All the Sacrifice of Shadows (Starstorm #2)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

B rackroth was exactly as Drake had left it.

Cold and bleak, with a steady drizzle that seemed to seep from the constant presence of looming gray clouds. The air was ripe with the scent of fresh earth, sea spray, and dragon smoke. Mist curled through the steep mountains, dense and thick like rivers of silver. It had taken most of the day to cross from where the crystalline waters of the Arcasian Sea met the dark blue waves of the Havnokk Deep. What little daylight was left remained shrouded behind the wretched conditions, already giving way to the pitch of nightfall bleeding across the eastern sky.

Drake did his best to protect Creslyn from the abysmal weather, but her skin was damp and chilled, and raindrops clung to her lashes like tiny crystals.

He guided Svartos down toward the far ledge that jutted out away from the castle and the dragon cut left, swooping low to land upon the massive slab of uneven black stone. Obsidian wings stretched wide as he hit the ground, his claws grating against the slick surface as he came to a rumbling halt. Svartos’s head swiveled, those piercing yellow eyes narrowing just slightly, and he screeched once.

A warning.

They weren’t alone.

Drake climbed from the seat first, pulling Creslyn swiftly into his arms, then placed her carefully on the ground so she stood just behind him.

“Stay close ,” he whispered into her mind, and she nodded sharply, slipping her hand into his own.

Something warm and unrecognizable burrowed into him then, something he would dwell on at another time. Because the moment he turned around, two figures emerged from the billowing mist.

Marius stood a few feet away, cloaked in robes of burgundy, his large stomach swelling over a buckle of gold. His silver crown, embellished with muddy garnets, set atop his bald head and his papery lips were peeled back into a sneer. He wore no weapons, though they would have been of little use as he posed no true threat to Drake, but his hands were tucked behind his back and his expression was one of smug satisfaction.

But it was the man who ambled toward them with a shuffling gait that gave Drake pause.

Stygg was one of his dragon riders, his leathers worn and scorched from years of assisting Kjeld with the whelps, his hands littered with the same scars as Drake’s from too often being on the receiving end of a feisty whelp’s claws. His wet hair slashed across his face, keeping his eyes hidden from view, and he ducked his head low as he approached. One hand, Drake noticed, was fisted at his side.

“Your Highness.” Stygg bowed curtly and held out his hand, uncurling his fist to reveal a crumpled piece of parchment.

Drake released Creslyn’s hand and snatched it from his grasp.

He unfolded the thick paper, grimacing as a scrawled name inked in his own blood was smeared by the drops of rain. Rivulets of crimson spattered onto the ground at his feet.

He knew this name.

But…

Awareness caused the hairs along the back of his neck to stand on end, and a shiver of dread tingled down the bond, prodding at him.

Cautiously, he slid his gaze to Creslyn.

She was staring at Stygg, her eyes wide with an emotion akin to fright, yet her magic trembled, shuddering to life. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip so deeply, all color leached away, and he thought for certain she would draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, watching as Stygg turned on one heel and slowly walked away.

Creslyn’s breathing hitched, nearly imperceptible, but he sensed it as if she’d gasped out loud.

“That’s him.”

Ice froze Drake’s veins.

Him.

That one singular word was all it took for his power to seethe with vengeance.

“He…he used one of the dragons,” Creslyn continued to speak through the bond, her words hammering a frostbitten blade into his heart. “Astrylys. That was how he was able to get to me without Kjeld or the other dragon riders noticing. It was him and two others. They attacked me in my bedchamber. He groped my breast. He was the one who threw me off the cliff.”

For Drake, there was only silence. A pervasive quiet that haunted his soul, drowning out all other sound. He was the reaping, a summoner of death. His mounting rage shifted to an eerie calm, and even his shadows stilled, shrinking in fear.

“Stygg.” His voice was cold. Glacial. “A word?”

The man in question hesitated before slowly turning around to face him. Stygg lifted his chin, his traitorous gaze flicking to Creslyn before landing on Drake. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Are you aware of the punishment in Brackroth for touching another man’s property?” Drake asked mildly.

“Property?” Creslyn hissed, but Drake silenced her with a deadly look.

Stygg tucked his hands behind his back.

“Ah,” Drake mused, sauntering forward a few steps. “So, you are familiar with our customs. Touch what does not belong to you and lose your hands in exchange for your transgressions.”

Stygg stiffened, his lanky frame resembling that of a tree preparing to be snapped in half by a gust of wind. But then the prick had the audacity to scoff.

“If I should lose my hands, then you should lose your crown for bringing her here, for tainting our kingdom with her corrupt magic. Your wife is nothing more than a faerie whore. Besides, she practically begged me for it.” His vicious gaze latched onto Creslyn, and he snarled. “Isn’t that right? Tell your beloved prince how much you enjoyed it when I sank my nails into the rounded flesh of your…ample bosom.”

Creslyn jerked back as though she’d been slapped.

And that fissure of darkness lurking deep inside of her cracked open even wider into a gaping, endless chasm of anguish. Her rage mingled with fear and humiliation.

For Stygg’s betrayal, Drake would end his life in the worst way imaginable.

He pulled the Shadowblade with ease, its leather hilt vibrating in the palm of his hand, beckoning the sinister bloodlust to life.

Stygg paled, staggered back a step.

