A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

L evian rubbed her temple as the headache she’d been fighting since leaving London continued to press against her skull. Guilt gnawed at her still. She’d been convinced she’d done the right thing in leaving Barith, but the longer she was away, the more her confidence began to waiver. She pushed past the internal peripheral sense that she’d run away from the dragon and the nausea brought on by using her mother’s traveling stones. Traveling by the stones made her feel like she was being shattered and then smashed back together by magick, but traveling to the small island of Veldaraen was tedious and time-consuming.

The mage pulled her jacket tighter around her middle to brace against the sudden cold as she stepped through the broken stone archway at the island’s edge. Veldaraen, or Door Rock, as it roughly translated in the Faerie tongue, was a speck of land, no more than a hectare in size. It was an eerie place—just a handful of spindly trees, coarse brush, and jagged rock set in the middle of an unwelcome frigid sea. No birds called, no animals moved, no bugs skittered. The cold wind battered her as she walked along the rocky path, weaving between narrow stone crags until she reached a roughly carved spiral staircase leading down to the cave below.

Her heart began to thrum with nerves, her skin prickling in response to the presence of the ancient magick, her anxieties rising with each step. Barith and Niah had been with her the last time she’d come. She dipped down into the cave, now shielded from the angry winds. Levian could vividly remember the dragon’s grumbles and curses as they’d dropped into the cave, preparing himself to enter The Prison, all because he’d refused to let her go without him. She stepped off the last step and into a puddle of seawater at the base, using the memory of Barith and the comfort he brought her to urge her forward.

The ancient fae who had constructed The Prison were genius—it was fueled and protected by its own constant magick, requiring no aid or oversight by any outside creature. There were no guards or wardens—no other living thing except the prisoners themselves and the few allowed to visit them. The island existed between the mortal realm and the fae lands of Sylth?a. It was a forgotten place, precisely as it was meant to be—forsaken.

Levian forced her voice steady despite her nerves. “I have come to see Merlin,” she said, “I come alone.”

The air became stale, and the sudden silence made her ears ring. The rough old runes carved into the cave wall before her shimmered as the stone beneath darkened to a liquid black. Levian took a steadying breath. She’d chosen to do this alone, and there was no turning back now. She remembered Barith urging her forward the last time she’d come and stepped forward.

The compression of magick hit her as she passed through the portal, chilling her to the bone, and emerged into the frozen absolute darkness of The Prison—an abyss so vast she could feel its emptiness even if she couldn’t see it. A single orb of light appeared just before her, highlighting the fog of her breath. The tiny beacon floated forward, only bright enough to illuminate a few steps. She followed, her heartbeat quickening as she felt—or imagined—the touch of something dark, old, and very much alive slithering in the vast, consuming black around her. Barith had loomed at her back before, and she missed his hulking, grumbling presence.

Levian’s stomach lurched when the orb finally paused before a simple iron door. Much like last time, memories of her childhood overwhelmed her. She’d left The Prison the previous year, swearing she’d rather have her limbs torn from her person than return, yet here she stood. She clenched her fists and looked over her shoulder into the black, feeling Barith’s absence to her rattled bones.

Levian’s chest tightened painfully, her heart twisting in turmoil as the vivid memory of him lying asleep before the fire back at Ember Hall pushed away all the others. Barith had been a solid force to her for so long, and now—Levian shook her head, setting her jaw. She had to do this alone. Barith wasn’t always going to be there to comfort her and push her when she needed a nudge.

“You must do this yourself,” she whispered, steel in her tone. “He isn’t here, and you can do this alone.” Levian turned, her hand trembling, and reached for the door’s iron handle. The cold bit into her fingers, her grip wavering. With a grumbled curse reminiscent of Barith, she forced her nerves down and pushed the door open.

Merlin’s cell was a spacious oblong room with old wooden furniture and hundreds of books piled high. They were everywhere—stacked on the floor, crammed into sagging shelves, spilling from tables, and even peeking out from under his unmade bed in the corner. Levian loathed her father, but to her chagrin, there was no denying where her love for books and learning came from.

