34. SON OF SHADOW
There it was again. That name.
Son of Shadow.
Torin’s otherworldly whisper had spoken that name in Neveshir. But the way the wraith said it sent a chill down my spine.
She stared at me like she was able to see to the fibers of my soul. “I know your power. Power over shadows and darkness. You yourself are a shadow—deep down.” Her head tilted as she regarded me. “The other lord who came here shared your blood, but the power that resurfaced in you is much stronger.”
I studied her, letting her words sink in. “You absorbed my shadow. How?”
“Wraiths are one with the shadows. On Skotos, we fed off them. They sustained us, just as meat and water are necessary for humans and fae to survive. But the shadows in our homeworld were sentient, they had purpose. Here, they are nothing more than a lack of light.”
Auren glanced at the blood-stained carcass near the wraith’s feet. “Then the animals . . .”
“Are a personal delight of our kind.” The wraith smiled, her fangs nowhere to be found.
I slid my hands into my pockets. “I find it curious that you’ve managed to survive for so long, given that the shadows in this world do not meet your requirements.”
She pursed her lips, contemplating something before stepping to the side and looking back at the pool behind her.
“This water is quite the enigma. I do not know how, but its qualities have extended my life.” Something in her voice shifted, and she seemed to curl her shoulders in on herself.
“I wasn’t always like this. Time has changed me.
Centuries spent alone in this cave have . . . corrupted my morals.”
Nivelle seemed to understand what the wraith was and wasn’t saying. “There were other wraiths here?”
“Many. We found the caves after we landed with Torin, and fed off the lackluster shadows within them, withering away little but little over time. Then, one day, I was exploring, and I came across a small fissure in the stone, barely big enough for me to slip through. It led to a section of the cave system that no one had known existed. I followed a small stream of water that was running through it, and it brought me here.”
She walked to the water’s edge and dipped her toes in, swirling them in small circles.
“When I discovered this pool, and that its waters were capable of healing and sustaining life, I kept it a secret from the others. It was my place to retreat to when I needed solitude. But one day, a friend followed me here.” Her toes halted their movement, and she withdrew her foot, settling her stare on the far side of the cavern.
“She betrayed me and told the others, and a fight broke out amongst us all. They flooded this place, and I . . . I lost control.”
“You killed them?” Auren asked quietly.
“I did. It was quick, painless. But my actions haunt me, even now. Greed often runs rampant in our blood. And being underground for this long . . . I’m afraid it has taken its toll.” She hung her head, her damp hair forming a curtain around her face.
“And you’ve been alone ever since?” Auren pressed.
The wraith remained quiet for a long moment before answering. “No.” With that one word, her demeanor shifted. A delicate grin—one that could be heard as she spoke—graced her lips. “A man came along.”
Aremis, Auren, and I all stiffened at the wraith’s revelation—what it implied.
“There was a war—I forget which one, the years all blur together for me now. But a human man happened upon my cave. He was lost and terribly wounded. He was sitting there when I first saw him.” She inclined her head toward a flat-topped rock at the pool’s edge.
Her eyes glittered with the memory. “At first, I was not sure what he was. He had no powers that I could sense, and strangely, I did not mind him being here, in my home. So I watched him from the shadows. He was injured—a stab wound . . . here.” Her hand drifted to the side of her stomach and flattened there.
“When I finally decided to reveal myself, he became scared and slipped and fell into the water.” She giggled to herself, then sobered again.
“The waters healed his wound, and I . . . I tended to him the only way I knew how.”
“You’re . . . the wraith. From the story,” Auren said.
“I do not know what you speak of,” the wraith replied.
“There is an old story,” Auren began, “in both this realm, and the human one. It’s about a human warrior who loses his way after battle and finds himself in a water wraith’s domain.
She’s lonely, and casts a spell upon him to make him fall in love with her.
As time passes, and she tends to his wounds and learns more about him, she realizes that she has truly fallen in love with him.
Her guilt forces her to lift the spell and reveal what she’s done .
. .” Her voice trailed off as she noted the wraith’s expression—the smile that had fallen away from her lips.
“He was angry beyond measure,” the wraith said, her pained expression more than enough to confirm everyone’s suspicions.
