Chapter 22
T he shadows around Garrik had not stopped whorling. They had torn viciously through camp like a life-ending flood after his attempts to reach Alora had failed. Like a burst of light across the sky, Garrik’s Smokeshadows had exploded through the night sky, snuffing out every star until it was a blackened abyss. Scouring the expanse of the surrounding forest as far as every edge of Elysian land and seas, around every tree and river, down every cliff, and across every mountain.
When they had returned empty-handed, he did not allow himself a second to panic. Instead, he became ash and clouds of shadows, settling himself inside his tent covered by an impenetrable shield. Blocking out every sound and distraction around him to release a burst of power. His mind had scanned and searched as his shadows did. Reaching out, calling to starfire— to her —her magic as he had done to locate every Mystic within his legion and beyond.
Garrik’s chest tightened. For the first time in years, he could hardly breathe.
She was nowhere.
Nowhere.
At first, he thought it simply a game. One he would gladly play, even when distracted by reviewing Kadamarian strategies from the war tent. He had reclined comfortably in his chair while condensation collected around his fingertips on his glass of vanilla and oak, beaming at the thought of her toying with him. Asking where he went as if she had returned to the valley searching for him.
And fuck … if that did not have him needing to adjust himself at the memory of what he had done to her hours before. But her voice … something had changed. It had become muffled, as if she had entered a cave or dove into a roaring ocean and was swept away.
Then she was gone.
Just. Gone.
“No one has seen her.” Thalon quavered, disbelief stealing his golden eyes.
They gazed upon the valley, the same one where Garrik had last laid eyes on Alora, the camp glowing behind them. Silver watched his brother run inked hands through his Earned and braided locks, then traced the shadow brightening behind Thalon’s back.
Garrik had only seen that shadow fully manifest a few times in his life. Once at the threat of war, when the High King received a missive of an uprising and overtook the Kingdom of Illmataria. Thalon had been ordered to oversee the siege of the castle within their highest floating city. Where the king and queen knelt before Magnelis—the Savage Prince at his side—as Zayn watched his beloved Sitara … Watched Garrik’s sword falling to her neck …
Then, another time, when Magnelis had thrown his son from the tallest castle turret and ordered Thalon to bring him back after he had succumbed to the stones below. Bloody, broken, and useless. A punishment— a gift —when they had dragged him from his horrendous dungeon, but their attempts to alter his refusal to obey the High King were futile.
Thalon looked at him, speechless. Flexing his back with fear … actual fear in his eyes.
Garrik had only seen that look a few times, too. And was certain his own features mirrored the same.
They were both speechless. Every attempt to locate Alora returned with nothing. Not a single trace. As if she had never existed.
How the fuck is this possible?
It wasn’t —and that terrified him.
She had been gone for nearly four hours, and he did not know what to do. His body felt like it would shatter like delicate ice shards hanging onto the fading winter air. Or perhaps her absence would rip his heart into thousands of broken pieces.
There he stood, the Lord of Darkness, Lord of Minds… Unimaginable power surging through him, and he could not do a thing.
Worthless , the breeze seemed to hiss.
Smokeshadows roared around Garrik’s shoulders, sinking deep into the skin of his back, forming incredible wings of darkness. Prepared to take flight—to do something— anything. He would turn into a starsdamned shadow-dragon again if it helped. The choking rage and all-consuming terror warring within him were enough to transform into one. He would cover the entire world in a veil of night to find a speck of her starlight.
Thalon stepped forward, eyes locked on Garrik as he flexed his back. His shadow began to brighten to something pearlescent, awaiting orders. A heavy sigh mixed with the roaring in Garrik’s mind before Thalon turned to speak?—
Garrik snapped his head to the stars as if they had spoken to him.
Thalon’s searched the skies as if he had heard it, too.
For somewhere in the distance … the white-hot glow of starfire exploded.
Flaring and rattling every star before the valley became empty. Before the High Prince and his Guardian took to the skies.
“Didn’t think she’d make it that far.”
Alora didn’t move from where they had thrown her. Then again, she couldn't move if she wanted to. Face down in the middle of their camp near the roaring fire that illuminated the entire clearing. He hadn’t bothered to bind her. She couldn’t fight him, anyway.
By the time her rider had carried her limp body back over his shoulder, the entire camp was alive.
She saw them now. Saw their four faces.
Ravens.
Two lanky faeries, Ayeleteans, with long blond hair and white branch-like antlers climbing from the top of their heads, sat on a downed tree by the flames. Bone-white skin was visible under Raven’s silver armor, and their purple cloaks looked like death against the flicker.
Across from them and near one of the five tents sat a young High Fae male with black hair. Much leaner under the same armor, he appeared to have only trained for a short time.