The cold air was heavy with the scent of parchment, damp stone, and incense. Merlin sat slumped in a worn-out wingback chair by the hearth, one socked foot propped up on a rickety table, a book resting on his stomach. He was asleep, his breathing soft and even. Levian’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. Merlin was commanding and intimidating, but watching him nap cut some of her anxieties down a few degrees.

The door shut behind her, echoing through the room. Merlin’s breath hitched, and he tensed, his eyes opening but still fixated down on the book in his lap. He remained utterly still for a moment, then his eyes snapped to hers.

Levian had been given a blessed moment to prepare herself and didn’t flinch when Merlin’s icy blue gaze locked on her, even if her stomach did churn. His eyes sharpened like a predator fixing on his prey. Levian crossed her arms, holding her ground. He might unnerve her, but she’d learned some lessons after her last visit. “Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with vicious sarcasm.

Merlin sat up slowly, swinging his foot off the table and shutting his book. He was gaunt—skin ashen, eyes hollow—a mere ghost of the man she remembered. His long, tangled beard was threaded with grey. His dark robes were ragged. And yet, his keen crystal blue eyes had not dulled in the slightest. “I hadn’t slept in three or four days,” he grumbled.

“Plotting how to escape?” she snarked in an attempt to ease her nerves. Levian forced herself to shift a step further into the room.

A smirk twitched at Merlin’s lips as he set his book aside. “Cercana’s Notes on Universal Magickal Streams , the 6th volume,” he said.

“I’ve read it,” she replied. “It’s quite dense.” The series spanned twelve volumes, each more unhinged than the one before. They were fascinating and challenging to understand but foundational to anyone studying the sources of magick in the cosmos.

Merlin’s gaze sharpened, lingering on her. “I’ve read through the entire series in a single sitting at least six times. I must be getting old.”

“You are old,” she confirmed flatly. Her tone had been a touch petulant, but she didn’t care.

Her father settled deeper into his chair, tugging at his threadbare robe, a smile playing at his lips. “Now that the pleasantries are behind us, might I ask… what became of that Star you were so interested in last time?”

“It’s none of your business,” she said curtly. Levian had ventured here to visit her father the year prior because she’d been desperate to help Gwendolyn. They’d feared she’d been used as a vessel to hide a dark source of powerful magick, and Merlin knew more than anyone about shadow magick. Through Merlin’s odious counter-speak, Levian had determined that Gwen had likely been used by her father, a vile mage, to hide the Star of Umbra as a babe. It hadn’t been until she’d been reborn part-vampire thanks to Sirus that Levian’s suspicions had been confirmed.

Umbra was the Celestial Star once protected by the Dokk and said to have been cast into the Abyss to save the city from total ruin. It was power itself. A source written about in Cercana’s odious books—and now it was hidden away in one of her dear friends, where she hoped no one would ever find it.

Merlin’s smile faltered at her stark refusal to indulge him. “Then out with it. Why have you come?” he grumbled.

Levian squared her shoulders, moving just a step further into the room. She hated being here again but could almost hear Barith’s growl, telling her she was just as clever as Merlin. All she needed to do was get what she needed and get out. “The Eldreth.”

Merlin cocked a brow at that. She hated how, in one look, he could make her feel like a child again—stupid, insignificant. “You’ll have to elaborate,” he drawled, reaching for a piece of stale bread beside his chair. He tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

Levian’s frustration and frayed nerves boiled to the surface. “What did you steal from them?” she demanded.

For a heartbeat, Merlin stilled—then those cutting blue eyes swung back to meet hers. Levian tilted her head, daring him to deny what she already knew. His eyes narrowed.

“The Eldreth can barter no deal with you,” he said coolly.