“An insult to my wife is an insult to me.” Drake twirled the midnight blade through his fingers. It hissed against the mist and hummed in anticipation. “So, let me be perfectly clear. First, I am going to cut off your hands for touching her. Then I will gouge out your eyes for looking upon her. I will carve out your tongue for even daring to speak to her. And as a final punishment for your lascivious thoughts regarding my wife, I am going to hack off your pathetic dick and shove it down your throat. The last thing you will remember before you die will be when I smile as you choke on your own cock.”

And that was exactly what Drake did.

He wielded the Shadowblade with accuracy, carving at the man until there was nothing left. His screams echoed through the howling wind, but there would be no mercy tonight. The sting of another skull marked Drake’s lower back, adding to the pile of death already there. A welcomed pain, like the comfort of an old friend.

The corner of his mouth lifted as Stygg choked and gagged, and then the Shadowblade stole his final breath.

Drake’s grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger as the bloodlust consumed him. At some point, he’d dropped the creased piece of parchment. It was discarded on the ground, coated in a puddle of blood and grime, but the name written upon it was already etched into Drake’s mind. Power emanated from the weapon in his hand, a thrum of vicious brutality that darkened his mind and twisted his judgment.

He lifted his gaze from the mess before him, his glare reaching Marius, the temptation to end his life greater than ever before. It would be all too easy to slay the swine of a king, but in doing so, Drake would forfeit his life as well, and in turn, the safety of Creslyn. A risk he was not yet willing to take.

Drake half-expected to find Marius pallid and unnerved by the sight before him, but instead the bastard maintained his callous smirk, his beady eyes fixated on something just behind Drake.

A faint whimper filled his ears.

Creslyn.

He spun around, sheathing the Shadowblade despite its violent protest, only to find Creslyn trembling. Her shoulders quaked with each broken sob and though she’d covered her face with her hands, he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Not even the rain could disguise them. Her mind was a torrent of cacophonous thoughts, a tragic rush of sorrowful emotion. The mating bond quivered with every one of her shuddering breaths, and while a small part of Drake knew he should feel empathetic toward her witnessing the might of his vengeance, he was filled instead with simmering anger and mounting frustration.

Drake locked his jaw, straightening his spine. His voice was cold and detached when he said, “I must go.”

The name of the man he would kill next was harbored in the darkest corners of his mind.

“No! You cannot.” She shook her head, her soaked strands of hair whipping in the cold breeze. “I…please…”

“You saw what I did here tonight, and I must do it again.” A sliver of remorse pierced him. “Though it will not be as gruesome.”

Creslyn’s head snapped up, her hands falling away to reveal a pair of puffy, sapphire eyes and damp lashes. She wrapped her arms around herself, firm resolve creasing her brow. “I am going with you.”

He bit back a sigh of vexation. “You will not.”

“Do not leave me here,” she warned, then softer, “Not with the king.”

But Drake refused to be swayed. She could not be both a damsel in need of saving and a powerful faerie who could handle herself. She would have to choose which role to play, and he had every intention of forcing the latter upon her.

“You told me you’re capable of defending yourself.” He threw his arms wide, gesturing toward Marius who was already slinking in the direction of the castle. “Well, here’s your opportunity.”

His lack of sympathy did not have the desired effect. Usually, her tongue was as sharp as her wit and sparking with the same amount of fire, but this time, he failed to ignite her indignation.

Creslyn broke beneath his lack of compassion.

“Why are you being so cruel?” Tears brimmed in her eyes once more and that plump little bottom lip trembled again—he hated being the cause of it. “I have done nothing to deserve such coldness from you.”

The bond between them convulsed, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms.

“The last thing I want is you crying over the fact that I will be forced to take another life in front of you.” Drake didn’t care if ice dripped from his tone, as this was not the fiery, spirited female he’d taken as his wife. Something had shifted, weakened her, and it made him grind his teeth.

“I will not cry. Not again.” She lifted her chin in a show of defiance. “Now that I know what to expect.”

“You think I always mutilate men until there is nothing left of them?” Drake raged, his shadows seethed. He was a monster. Cursed. Damned. Creslyn had claimed she accepted him, but that had been a lie. The truth was in the stark horror painted upon her pretty face. She would never want him. Not now. Not ever.

“I did that for you !” He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself against her, he’d never been forced to justify his actions. But the way she was looking at him, with teary repulsion, wrenched open something inside of his heart he’d long since buried. “I destroyed him for you ! For what he did, for what he wanted to do to you!”

Creslyn ducked her head, those damned glistening tears falling like broken diamonds down her cheeks.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. To face him. “Yet here you are with your miserable tears, crying over a man who deserved a far worse death than what I gave him.”

“I do not weep for him!” she shouted, yanking herself from his grasp. “I weep for you!”

Drake opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, rendered speechless by her outburst.

“I am sorry that I was not enough, that my blood was not enough to break your curse.” She gasped, chest heaving as she swiped at her face with the back of her hand. “And I am sorry that you are doomed to kill by that bastard’s hand. I was not enough for you, and I am sorry for it.”

She hiccuped and sniffled, and Zaleria’s riddle replayed in Drake’s mind.

Forced to kill by the hand of a king,

Cursed in this life with a fate unseen.

Bound to wield a blade of shadow,

Break your oath on ground most hallow.

Seek your freedom in the blood of stars,

Sacrifice your heart, your soul, your scars.

Son of rites, son of death,

You are darkness, her final breath.

Drake cupped the back of Creslyn’s neck, dragging her against him as rain fell harder, seeking the comfort of her warmth. His lips found hers.

“You are enough, kearsta ,” he whispered against her mouth. “You will always be enough.”