Page 77 of Soul of Thorns
He left us be for a while because he wanted us to remain in these cursed lands longer to weaken my body and to give these cursed lands longer to erode my soul.
Now, his mate has taken my mate. He expects me to come for him.
I pull myself to my feet, feeling Rev’s comforting magic tingling in my veins, and stare out at the two paths before me.
“Where is he?” I whisper.
My wraith floats beside me, looking out at the final square mile of the Schorchedlands. Slowly, he lifts his cloaked arm and clawed finger to point toward a massive tree to the east of the mountain. The tree is grey with streaks of white and thousands of branches curling out like claws reaching to the sky.
“And the spell book?” I know very little about its specific location.
He shakes his head but points to the mountain that covers half the red sky. No new information there.
Over the peak is a steady stream of thick black smoke. I don’t know the exact altitude, but by sight, I’d guess it would take me two hours to climb it, and that’s using as much of my strength and magic as possible and going straight up, not searching along every end.
“What do I need to know about the mountain?”
The wraith stills, but I keep my eyes trained on the last massive obstacle before me.
“This is my first time on this side of the wall,” he admits. “I’ve never been there. I’ve only heard stories.”
Never? He only crossed the fire wall because of us, then. “Were you afraid of the fire?”
“I am afraid of judgment, yes. We all are; otherwise, we wouldn’t be wraiths.”
“So, it wasn’t just me then.” I smirk. He grunts.
I’m tempted to ask him about his trip over the flames. There is very little I know about him. Did the spirit of the Wicked Gates speak to him too? But I wouldn’t want to get into my own experience, so I assume he wouldn’t either.
My spirit is failing. Crossing the swamp while believing Rev had left without me just minutes after learning I’d apparently died was enough to nearly derail me.
I pull in a long breath, recentering my motivation.
Death will come but not yet.
Right now, I have an ancient, powerful being to piss off and a mate to save.
“Since we’re officially allies now, I should probably stop calling you wraith. What is your name?”
“Call me Darren.”
“Darren Shadowspell,” I murmur. I suppose history should have told me that one.
I read about him and his family as a child. Over and over. I adored history. But there was so much truth missing from those pages. Perhaps if I make it out of here, I’ll write the full story. Even if no one will believe me, putting it down on paper would make it feel more real. More complete.
You will never have the chance. My breath catches.
Well, perhaps I’ll ask Rev to do it for me. One final request.
Remember me. Remember my ancestors. Remember the sacrifice my people made to save us all from those beasts.
But then again, I never told Rev about my full heritage. He doesn’t know who Darren is. He doesn’t know I am the rightful heir to the Shadow Court throne. That piece of the puzzle may always be missing.
Or maybe, as he research for the project, he’ll uncover the truth. Maybe my parents will talk with him. Maybe they’ll tell him.
I swallow. I haven’t seen my mother and father since I was seventeen. Ten years ago. I take in a long breath.
Don’t give up. Not yet.