Levian drew out a small purple book from her jacket. His gaze locked on it, his posture shifting ever so slightly. Merlin never gave without getting, a fact she’d been reminded of during her last visit. This time, Levian had not come empty-handed. “Tell me what you know, and the book is yours,” she offered.

Merlin’s gaze lingered hungrily on the book. “What is it?”

Levian smirked, feeling triumphantly clever. “The journal of Ylvania, the old Spring King’s daughter. It details her secret love affair with one of the Dokk Lords during The Fall. It is the original and only copy.”

The journal had been a gift from Abigail on one of her birthdays. ‘ A rather dark romance with a tragic end’ is how the witch had described it. It had been that and more—a glimpse into another time. Another world, long lost. And another example of two creatures from different worlds whose love was not enough to endure their differences.,

Merlin’s eyes narrowed once more; suspicion mingled with curiosity. He leaned back, tapping his fingers together. “So the pixies sent you to me,” he drawled. “But what is it that brought you to them?”

Levian kept silent, letting the question hang unanswered. Merlin’s lips twisted in a half-smile. “It must be rather important to force you to deal with the likes of the Eldreth.” He shook his head. “They are beneath your dignity.”

Levian’s jaw clenched. “Is that so?”

Merlin sighed, running a hand over his unruly beard. “You are indulgent, Levian, but your heart is pure—like your mother’s.”

Hearing him compare her with her mother touched at an old festering wound that sent Levian’s skin burning with raw anger. Merlin looked her up and down appraisingly, reading her visceral response like leaves at the bottom of a cup.

“I wondered once,” he mused when she said nothing, “which side of the tree you might fall. I hoped it would be mine, but I am not sad it was Trislana’s.”

“Do not say her name,” Levian snarled, her ears crackling with fury. “ Never. ”

Merlin stiffened at her outburst, something like regret flickering across his face briefly before his gaze hardened. He laced his long, tattooed fingers and sat them in his lap before he said, “You’re an Ambassador now, are you not? The Wizen Council cannot know what you’re up to.”

Her blood pounded in her ears. Her voice was pure ice when she replied, “My business is my own, and since when did you begin to care about my well-being?”

The room fell silent for several deafening seconds, and Merlin glared at her. When he rose, he did so slowly, and Levian had to force herself not to slide back toward the door. Even without his powers, Merlin had a dark aura that was oppressive and terrifying. His voice was hollow when he spoke. “That night, I came for you,” he said, holding her gaze. “Do you remember it?”

Levian swallowed the nerves lodged in her throat. Despite herself, she began to tremble. She would never forget that night as long as she lived. Until her visit to The Prison last year, it had been the last she’d seen of her father.

Fearing Merlin was lost entirely to the shadows, Levian’s mother had fled with her into the night. They’d hidden away in the woods while Trislana had tried to reach Iathana, the Willow Mother, and leader of the dryads. Her mother had been banished from the Veil of the White Wood, the home of her people, after she’d run away with Merlin years before. Trislana had pleaded for Iathana to grant them sanctuary, but Merlin found them first. He’d come to take Levian back.

She glared at her father with pure and utter loathing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I knew I would not turn from my path,” Merlin told her. “But I came for you.”

“I don’t care,” she ground out darkly.

His jaw clenched, and he scowled down at her. Once, a long time ago, she’d felt warmth in the way he looked at her, but now, it was only a hollow, cold void.

“I knew your mother couldn’t stop me,” he continued, ignoring her, “but then you called to her. Cried for her. And she cried for you.” He tensed at the memory. “I am no noble man, Levian, and I have done horrible things you cannot imagine. I sold myself to the shadows,” he lifted his hands before him and clenched his fists, a mage with no magick, “and it cost me almost everything.”

Levian shifted backward, unsure if she wanted to scream or be sick as a wave of chaotic emotions flooded her. “You knew the cost,” she reminded him, her voice barely audible.

Merlin dropped his hands slowly back to his sides and nodded, his gaze dropping. “I did, but I was unwilling to pay them all,” he grumbled. “You may think me a monster, Levian—I am a monster—but that doesn’t mean I have never cared what happens to you.”

