CHAPTER THREE
Verena
IT WAS BEAUTIFUL, IN A DANGEROUS AND DEADLY WAY, how the venom unfurled, slow and inevitable, its stain seeping into bone.
The black lines spread under his pale skin. Thin at first, until they looked as if shadow itself had been stitched through his blood.
The prophecy from his lips still hung in the air.
And the darkness marks them blind.
I had heard the verse before, in nightmares and half-haunted stories.
The words were not an accusation so much as a naming. I knew the divination’s edges the way one knows a scar, by the memory of the moment it was made.
And those syllables were a measure of the prisoner I would become.
One day, the Viper would unravel me entirely, would step out of my skull and wear my face like a mask. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
For a single beat I considered walking away, letting the foundation of the world swallow him, letting the forest take the rest.
It would have been easy. Mercy, in this world, often wore the face of indifference. But the black that bled from his throat was not the curse’s doing alone.
There was a foreign cruelty in the way his blood had already been corrupted. Someone else had touched this man before I did. Someone who left a signature I recognized in the way the darkness crawled: not simply a death, but a precise, carved-out undoing.
Perhaps it was whoever she was.
I crouched, letting my finger drag the skin taut above one of the darkened streaks. Csolenia did not need to be aware that the ancient rot lurked within its own domain.
I opened my mouth, the word coming from somewhere deeper, older. “Kyartas.” The syllable was a stone dropped into still water, simple, precise. Burn.
The mark pulsed once, answering, searing the blood from within until the black lines smoked and blistered beneath the pale.
Magic wasn’t required, not for this. Just my intent, just my command.
A cold breath kissed the back of my neck, shivers sliding down my spine as the serpent curled possessively, wrapping itself tight back around my wrist.
My Fae eyes strayed upward, where an owl perched above, a silent sentinel, white as bone save for a silver mark like a crown etched onto its head.
Same damned owl as before. Enjoying the spectacle perhaps.
My hands braced on my hips. “Are you following me?”
The bird tucked its fringed feathers tighter, unblinking, entirely unfazed. It’s judgment clear as first light.
One hand snapped toward the man sprawled at my feet. “Do you know what happened to him?” The owl only blinked. Once. Twice. “Hm. I’ll take that as a no.”
My attention dropped back to the corpse, or half-corpse, half-cursed, mess. My head was silent. No Callum. Which meant only a handful of moments had passed.
Which, if I were generous, was impressive on my part.
Or, gods forbid, maybe they’d stumbled onto another half-dead prophet with riddles carved into their tongue.
Fingers crossed it wasn’t that, because what the hel was I supposed to do with even this body?
The beat of footsteps tugged my attention away, toward where the scent of charred wood drifted in. My spine stiffened, just as three figures broke from the tree line.
Callum, Rook and Ford.
Their stares cut straight past me, to the ground beyond, to the body I hadn’t quite figured out how to hide.
I shifted sideways, a slow, casual sweep into their line of sight.
“You’re here!” I called, too bright. “I was just…”
Ford’s grin broke like the sun. “Bad. Ass.”
Callum glared at him. “Do not encourage her.”
But Ford only flashed me a quick thumbs up, reckless as ever. My smirk rose, though I tried to veil it with the back of my hand.
Tried, and failed.
Callum’s fingers smoothed a nonexistent crease on his tunic. “You told me you’d let me know if you were in danger.”
I scoffed, folding my arms. “I was not in any danger, I assure you.” My thumb jerked over my shoulder to the body cooling behind me. “Hardly a fair fight on this guy’s end.”
He crept forward, almost as if I might strike him down too.
I spoke low to him. “You told me to let the Viper out, don’t forget.”
His stare was heavy, then broke, sliding away for a moment, as if the weight was too much to hold.
Maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he had forgotten what it was, what I was. The man had been ready to kill me; I had to kill him. He was already dead, already cursed anyway.
Still, guilt fought me when Callum’s eyes landed on me again, nearly condemning, then lowered to my clutched hand where blood seeped through its cracks.
My palm opened slowly, the stone arrowhead gleaming there. “I had to mist my dagger,” I murmured. “And the weapons we recovered.”
His brows furrowed, lines cutting deep, as he reached for the stone. “Where did you get that?”
I ripped my hand back before I could stop myself, too fast, too defensive. His arm stilled mid-air, fingers curling in.
“Sorry,” I blurted. “I found this here, actually, in the forest a few months ago. I’ve kept it on me as…a lucky charm of sorts.”
He shifted, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Why?”
Before I could speak, Rook’s whisper came, quite amused. “A lucky charm indeed.”
I winked, my lips curving slow.
But Callum didn’t smile. Not even close. “Why, Verena?”
His eyes held mine, searching, as if he could peel me open and reach her, the girl beneath the serpent.
But his eyes told me the truth. He couldn’t find her.
“He could call to steel,” I sighed. “Six blades were about to pierce my flesh and how annoying would that have been?”
The arrowhead was sleek against my palm, its edges whispering of danger, of use. Callum’s own weapon hung low by his side. I hadn’t noticed it was unsheathed until now.
His hand gripped the hilt so tight his knuckles blanched, bone white. As if he considered, truly considered, turning it on me.
I stepped back.
Callum would never harm me. He couldn’t. He wasn’t afraid of me. He knew exactly who I was.
Didn’t he?
The question echoed, until his face shifted, then softened, fractionally.
The hardness in his eyes gave way, at least losing their false direction as he asked, “Are you okay, V?” His hand reached, finding my arm. This time, I let him pull me into his grip, let his fingers close around me, anchoring me in place. “Are you hurt?”
