Page 69 of The Shadow Prince's Ruin
Something pulls deep inside me again, making me lightheaded as the black goo covering the floor simmers.
“Out of my way!” Sylvan slurs, shaking off my hand, and dashes forward so abruptly his tall and muscular cousin recoils like a wolf that might have met its match. My husband’s footing is unsteady from all the booze he’s drunk, but he’s not letting that stop him and claws much longer and sturdier than the ones that killed Tassarion erupt from his fingers toward Tristan.
I’m about to follow him and ensure he doesn’t end up impaling himself on that stuff when an icy fog settles around me.Gloombane is a faint shadow below, but he too disappears, with a coppery flash in his eyes. My jaw drops open when I realize I can’t spot the railings anymore. Even my own hands remain obscured by cold gray mist. How am I supposed to fightmagic?
Just as I’m about to head forward, Sylvan’s voice echoes from the wrong direction. Could it be that I’m lost without any visual clues to go by? Or is this mist made to confuse my senses?
Squawks resonate everywhere around me, as if I’m surrounded by a maze full of hungry mice. I turn once. Twice. Thrice, because my sense of danger is ringing in alarm, but I can’t spot anything in this fog. My heart thrums. My back is damp, but just as I’m about to blindly run forward, the gray cloud around me disperses, creating a bubble of clear air. Huge bats smash against the translucent shield protecting me from the fog one after another until the smoke disappears. It reveals Gloombane scowling from across the room. He must have been the one causing the fog, so the only logical conclusion is that Sylvan shielded me with his new powers.
I’m in way over my head.
The tavern spins, then rocks like a ship during a heavy storm, and I find myself dropping to my knees. Blood drizzles to the wooden floor and it takes me a moment to work out where it originates. My nose and gums. I can taste iron, but a little nosebleed isn’t enough to stop me. I’ve survived drowning, an overdose, two car crashes, and a stabbing. This shit is nothing. When I look up, Sylvan is a blurry figure three steps above, but at least I can see him again. I summon my strength and drag him back to me.
“The kitchen,” I whisper, wiping my bleeding nose on the sleeve of the coat that was carefully tailored to my size not that long ago. Sylvan’s eyes are bloodshot when he glances my way, but at the top of the stairs Tristan is picking himself up from whatever happened while the fog kept me blinded. We bothstumble down the steps, because we either flee or confrontallthe Nightcloaks, and I’m definitely not up for fighting men who can create rabid bats out of smoke.
Gloombane stands in our way with two of his men at the flanks, but the floor below them turns black, then burns like paper around a fallen ember, and all three elves fall into the void. Are they dead? Trapped like that poor wedding guest was earlier? Can’t pretend that I care, but another bout of weakness forces me to grab the railing for support as I stumble. I couldn’t have drankthat much, could I? My eyes remain open though, and I watch the hole in the wooden planks turn dull before retreating under Sylvan’s feet like a matte oil spill sucked back to its source.
“Captain!” one of the remaining wardens cries. His face is stiff with tension, but the moment he raises his sword and charges, Sylvan’s arm transforms into a fat tentacle, which slams the man into the nearby table. The thin wooden legs break from the force of this freaky magic, the floor cracks, and we make a dash for the open kitchen.
The level of destruction around us is pure madness, but I’m too exhausted and shocked to do anything other than grab Sylvan’s shoulder and let him lead. Surrounded by dust and the remnants of the gray fog, we’re about to reach our destination when Tristan Bloodweed’s formidable form lands in front of us. This time, he’s ready and lashes out at Sylvan, who stumbles over his own feet, saved from his cousin’s blade by my quick thinking. I pull him to my chest and spin around, alarmed by aclangof metal behind me. A dusky shape looms in the magic mist, and I blindly slam my fist into it, hitting metal, bone, and flesh.
The last Cloak collapses with a dull cry as pain flashes up my forearm, replaced by tingling heat. I fall over as a giant force rips Sylvan away from me.
“Stand down! I don’t want to hurt you,” Tristan cries, standing over Sylvan’s petite form like a monster about to feast. I scream out, dragging myself back to my feet, but my voice dies when an invisible force sucks the air out of me. All at once, I’m nauseated, dizzy, and tired.So, so tired.
I stare at my swelling fingers and follow the black inkblot of shadow over the floor, all the way to Sylvan, who rises off the floor, levitating. He throws a punch at his cousin. I fear he might hurt his delicate hand, but then obsidian claws erupt from his fingers and tear through Tristan’s wing.
The red-headed soldier shrieks, even though his cut appendage turns to dust before it can hit the floor. Shell-shocked, Tristan takes a step back, but Sylvan doesn’t hesitate. A massive shadow tentacle emerging from under Sylvan’s feet slams Tristan down, and then twists, pulling the other wing out, as if it were a single feather.
His pained cry rings in my ears as I crawl forward, focused on Sylvan, who collapses onto his ass and… vomits.
Shit.
Braving the lightheadedness making every move a fight, I reach him just in time to offer him my coat as a means to clean up. I don’t know if Sylvan’s this drunk, or if using those powers has such a detrimental effect on him, but I’ll worry about that later. With Tristan knocked out and the others gone, I need to seize the opportunity to disappear.
“Let’s go. Your shadow is…amazing,” Sylvan mumbles when I scoop him into my arms and stumble toward the kitchen.
His words make me slow down, and while I get with the program and dash into the stew-scented rooms that should lead me to some kind of back door, my mind spins with questions. I noticed that he was manipulating my shadow to fight off the Nightcloaks, but is that why I’m so lightheaded and exhausted? Why my legs shake and my nose bleeds?
The way he fought Tristan, recklessly as if he wanted to prove something rather than just get us out of trouble, didn’t show any care for my wellbeing. When he first tried to convince me to start our arrangement, he claimed the exchange would happen at no real cost to me. Was he… lying all along?
Cold dread pools in my gut as I rush into a room full of dirty dishes, using the wall to support one of my shoulders. I’m panting with the effort of propelling both myself and Sylvan forward, but despite the ache in my chest, I remain desperate to get him to safety. Whether his intentions toward me were pure or not remains to be seen, butmyfeelings remain unchanged, and I would not abandon him.
I reimagine my dainty prince as the sea witch fromThe Little Mermaid, and saying, “It won’t cost much, just yourshadow.”
I gasp at the sight of a narrow wooden door leading into the moonlit yard on the other side of the room, but before I can dash toward it, a wardrobe opens and Fenren whistles at me from behind the curtain of aprons and tablecloths.
“Follow me,” he whispers, and I don’t bother considering whether he’s a friend or foe. He’s not a Nightcloak, and in my book that’s more than enough.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know where I am,” I say when Fenren shuts the door hidden in the back of the wardrobe and picks up a torch.
His gaze scans me, then Sylvan passed out in my arms, and he shakes his head. “I’m only doing this because your groom ruined my tavern, and dead debtors don’t pay. You two better reimburse me once this is all over.”
So much for kindness and pleasant smiles.
I don’t have the strength to answer and follow him down a passage not built with someone my size in mind. But that is the least of my worries. The man I’ve banked my whole future on was flippant with my shadow—my health and life—all becausehe wanted to show off his newly acquired power. Is that really the boy I fell for so hard? The boy I decided to take so many dumb risks for? Could it be that… my family was right and I once again put my trust in the wrong person?
Going to prison for someone is one thing, but this strange parasitic arrangement? The truth is that I don’t quite know how the shadow bond that felt so good earlier works. Could he drain me at will? Keep me weak? Dispose of me when he’s bored?