Her skin crackled faintly with dampened magick as the bitter rage inside her boiled over. She felt the pressure of The Prison’s enchantments that kept anyone from doing spell craft squeeze against her. “Im anor doria il? en’morn sharn,” she said in the Elder speech, her ears crackling. I hope you rot in the black hells.

It was one thing for her to hurl curses at him in common tongues, but to do it in the language of magick held a weight she wanted him to feel to the depths of his bones. Merlin shifted uncomfortably on his heel, his expression darkening.

She was no longer that little girl crying for her mother, afraid of what would happen to her family. Levian was a grown woman. A mage, for better or worse, like her father, and she would not leave this place again without him knowing.

Merlin gazed upon her with something almost like pride before lifting two fingers to his black heart and saying, “Vánath il'curan, selda.” I accept your curse, daughter.

There was no magick to bind what they’d just done, but the act held a heavy weight. Levian was overwhelmed and angry, her body betraying her, shaking with evident emotion as the crackling in her ears subsided.

Merlin didn’t taunt her. He gazed at her for a long moment before he turned his back to her to tend to his fire, giving her a moment to collect herself. Levian tried to calm her trembling, but her nerves were gone, and to her shame, she wasn’t sure if she had the fortitude to get what she needed out of Merlin despite her efforts. She turned to leave.

Her eyes caught sight of a fae title stacked on a rickety table nearby, just as she did, In’sito Celaria . It was nothing sinister, just a book about the Dokk capital city of Celaria and its customs. She’d read something similar in the archive of The Towers once in school, and seeing it resurfaced a memory.

“The Celarian Temple, their priests wore black masks, did they not?” she asked.

Merlin turned back to face her at the strange question before he nodded. “They did.”

The gears in her head began to turn rapidly, bypassing her anxieties and desire to leave. “Why?” she asked, not able to fully recall.

Her father gave a little shrug, in nearly the same way she often did, to her irritation. “Tradition,” he said. “In the shadow, no one is known by their physical appearance but by the essence of their magick. Once the priests took their oaths, they were never seen by another without the mask. They became dedicated to the shadows.”

Levian didn’t care for Merlin’s reverent tone when speaking of the Celarian priests, but she pushed past it. The thieves had used very effective glamours, according to Abigail, so it had puzzled her why they’d also chosen to wear black masks. The only reason she’d deduced was that they wanted the masks to be recognized, but none of the thefts had been particularly public to warrant such a calling card.

Barith had asked her if she thought Merlin might know to what ends the thieves were collecting their items. She’d bristled at the thought of asking her father then, and she wasn’t feeling any warmer to the proposition now. Still, she knew if Barith were with her, he’d grumble at her for passing up the obvious opportunity out of stubborn determination to figure it out on her own. She could almost hear the dragon’s voice in her head. ‘ Ye might as well make the most of it since ye’ve frozen yer ass off and had to talk to him already. ’ Her heart gave a dull, aching thump thinking about the dragon.

Levian cursed internally at the dragon and swallowed her stubbornness. “A Dokk dagger, the journal of a Dokk Lord, the ring of a Dokk elder, a piece of the Temple in Celaria, and the Heart Orb—why would anyone want all five of these things?” She offered Merlin the puzzle, even though a small prideful part of her hoped he couldn’t figure it out either.

Merlin tilted his head in an unnerving way. “All of those items would be great treasures to a true collector,” he told her, his voice stilted. That unnerved her more.

She turned to face him more directly. He knew something, and it was apparent he was withholding. Merlin looked back at her as if he was trying to determine if she were smart enough to figure it out on her own. It was infuriating. It was more infuriating that she’d been thinking about it for months and had yet to deduce a clear purpose, even though her bones told her it was troubling.