It wasn’t the killing that unsettled me. That had been drilled into me long ago. I was the trained blade, the shadow at the side of the Princess heir of Luamis.
The killing was not the fracture.
The fracture was the cost. Every time I let it stretch its spine, less of me returned.
And Callum’s grip, secure, safe, him, was the only thing in that moment keeping me from slipping away entirely.
I let my body fall into his, folding into his warmth, eyes closing for a single, greedy second.
Rook cleared his throat, shifting the pack against his back with deliberate noise. Ford sprawled on the ground like a lazy feline; hazel eyes fixed on the corpse as if it were an art piece.
“You two are sweet,” he drawled, tossing an almond into his mouth. “Nothing like family bonding.”
The words hit, teasing, designed to provoke. I shoved away from Callum and spun toward Ford where he sat far too close to the rotting mess at our feet.
“Ew, Ford.” My nose wrinkled. “How can you eat around that?” His nose crinkled back in mock offense as he flicked an almond at my face. “What the hel!” I snapped, batting at it, though it had long since hit my cheek and fallen to my feet.
Laughter tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Smells don’t bother me,” he said. “Butcher’s son, remember?” His hand dove into his pack, rustling, and came back with more snacks. “Apple?” he offered.
My stomach twisted and I waved off the offer. The body called me back, despite the plea to look away. It was almost completely black now, blistering with veins that spiderwebbed across his face. The curse wasn’t just festering. It was growing, changing too rapidly.
“We should burn it,” I said. Firm.
Callum’s presence shifted closer, heat brushing my arm as his hand flexed, fire blooming into a molten orange. “I agree.”
The flames hissed as he extended his fingers, pushing them toward the body. Embers cracked, sparks snapping free to dance skyward, carried like fleeing stars.
His voice came cold, the lost language sliding forbidden from his tongue. “Scoarca.” Scorch. Hotter.
The fire obeyed, curling higher, brighter, until it no longer burned the common shades of orange but until his entire hand glowed violet-blue—an otherworldly aura, a holy flame.
He rarely showed more than a fraction of the truth, always restraining the full force of his strength.
I wondered if the weight of it, the knowledge of such power shackled, gnawed at him. To feel greatness and never set it loose.
His eyes found mine and I gave him my nod as he pressed the violet fire into the corpse.
“Kyartas,” he breathed. Burn.
The blaze erupted, a searing ray forcing me to shield my eyes, the heat clawing over every inch of skin until it felt as though it would peel me bare.
Callum didn’t flinch. He stared at the inferno like it was a mirror where a small, sharp smile ghosted his mouth.
He looked powerful. Felt powerful.
From his stance to the look in his gilded eyes.
Even the shadows bent away.
Ash rose on the updraft, curling toward the midnight sky. I watched as a blur sifted through the smoke. White against black. A small, fluttering cloud, fleeting into the dusk.
An owl.
Callum turned, leveling his gaze on Rook and Ford. “We tell no one.” His tone left no room for air, no room for question.
We all nodded. A silent oath.
The body hissed into nothing, and together we turned, leaving this gods-forsaken endless endeavor.
A swift flash split the sky, painting the forest in brief silver fire.
I looked at Callum. “Did Duke and Gus say anything about the scripts? Any mention of the stones?”
He shook his head once. “Nothing.”
Ford tossed a few stones into the air, grinning as each stone caught mid-flight, suspended by a shimmer of magic snapping around them.
“Divinity stones,” he muttered, “must-have décor for tyrants everywhere.”
The forest was quiet again, even with blood still slicked to my fingers.
“Yeah, and Obrann only needs three more,” I reminded him. “That’s close enough to end us.”
I glared at Ford when he tossed too many rocks at a time, missing half of them to shield, multiple smacking me in the face. He only shrugged.
“Six relics for three kingdoms,” Callum sighed. “The gods do love their illusion of balance.”
Ford tripped over a twisted root, pinning Rook with his stare, as if his magic had left it there.
“Figures, doesn’t it?” Ford said. “Luamis is stuck with happiness and sunshine while the damn Dragon Kingdom was handed confidence and protection.”
“Light,” Rook corrected, stepping past him.
He shot him a lopsided grin. “Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
Ford lifted his hands. “Sunshine, light, whatever, still burns when you stare at it for too long.”
Callum’s voice rolled through, the crackle of residue flame still whispering between his fingers.
“The two stones for each ruler were for stability based on how their realm prospered,” he said.
“That’s how they made them. It wasn’t to give more power to any kingdom, but to keep what each valued most.”
I forced out a laugh. “Well, that belief certainly didn’t help us.”
Because when the kingdoms fractured, so did our world.
And now, some hunt for the stones. Not for protection, not for balance. But for power. For divinity and vengeance.
But the funny thing about power... is that it always wants more.
I pressed three fingers to my lips, sending a kiss skyward. A small, foolish offering in case the gods still bothered to watch.
But my stomach soured as my focus fell to my hand, to what I hadn’t noticed until now.
I lowered my arm slowly, as if haste might summon a different truth.
My breath caught. My pulse scattered.
Please, I prayed, let it be shadow. Let it be the dark playing tricks.
What had once been olive skin, familiar and mine, was now covered in black, a creeping shroud swallowing every line, every mark.
I turned it in the faint light, trembling fingers betraying me.
It felt no different. And yet it was. The curse whispered along the surface, a caress too intimate, too final.
My stomach plummeted. There was no mistaking it, no unseeing.
It had taken more.