The last, her High Fae rider, was comparable to a bear. Monstrous muscles framed his entire body. Mahogany hair waved down to his shoulders with an even longer bushy beard. He was the only one who wore all black but still retained the purple cloak.
She knew the High King’s armies were despicable, but she guessed this group was rogue. Going outside their duties to sell whomever they entrapped for quick coin.
“She’s proven herself to be resourceful for the Hunt,” one of the blonds said. His voice shallow, as quiet as the forest. “Silas might pay more for that.”
The other blond shrugged in way of agreement.
Then footsteps disturbed their conversation.
Alora hardly lifted her gaze and found a lean-built figure breaking the darkness. Her eyes narrowed as he stalked forward. Narrowed on his ice-blue skin under a slick leather jacket, the hood settled over silver hair that fell to his glowing gray eyes and down his shoulders.
His presence commanded total authority. A mantle of raw power in his visage alone, like Garrik’s authority. Almost as if this male was the High Prince himself—he certainly carried himself that way. The onlookers fell silent as he prowled across the dirt, eventually standing over Alora with a frown.
That voice carried a thousand realms of shattering ice as he stared down at her. And she felt that ice, cold and viciously uncaring, as if he’d sent slivers into her skin before uttering a single word. “What a shame.” Those glowing gray eyes speared her without any remorse.
Without uttering a single word, the sound of creaking leather filled the air as he forcefully flipped her onto her back, surveying her from her head to the stab wound in her side.
Alora let out an agonized groan. Any movement … the pain. She couldn’t breathe.
The male sighed and twisted away, speaking to the monstrous bearded male. “These injuries are coming from your cut, Kyr.” And said nothing more before he sat beneath a nearby tree, cloaked in the shadow of the fire, and plucked a knife from his belt.
Kyr, who she determined as her rider, jumped up and squared his shoulders to the male. “How about I take it from your guts instead?”
The ice-blue male slowly raked his eyes over Kyr. Unmoving and relaxed as his gaze offered an unspoken threat. Death danced in those gray eyes as he cocked his head, and his ice-blue skin rippled like stars on fire as if they found their eternal home there. Gleaming like bursts and explosions in scale-like paths.
“Another word,” was all he said, brow lifted, daring Kyr to speak. When he didn’t and only seethed with arms crossed, the male who seemed to be in charge merely plucked a stick from the ground and began slicing with his knife before he continued, “I have word from our general. We leave for Dellisaerin after The Hunt.”
Kyr growled, “ The hell , Rune? We were just stationed here. And you want us to move out again?”
“I didn’t make the call,” the male—Rune—said.
Kyr gritted his teeth and balled his fist, opening his mouth, but Rune snapped. That knife in his hand flew, perfectly embedding in the dirt between Kyr’s boots. Alora didn’t doubt that if Rune had wanted it to, the blade would have sunk into Kyr’s boot.
Rune snarled, “ Sit down and shut the hell up . I’ve had enough bullshit for today.” Another knife was pulled from his belt. His face fell wholly calm as he began whittling again.
The others turned and resumed their quiet conversations. Kyr stormed off.
At least they were fighting each other and not bothering to notice her. Allowing her body time to regain some strength while she stared up at the stars from her back. Alora watched them glisten as the fire crackled the logs. She felt its warmth, reminding her of the warmth inside herself.
As she lay there, a wheezing sound—a constant reminder of the pain she desperately tried to endure—accompanied every breath she took. She fought against the fog and dullness in her mind from the blood loss, biding her time to release the full might of her starfire and burn down the entire forest.
Alora watched the stars as if she were in an annulus. Felt their calming spirit wash over her as she studied the darkened sky. She felt the darkness’s comfort, too. Allowing her mind to drift as she’d done in the manor for so long. Let herself search that darkness and watch it dance like Smokeshadows caressing the stars.
In fact, that darkness looked exactly like Smokeshadows.
Like Garrik was searching for her. Like he was there.
She wanted to reach through the amber glow of the fire, through the rustling leaves of the tree’s canopy, and grab hold of it. To let Garrik know she was there. To pull her into his arms. But her heart only dropped when her arms refused to move.
Alora felt a part of her begin to break.
Please. Can you hear me? I don’t know if I can make it.
She imagined his soothing honeyed voice and an icy hand brushing her cheek. And that comfort she needed was there. She felt him there. You can, clever girl. Do not surrender. You are stronger than this.
Tears burned her eyes. He would be right if he’d actually said it. She’d been through worse. Had suffered monsters and had survived every single day before this. And so had Garrik.
If he had made it through the dungeons. If he had survived the torture, the death … then she could survive this.
They wanted a prize?
They were going to get much more for their effort.
A storm of starfire was coming for them. Enough to light up the entire sky.