“You know more about the Dokk than anyone—what could someone do with them?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “That could be a compliment or a slight, but I’ll choose the former,” he drawled. With a sigh, he walked over to a table stacked with more papers and books to pour himself a glass of water. “What I said was true,” he pointed out. “A collector would consider any of those items quite prized, so they would likely lock them in a vault. It’s rare for any Folk to be daring enough to attempt to awaken an enchanted Dokk piece, let alone know how.” Merlin shifted back to his chair and sat, setting his glass on a stack of books, picking up his volume once more.

Levian’s ears burned when he looked up at her, clearly not planning to elaborate more. “So there’s no connection to the pieces?” she pressed him. “No spell you are aware they could be used for?”

Merlin lifted his brows. “I don’t recall saying that,” he replied flatly. “Not all Dokk artifacts are quite as dark and deadly as they’ve been made out to be, as you know. It’s a strange mix of things, but if I were to guess, I’d say someone might be hoping to find Celaria.”

Levian huffed. “What are you talking about? Celaria was destroyed during The Fall.”

Merlin wove his fingers in his lap and tsked at her. “Is that what all the books have told you? The books written by the Fae who overthrew the Dokk and ‘ saved us all from the evils of the Abyss and Shadow ’?” he asked condescendingly.

Levian glared at him, and he peered up at her. Clearly, he felt as though it was something she should’ve sorted out for herself a long time ago. “How could it be found?” she snapped, pushing past her insecurities.

He gave that little shrug. “It was destroyed, that is certain,” he replied. “But not even the fae could wipe it from existence. It was blighted and cursed in the eyes of the Folk, so no one would dare claim the lands. So the fae did all they could think to do.”

It hit her like a smack to the head. “They hid it,” she grumbled, furious that it had taken this long for her to sort it out.

Merlin smirked. “Where no one in Sylth?a or the mortal world could ever find it.”

Her stomach churned at the thought, and she looked at her father uneasily. “Did you?”

Merlin opened his book. “Stay away from the Eldreth,” he said again, ignoring her question. “And I would tell you to confide in Council about this Collector of yours, but we both know I would be wasting my breath.”

“And yet you did,” Levian sneered, turning to leave once more.

“Vane,” he growled loudly as she reached for the door. Levian stopped, turning her head only. His eyes remained on his book. “Lucian Everard Vane,” he elaborated.

“Is that name to mean something to me?” she clipped.

“A bone ring forged from a dryad’s spine,” he continued, his voice low. “Made when the fae kingdoms were at war over lands in Sylth?a. It has unique powers if you know how to use them.”

Levian swallowed back bile. Nothing forged in such a horrible way could ever be used for anything good. She focused on keeping her voice steady. “This is what was stolen from the Eldreth?” she questioned.

“Vane has the ring,” was all he replied.

She was shocked by his sudden admission. She wasn’t sure what had prompted him to give the name so freely—Merlin wasn’t driven by guilt or empathy—but she wasn’t compelled to ask either. Levian had never heard the name before but committed it to memory. She reached into her jacket, snatched the purple journal, and plopped it on a nearby stack of other books.

“For your troubles,” she snarked bitterly, ready to get out as fast as possible.

“Anar’thal a?l, líthiel vulan,” Merlin said in the fae as she reached for the door. Until we meet again, little fox. “And don’t underestimate Vane,” he added, audibly flipping a page of his book.

She stilled, an uncontrollable shudder rippling up her back. It’s what he’d called her as a girl—his little fox. Tears threatened, and she smashed them deep down, along with the overwhelming sadness that came with them.

Levain stepped back into the gaping black abyss, slamming the door to Merlin’s cell behind her, and let out a stuttered breath of rage that fogged before her. She stood alone, the little orb of light hovering nearby. She pressed her hand to her chest and cursed. She loathed Merlin, that he could still have this effect on her after all this time and all he’d done. If Barith was here, he would have snarled curses and threatened to pummel her father into the dirt.

She missed him. She would miss the dragon likely for the whole of her life, but there was no point in indulging in something that would only end badly, even if she was tempted.