Page 45 of Oath of Blood and Joy

In that moment of pure panic, something shifted inside me. The shadows that had been swirling chaotically around my body suddenly responded to a deeper instinct—something beyond conscious thought. As if sensing my desperation, they rushed beneath me, thickening, massing, gathering density with each passing second of my descent.

The ground rushed up to meet me, but instead of stone, I crashed into something that gave way beneath my weight—not solid, but not quite liquid either. The shadows had formed a dark, viscous cushion that absorbed the worst of the impact. The landing still knocked the breath from my lungs and pain jolted through my shoulder and hip, but the shadows had saved me from certain death.

I lay there gasping, my body trembling with adrenaline and shock. Above me, I could hear Marsha’s voice, tinged with surprise and something else—calculation.

“Fascinating,” Marsha called down, her silhouette framed in the window light. “No one mentioned you could do that, little shadow-dancer.”

I needed to move. The shadows were already dissipating, returning to their natural state, responding to my fading concentration. Guards would be coming. I rolled onto my side, wincing at the sharp pain in my ribs. Nothing felt broken, but I’d be bruised tomorrow—if I lived that long.

Footsteps approached from the left corridor. Searchlights swept across the courtyard, their harsh beams slicing through the darkness. My chest heaved with each rapid heartbeat, each pulse sending fresh waves of pain through my battered body. I forced myself to my feet, fighting against the dizziness that threatened to topple me again, tasting copper on my tongue as I bit back a whimper.

The shadows responded to my desperate need, answering my silent plea. They wrapped around me like a cloak—gentle, almost comforting—helping me blend into the darkness along the courtyard wall. For one precious moment, I felt a surge of wild hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could disappear completely, slip away like a forgotten nightmare.

But then it came—a bone-deep exhaustion that crashed over me without warning. My muscles trembled, not just from the fall but from something deeper. Something was draining from within me, a vital energy I couldn’t hold onto. The shadows, my only allies in this prison, began to thin and waver.

“No,” I whispered as panic clawed at my throat. “Please, not now.”

But my power slipped through me like sand through open fingers, abandoning me as my knees buckled. I collapsed, palmsscraping against the rough stone. Tears of frustration and fear blurred my vision, hot against my cold cheeks. The shadows retreated, leaving me exposed and vulnerable beneath the approaching searchlights.

Marsha had just seen another aspect of my ability—an ability I couldn’t control. I could still hear her delighted laughter echoing from above, the sound piercing me like shards of ice. No doubt she would try to use that against me. My stomach sank like lead, alongside the crushing weight of my own failure. I was trapped, injured, and now my captors were closing in.

Heavy footsteps approached through my daze. “You just made a big mistake.”

Henry’s fingers dug into my bruised flesh as he hauled me off the ground. My ribs screamed in protest, each breath a knife between them. He dragged me across the courtyard, my feet scraping helplessly against the rough stone, leaving trails of blood from my scraped knees. The night air, which had felt so promising during my escape attempt, now stung my lungs with each ragged inhale.

Marsha moved in our direction with calculated grace, each step an announcement of her power over us. The moonlight caught the cruel curve of her smile, transforming her beauty into something monstrous. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction as she studied my trembling form.

“I think for the rest of the night she needs to remain here.” She bent down, the scent of her expensive perfume—jasmine and something foul—choking me as she lifted the metal lid to Zoe’s prison. The hinges groaned like a dying animal, revealing the pitch-black void within.

Every nerve ending screamed at the sight. Memories of Zoe’s hollow eyes and whimpered pleas flooded my mind. Cold terror slithered down my spine, shocking me into desperate action.

“No, please!” I thrashed wildly in Henry’s grip, choking on a sob. I clawed at his wrist, my fingernails leaving white crescents in his skin. The shadows around us flickered weakly, responding to my panic but too faint to help. I was utterly drained, my power nothing more than a whisper beneath my skin. “Don’t put me in there!”

Marsha’s eyebrow arched with fascination. She leaned closer, her breath warm against my tear-streaked face. “Afraid of the dark, shadow-dancer? How... ironic. Put her inside.”

Henry’s arms tightened around me, squeezing a whimper from my throat as he folded my body like discarded origami. He stuffed me into the box with mechanical efficiency, my limbs crumpling painfully against the cold metal walls. The lid came down with a deafening slam, cutting off the night sky and plunging me into absolute darkness.

Panic exploded within me. My fists pounded on the metal above, each blow sending reverberations through the confined space that echoed in my skull like thunder. The box reeked of human sweat and terror—a sour, acrid smell that coated my tongue and made me gag. These metal walls still held the fear of its previous occupant, a monstrous reminder of Zoe’s suffering. Her misery seemed to seep into my skin, her despair mingling with my own until I couldn’t tell where her terror ended and mine began.

“Let me out!” The scream tore at my raw throat, bouncing off the walls and crashing back into my ears. “LET ME OUT!”

“Use your shadows to break free, girl,” Marsha commanded from outside, her voice muffled but still audible as she pounded on the top of the box. Each bang reverberated through my bones. Her tone was light, almost playful—a predator toying with trapped prey. “If not, you’ll remain there until morning. That’s what you get for spying on us.”

Footsteps retreated—first Marsha’s precise clicks, then Henry’s heavy boots—until only silence remained. The darkness pressed against my eyeballs, so complete it became a physical presence. Every breath felt stolen, every heartbeat too loud in the suffocating space.

Alone. Trapped. Powerless.

My power was completely spent. I closed my eyes in the darkness—not that it made any difference—and reached deep within myself, searching for the current of energy that connected me to the shadows. My breathing slowed as I concentrated, sweat beading on my forehead despite the chill of the metal box.

“Come to me,” I whispered. “Please.”

I visualized the shadows slipping through the seams of the box, imagined them responding to my call as they had before. I pictured them flowing like ink under the lid, forming tendrils that would pry open my prison. I reached for them with everything I had left—every scrap of will, every fragment of strength.

Nothing.

Terror flooded through me—if my shadows wouldn’t come, I was truly trapped.

I tried again, straining until my temples throbbed and spots danced behind my closed eyelids. My fingers curled into painful claws as I desperately grasped for power that wasn’t there. The shadows remained dormant, as if they were as exhausted as I was. As if the connection between us had been severed completely.

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