Page 46 of Cursed Shadows 5

No one has come to dinner yet. And Daxeel has no desire to drop into one of those seats and fill his plate.

He stalks the length of the table, snagging a crisp apple on his way to the balcony.

His feet are bare, cold, on the limestone balcony.

The winds lash the town.

He bites down on the apple, hardly tasting the sourness on his tongue, as he looks out at the town.

The longer he stares out into the darkness, beyond the threshold of litalf sight, the more obscured his own vision becomes. A faint distortion of textured black that comes in wisps and grooves folded together, weaved and threaded.

His eyes strain to make out the distortion.

Threads of chestnut brown interrupting the flow of the thick, blended darkness. Some strands wisp as though caught in the wind, others weave with the dark, but it doesn’t belong.

The frown leaves his face.

Understanding falls over him, a slow drape, and his shoulders set against the intrusion. That’s what it is. An intrusion.

Sheis an intrusion.

It is her that he sees the longer and deeper he looks into the new darkness. The flow of her chestnut hair; and, as he draws in a deep, filling breath, the scent of her, of plums and poison.

A scoff juts him.

He tosses the apple over the balcony.

This is his punishment, the consequence to his sacrifice.

Mother took his sacrifice, his bond, the severed tether of connection between his and Nari’s souls, and Mother paints it all over the deep darkness;tauntshim.

A bitter twist to his mouth is his answer.

One wouldn’t dare risk more than that in the face of Mother and her punishments.

There is no doubt about it in his mind.

This is consequence.

But how long will it last?

Will he be haunted by the chestnut brown of Nari’s hair gliding through the thick blackness as he burns his way through the human realm? Will the winds of that realm carry her scent of ripe, rich fruit and bitter almonds?

Daxeel braces his hands on the barrier of the balcony; his eyes darken on the blackness.

Moments pass before the faint creak of the door snares behind him.

He blinks, and with that one blink, he banishes her from his mind, Mother and her consequence.

Rune is identifiable by the solid thuds of his steps, bootsteps that advance on the balcony.

Daxeel waits, hands firm on the barrier, his gaze downcast as he absentmindedly searches the gardens for a flicker of red, the apple he discarded.

Rune announces himself with a sigh before he comes up to Daxeel’s side. He folds his forearms and braces them on the balcony fence. “Dare will leave for Aiteal soon. Samick is joining him.”

“When?”

“In three phases.”

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