Page 82 of The Bound Mage
Mud sucked at her boots as she fought her way back the way she had come, cold wind clawing her braid loose. The mist thickened, trying to blind her—but her magic blazed outward, carving a path across the battlefield as the bond screamed, writhing in her chest like a wounded beast.
Loren lay where he’d fallen, his tunic torn to shreds. Her magic arched over them, cracking and splintering as it battled the clawing darkness. Blood poured from her nose, her ears ringing from the strain of it. But Araya refused to let go, pouring her heart and soul into the fragile dome that surrounded them both, until she finally collapsed to her knees at his side.
“Loren,” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands. But he didn’t stir. He wasn’t even breathing, crawling veins of black spreading across his ribcage everywhere it wasn’t flayed and bloody.
And their bond?—
Araya clung to it, fighting to hold on even as it unraveled in her grip. She didn’t need to be a Healer to understand.
Loren was dying.
“Loren.” Araya dropped to her forehead to his, tasting blood as the Veil pressed against her shield. “Loren, don’t you dare. You don’t get to sacrifice yourself. Not like this.”
But there was no answering spark of magic. Her shield shuddered, the last barrier between them and death flickering out like a spent lamp.
“You can’t take the son for the sins of the father,” Araya shouted, not caring that she was speaking to something far older than anything she’d ever known. “It’s not fair.”
A fool for a fool. The voice that scraped across her mind rattled her teeth, echoing in her bones.Leave him—or die beside him.
Araya choked on a sob, curling her body over Loren’s like she could shield him. Her magic sputtered in her veins, the well of power that had felt so unlimited just this morning drained to nothing in the face of a power more ancient and vast than she’d ever imagined.
“You selfish bastard,” Araya choked out. “This wasn’t the plan. You were supposed to live. To be free. We were both supposed to—” her voice broke as she pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t get to leave me,” she whispered. “Not after everything. Not like this.”
She leaned in, catching his cold lip in her teeth and biting down until she tasted blood. “Lorendrael,” she murmured against his lips, a salty tear mingling with the taste of copper on her tongue.
The wave of darkness above them shuddered, the mist that surrounded them trembling as power washed over her.
“He is mine,” Araya snarled, lifting her head. Her voice rose, each word hurled into the darkness like a blade. “And I am his. You willnottake him from me.”
The shadows recoiled, writhing overhead in a vast, shivering mass. Then they answered—not in screams or hisses, but in a single, reverberating voice that cracked the air like thunder:
He is broken. Unworthy. Would you fall with him?
Araya’s magic surged, biting into her bones, but she didn’t falter.
“I already did,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I would again. I will not forsake him. Not now. Not ever.”
For a breathless instant, the battlefield held its breath.
Dara’elloomed over them, its vast consciousness coiled and ready to strike, even as it trembled with indecision. Mist churned at its edges, thick with rage and confusion. All around them, smaller shadows pulled loose from the dark, creeping across the shattered bones like smoke drawn to a flame. Her little shadow reached them first, brushing against her wrist as it wound itself around Loren’s throat like it had done so many times with her.
Araya held her breath, staring up at the power behind the Shadowed Veil that had caused so much death and destruction over the past two decades.
He is not whole, they boomed, a thousand broken voices overlapping.
“I know,” Araya said, her arms tightening around him. “But neither am I. And neither are you. You could be, though. If you wanted to.”
The great shape hesitated. The shadows around her shivered—not in anger now, but in something that almost felt like grief. More tendrils slipped free of the mist, joining the darkness blanketing them both. They brushed over Loren’s brow, his shadow-marked chest, his slack fingers. One coiled around Araya’s wrist, its cool touch as gentle as a kiss against her pulse. Tasting her.
A ripple passed through the mist—slow and shuddering, like a beast exhaling after a long and bitter war.
He is yours,they agreed finally.And you are his. If he survives.
And thendara’elbegan to unravel.
The great shape folded inward on itself, collapsing into the smaller shadows that had chosen Loren from the start. They poured into him—not to consume, but to return. His shadows accepted them, folding them into the space they’d held open all this time, knitting something new from the wreckage.
A gust of wind tore through the battlefield, scattering the remaining mist as the clouds parted overhead. And for the first time in more than twenty years, the sun shone down on the temple.