She kept her eyes on the stone, as if the memory played out before her.
“I’d never known fear before that day. After I told him what I’d done, I awoke every morning, terrified, wondering if he’d fled the cave while I slept. But each day, I found that he remained.
“Then, he told me he loved me—of his own accord. I’d never known what it truly was to ‘love’ before.
Until him.” She slowly turned back to us, setting her sights on Auren.
“He actually loved me, despite my disposition. Despite what I am. Are all humans so willing to love another being that is not of their kind, as he did?”
Auren’s brows pinched at the question, then her expression faltered. “I’m afraid humans are far more weary now than they were then.”
The wraith seemed to read between the lines, nodding her head gently.
She took a small step closer to Auren, her eyes darting to me, observing my reaction, clocking the movement of the tendril of shadow that wrapped itself around my mate’s shoulders.
“You love him. And he loves you. I can sense the bond you share, but the two of you are not the same. And you are not wholly human. You harbor something inside you . . .” She focused on Auren once more before glancing at each of us.
“All of you do. But why come here? I am but a wraith, not a mystic.”
“Because you’re from her world.” Auren nudged her chin at Nivelle.
“A world of shadow and darkness,” the wraith said. “I know the two very well. That is why I am particularly attuned to him.” She flicked her gaze to the shadow that laid upon Auren’s shoulder like a hand.
“What can you tell us of his power?” Auren asked.
The wraith stepped closer to me, extending her delicate hand, palm facing the ceiling. “May I?”
“One wrong move and you lose your head,” I reminded her.
She grinned rather innocently. “I think that, by then, the witch will have already torn my heart out with her bare hands.”
Nivelle met my glance, as if to say, She’s right.
The moment the wraith took my hand in hers, she let out a broken, stilted noise—something between a moan of satisfaction, and a yelp of pain. “Terrible as the darkest storm,” she hissed, letting go and rubbing her fingers against her palm. “It is anxious!”
“What did you just say?” Auren asked, interjecting herself between us.
“His power is like a storm inside him. A dark storm.”
Auren blanched. But before I could reassure her not to worry, the wraith spoke again. “My heart sings in the presence of your darkness, High Lord. And only one power is capable of eliciting that sort of reaction . . .”
Nivelle tilted her head, then went eerily still. “You speak of . . . Erebus’s power?”
The wraith nodded.
Something heavy sank to the bottom of my gut. My voice was low as I pushed the words past my lips. “Who is Erebus?”
“The god of darkness himself,” the wraith enthused.
“There is no god of darkness here,” I said.
“Not here. But in my world, there was. Erebus was Torin and Skadi’s father.
The god-king of Skotos. The question is, how did his power come to reside in you?
” She tilted her head in amusement. “I’ve had many centuries to wonder at your ancestor’s visit that day—at the power I sensed in him.
Back then, it did not occur to me whose it was.
He had not mastered control over it, so its form was erratic. But I am sure now.”
“I knew it,” Nivelle whispered, turning toward me. “I felt it when I first met you.” She looked back at the wraith. “But how?”
“I have my theories, but I am bound to this place, therefore I do not know the whispers of the outside world, and I have not seen the happenings of its inhabitants. All that I know is from the life I lived before this cave.”
Feeling a sudden pang of unease, I shifted my stance and slid my hands back into my pockets. “Then I assume you are not aware that another one of your goddesses has somehow found her way to this world?”
The wraith let out a sharp hiss. “What is this you speak of?”
“She said her name was Skadi.”
The creature’s eyes widened at the mention of the name. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, she only stood there, until fear crept like a shadow over her pale features. “That is not possible.”
She continued shaking her head, eyes darting frantically as if she were searching for an explanation that made sense for what I had just said.
Then, she froze, and her face fell into a seriousness like death.
“There were witches who stayed behind.” She paused, considering her statement, working through the implications.
“They must have found a way . . .” When her eyes found mine again in the dim light, I felt the weight of their stare.
“She has come to collect what was taken from her.”
Something uneasy stirred inside me. “What, exactly, was taken?”
She glanced at Nivelle with complete surprise. “Has the witch not told you?”