Chapter 28
A lora waited on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Blackstone Mountains of Kadamar, stretching as far as she could see. Dawn peeked over thousands of thick, forested slopes. The landscape came alive with endless hues of lush greens. At the point where the first rays of sunlight kissed the earth, the greenery retreated, and deadly rockscapes dissolved into the distant horizon.
Kadamar. The Kingdom of Land and Growth.
The kingdom ruled by Magnelis’s most trusted friend—ally—and revered subject.
Within those slopes, Kadamar’s capitol, Karanagar, unexpectedly awaited the Savage Prince and his Shadow Order. Unaware that in a few short moments, darkness would descend and torment their ornate halls.
Their mission was less than simple.
Somewhere in those mountains of stone, Blood was hidden. And they would stay as long as needed to obtain it. If Garrik’s illusions and story for entering their gates were convincing enough, none would be the wiser of their true intentions.
As part of Garrik’s Shadow Order, Alora held a higher rank than anyone in the kingdom—including King Ladomyr and his entire court. The High Prince’s elite. As malevolent and bloodthirsty as the rest of them by the authority of the High King.
Alora’s fists balled tight. Numbed enough she couldn’t feel her nails piercing her palms. She had been ordered on bed rest for five days until she’d refused to lay another day under the sheets. Ozrin’s remedies, Calla’s healing balm, and her High Fae blood were a testament to strength and power in their own rights. Together, they made her feel unstoppable.
It was time.
And this would be different.
Different from anything she’d encountered since Garrik had rescued her in that Telldairan alley. This wouldn’t be as simple as running up a burned staircase and convincing petrified young Mystics to join their treasonous army.
This time, she was required to be as savage and ruthless and cruel as if Magnelis Made her.
Behind her, Aiden leaned against a tree. Arms crossed and twirling the scaled ring on his finger, his eyes blazed into the distance. Hair half pulled back, body rigid in the morning breeze as she walked toward him. Adorning the red cloak of Garrik’s elite and battle-black armor, straight steel had replaced his curved sword. Looking entirely the opposite of his fun-loving, free-spirited nature for the first time since she’d met him.
The sight of him had her nearly frozen.
A warrior—terrifying and intimidating and barbarous. For a moment, her knees shuddered.
Would she strike fear into those who set their eyes upon her, too?
Aiden’s head slowly pivoted to her, almost trance-like in the movement. Dropping his fingers from swirling his ring, he moved to take a step forward when footsteps to their left had them both turning, meeting the darkened eyes of their High Prince, adorned in leathers, his black cloak swaying in the breeze.
Death triumphant, she thought. Like nightmares given reign.
Garrik had spent the better part of those five restful days in her tent, seated at a table, scanning parchments when he presumed her to be sleeping. Only when she had stirred, he’d settled in her reading chair and attended to her simplest requests with a thoughtful smile.
And now those usual dark circles under his eyes were gone. Apart from the first two nights, where he insisted on staying awake to watch over her despite her blaring disapproval, he’d folded her into his arms before guiding her by shadows into his mind. Allowing her starfire to create that fortress of flames, to quiet the screams so he could rest too. A rest, he admitted, he hadn’t had since before they forced him into his dungeon.
Three nights he held her in the safety of his embrace.
Three nights he slept. True, real sleep.
And she couldn’t admit to him that, in his arms, was the best sleep she’d had in a long time, too.
Garrik’s eyes were on her, but he spoke to Aiden with the urgent, dismissive tone of a High Prince preparing for battle. “Find Thalon. Attend to the prisoner.” He was on edge. She felt it.
When Aiden whispered away in camp’s direction, Garrik strode to the edge of the cliff overlooking the morning sky. A heaviness settled on his shoulders when he brutally sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck.
Alora wanted to go to him. Instead, she waited there, eyes tracing golden sunlight parting the clouds. Lighting up the peaks and valleys and silken gray hair that glistened in the beams and cast his monstrous shadow to her boots.
“You will not like who I have to be in there.” The mountains seemed to tremble in the wake of his words. “The wall at Alynthia… It was nothing in comparison. All of it, an illusion. This will be real . I am not sure I can bear it—you seeing me. What I was Made to be. What I will enjoy doing.” Garrik kept his gaze fixed on the mountains, speaking to Kadamar as if talking directly to her was more than he could bear. His voice dropped low in warning. “You have not witnessed the truest evil within me. And when you do, you will see me for the monster I am.” Inked eyes flicked over his shoulder and returned to the sunrise too quickly.
She stepped forward, dared to extend her hand, but instead dropped it to her side. “You still believe I’ll fear you ? ”
He didn’t turn. “You should … will.” Speaking the words so slowly as if he underlined them in a contract, securing the future. "I will kill, Alora. And I will revel in it. This kingdom … this king … his court … they conceal terrible pain I will seek revenge for—and without a single thought of remorse.”
She sensed a ripple of delight warring with the turmoil inside him. Saw the way his fist tightened. His abdomen too.
