Page 73 of Shadow and Smite

The door clicked, unlocking.

The stench of rot invaded the room. A man followed, his billowing cape and thin hair the most I could see. Yet his magic… While Zayne’s necromancy smelled of fresh rain, Inarus’s magic stank like his Shades.

He strode right for Zayne and Eleanor, not even closing the door. He didn’t know I was there.

The ashflower was in my possession, and Inarus had left the door wide open.

I ran.

Zayne

I recognized him.

Inarus’s face was thin and gaunt. The skin beneath his eyes appeared bruised. His hair had grayed, and his once proud goatee had thinned.

Despite everything, I had always remembered him fondly, unable to reconcile stories of an evil necromancer with my first instructor in magic. He had been busy as the Court Sorcerer, but he had always made time for our childhood lessons.

He had guided me through my first shadow-step. He had been the one to realize Eleanor could shadow-stitch. While he taught us, had he also been orchestrating the Collapse?

My hand drifted to my dagger. He must have sensed me in the barn. Or maybe when I shadow-stepped. Either way, he had been slow to react. Would he be easy to overpower? Should I attack first?

Yet I could not underestimate him. The black diamond—rough and unpolished—hung like a pendant from a chain around his neck, matching the stories I’d heard of the Collapse. It was large enough to fit in the palm of his hand, so dark I could barely see through it. When I glimpsed his power, I saw how the stone gave him strength.

He stared at Eleanor, shocked. “You’re awake.” His gaze flicked to her gray-skinned neck. “But you still have the Brand.”

Eleanor stared at him, haughty, giving nothing away. Despite their withered statures, both the throne and Eleanor remained unyielding.

Inarus turned to me, unsurprised I was there. “Where is the ashflower?” he demanded. His voice had grown thin, but his tone remained strict.

“I don’t have it,” I replied truthfully.

I glanced in Ayla’s direction—she’s gone.

Ayla had stolen the ashflower. I knew the situation had been desperate, but she couldn’t heal without my help. The Brand could take control. It could lead her to the barn…

“We must finish healing your sister,” Inarus continued. “The throne won’t accept her if she has the Brand. I repeat, where is the ashflower?”

I swallowed. His explanation was the same as Eleanor’s. Moreover, he knew of the ashflower…

I looked from Inarus to Eleanor. The corner of Eleanor’s lip turned downward, the smallest of tells in her otherwise impassive demeanor. She glanced from Inarus to me, and I knew the truth: they had formed an understanding. I just couldn’t judge how deep their alliance ran.

“We don’t have the ashflower,” Eleanor confirmed. She didn’t mention Ayla.

Inarus’s brow furrowed. “You used it all, and it still wasn’t enough?” he hissed. His body tensed.

Then, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he let it out. His posture relaxed. He took a step closer to Eleanor, appraising her. “At least you’re awake.”

“Agreed.” She gave nothing else away.

Inarus addressed me. “I see you’ve unlocked necromantic powers.”

“I…” The observation surprised me. “Yes, I’ve started my studies of the Underworld.”

“Be careful,” he cautioned. He slouched his shoulders, showing how thin he had become. “It’s not a magic meant for the living.”

Did he think this was funny? His boney body was not a future I wanted. Haunted bags darkened his eyes.

Still, I had questions—ones only he might know. My understanding of my powers was self-taught, derived from a handful of archaic books. Inarus was the only expert. With his help, could I harness my magic better than him?

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