hand through his hair, glancing nervously around at the fae that still crowded the street.
All of them watching—though most kept a careful distance from Loren and his shadows.
“This isn’t how we win,” Finn continued, his voice low.
“You’ve seen the numbers. We don’t have an army—”
“Yes, you do.”
Raelle’s voice rang out above the uncertain murmur of the crowd. Someone had managed to unbind her, her wrists raw where the cuffs had burned her skin. She closed the space between them, her head held high despite the tears streaking her cheeks.
“Your Majesty.” Raelle dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “It would be an honor to fight beside you.”