Page 3 of Storm of Shadows

The last strands of my control nearly fray and free all this raging power within me. But then I remember who I am. What my purpose is. I see Eliya’s too-still face as I lay her inside her crystal coffin, purple light brushing over her icy skin. My father’s head turning toward me at an unnatural angle, the shadowy orbs of his eyes filled with ravenous hunger. Koby, a fellow adept who only wanted to help me save Eliya. His chest pierced by the bolt of dark magic conjured by Kaely, who was once my greatest rival but is now another scar which will never heal.

For all of them, I must destroy Arluin. But I can’t do it alone. I am only an overgrown adept two days past her training. How can I slay the man who defeated the Grandmage of Nolderan? That’s why I summoned this demon, why I bartered my soul. My power isn’t enough to destroy Arluin. I need the Void Prince’s strength. I can’t lose my sole weapon by banishing him back to the Abyss.

But the power boiling within is too volatile to be smothered. No matter how much I will it, the inferno does not extinguish. My desperate pleas only further rile it. Then I’m bursting at the seams.

The firestorm breaks free.

The demon’s grin stretches across his face.

No!

At the very last second, I use the last of my control to avert the spell’s path. The flames skim past the Void Prince, singeing the sleeves of his dark robes and the silver thread woven through.

The fireball hurls into the wall behind him, shredding through the stone as if it were sand. Rumbling echoes through the city as the wall crumbles apart.

I clasp Father’s staff and gaze at the destruction I have wrought. This is why magic should never be cast without spell-words. It is too unpredictable. Uncontrollable. And I can already feel the cost of its power gnawing on my consciousness. My body is far from recovered after all it has endured these past two nights, and the spell stole much of my remaining strength.

The ground beckons me, but I resist the claws of exhaustion. If I collapse, I’ll prove to the Void Prince I really am a pathetic little mage who can’t control her own measly magic. I dig my heels into the ground, ignoring the grit which presses into my skin. I don’t let my face reveal anything but rage. And hatred.

For him.

For Arluin.

For myself.

The demon’s smirk falters. Disappointment descends on his expression in a heavy shadow. Then it’s gone, and the gleam in his red eyes is crueler than ever.

“Now, now,” he chastises, his voice melodic, “that’s no way to treat your precious city, is it?”

I don’t deign to offer him the rebuke he desires. Nor do I let him see how his taunt crawls under my skin.

I hate him. His savage smirk, his silky voice, his murderous gaze—I hate them all. If not for Eliya, for Father, I would long banish this monster back to whence he came.

two

TheAshbourneManorisas I left it: the gilded gates swung wide open. Before, they were secured by a powerful enchantment, but now they’re cut off from their power source.

I peer up at the empty Aether Tower standing sentry over the forsaken city. Two nights ago, it housed an enormous orb of humming magic and bathed Nolderan in its violet light. Now it’s as dead as everything else.

I turn to my manor and stride through the magicless gates, passing the lion crest fixed to their metallic bars. The Void Prince’s footsteps pound behind as he follows me through our ruined gardens.

The fountain’s basin is smashed apart, and water leaks across the stone path, turning the grass into a marsh. Plucked flowers lie helplessly around their overturned and fractured planters. I don’t stop to look, and neither does the demon. My bare feet squelch in the muddy puddles, as do his freshly conjured boots.

We reach the manor’s entrance and ascend the chipped steps. The battered doors are open from when I stormed out last night, desperate to find a way to free Father from the shackles of undeath and to avenge the massacre of Nolderan. To find a way to make all of thisbetter.

But I know I’ll never find that.

I step over the fallen lion knocker and head through the doors. Zephyr unwinds himself from my shoulders and glides into the hallway, his left wing slightly crooked from where it was crushed under the weight of a heavy planter. Though I applied Blood Balm to his wound last night, it will take a few more treatments until it’s fully healed.

I stop before the small table lying helplessly in the hallway. “Ventrez,” I mutter, though it’s a waste of my magic. Wind swirls from my fingers and blows the round table back onto its legs. But the spell does nothing for the smashed vase and torn lace cloth. The entire manor is in disarray. Even my mother’s paintings haven’t escaped the destruction. The one to my right, a depiction of pastel petalled roses amid an emerald field, has three scratches carved into the canvas. A ghoul must have clawed at it.

I scan across the rest of the devastated hallway, my chest tightening with grief. I don’t know why I came back. Only misery can be found here.

As if to answer, my belly growls.

Food.

My body seems to be doing the thinking rather than my head.

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