But this time, that warm palm dared to grip his shoulder, gently turning him to gaze in ember-lit eyes. She wasn’t angry, but after all this time. After all they’d been through. He still thought himself the irredeemable monster. The vision of nightmares lurking in the shadows and stealing away dreams.
If only he knew.
He was the one who awakened dreams. And that vision of nightmares standing on the cliff’s edge was actually the one who scared nightmares away.
Alora laced her fingers in his.
Garrik seemed to stop breathing.
Calmly squeezing, Alora turned to watch the sunrise with him. She repeated the words he’d so often spoken to her, “You should know by now,” and nudged her shoulder into his biceps as the corners of his mouth twitched, “I’ve lived my entire life in darkness. Yours doesn’t scare me. It never will.”
One moment, they stood on a cliff’s edge. The next, dark winds swallowed them, and they were carried through an empty abyss—the Dawnspace.
As Alora transcended from whorling darkness, she steadied her footing on a pristinely cut grassy path. They landed at the center of three paths separated by tiles of granite-edged streams.
Surrounded by visions of shadowy figures misting into the courtyard, adjusting to the cascading gleam of light, she gaped up at the center. Her eyes settled on a large star-shaped white fountain bursting with thin crimson liquid. Its luster and lack of thickness were enough to determine the contents. Water, not blood. And centered in the spray stood a statue; A roaring blackstone bear with ruby eyes.
The sun blistered its warmth and warred against the earthy breeze. It called her lungs to expand and inhale the scent. Alora tilted her head, the movement slow, disturbing the receding shadows around her.
Castle Karanagar expanded in front of them.
An illusion like a city of buildings appeared, yet they were all one connected structure.
The main entrance sat on the lower level in which they stood, flanked by winding staircases that extended into the mountain behind it. It towered high, the turrets and crimson flags almost tickled the cloudless sky. White granite buildings connected to one another by curved stairs, gardens, and cloisters nestled within vast forests that hugged every stone wall.
The dusty-blue roofs crowning each tower gave the impression of the castle being merely a reflection of the sky. Shadowed not by thunder clouds but by mountain massifs, raising onyx peaks all the way into the crests.
Garrik dawned them inside the castle gates with no warning, as planned.
Veiled by surprise to execute their arrival and set the precedence of their ruthlessness and power.
After all, in all the rumors, the arrival of the Savage Prince wasn’t anything less than sadistic. His visage alone clouded the skies in despair. But an unannounced arrival meant his intentions were merciless, not peaceful. Random, as if on a vicious whim, and not scheduled.
This, like all else, would be a performance.
And it certainly made their act easier knowing who Ladomyr was—and who he allied with.
Alora’s nerves burst with unusual excitement. That was new.
Sunlight reflected off the whitestone as if in invitation, but the mountain stole its warmth. It created a chilling ambiance as the Shadow Order, along with Draven, leader of the Nightfall wolf shifters, and his twenty Dragons, stood as one ominous unit, at ease inside whirling Smokeshadows.
Aiden brushed her shoulder with his and nodded to the castle, snickering. “I’ve seen bigger.” He winked.
Alora contained her chuckle because their presence had lingered only mere seconds before the alarmed voices of Kadamarian High Guard tore from the main gate behind them.
Rushing from the courtyard walls and cloisters, a herd of footsteps descended the winding stairs until autumn-colored armor etched with Ladomyr’s royal crest—two warring bears of vicious claws, teeth, and swords—rushed around them.
She wasn’t remotely afraid.
Garrik’s eyes blazed with potent fury, threatening to swallow souls in the wake of his menacing darkness. Tendrils fell from his scaled armor and turned the air to blackened fog at their boots. Chaos brimmed. His skin rippled, pulling tight across his cheeks and jawline, taking the shape of Elysian’s most feared beast.
Sharpened teeth glistened under his curled lips. Wicked black eyes half-lidded in murderous delight. Black veins marbled up his thick neck and branched across his hands until they reached curling fingertips. And like smoke on the wind, a glassy obsidian-spiked crown molded atop that lush gray hair, gleaming in the sunlight that was soon snuffed out by darkened clouds developing high above the castle.
With a crooked grin, the Savage Prince slowly twisted his hand into a fist.
From every corner of the courtyard, darkness crept.
At once, High Guardsmen collapsed to their knees. Panic wracked their eyes, clutching—clawing—ripping at their necks, which were constricted by shadow squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. The only sound: their strangled screams, before their bodies fell lifeless, scattering the grounds, grass, and granite with ashen skin and death settled on their gaping lips.
Garrik remained silent as he strolled carelessly over the bodies. Cold-hearted as if they were puddles of muck, too disgusting to scrape against his boots.
And she couldn’t help but smile as she watched how those powerful legs moved. Or how his head surveyed the carnage while those blackened orbs scanned across the few whose chests rose and fell. Her stomach tightened, watching his muscles flex under his leathers.
He stalked up to one male twitching on the granite steps and crouched until the sharp bones of his face moved within an inch of the male’s.
Black veined fingers gripped the male’s throat.
Garrik’s voice was a thing of endless nightmares, and the entire courtyard trembled in its wake when he snarled, “Where. Is. Ladomyr?”