All the Sacrifice of Shadows (Starstorm #2)

Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

D rake did not sleep.

Not after he and Creslyn returned to the castle, not after the steaming shower they shared when he took her again, and not after she’d fallen asleep curled into his side. His eyes would close, heavy with what could be mistaken for exhaustion, but slumber was elusive. He had no need for sleep, he couldn’t even recall the last time he drifted into the world of dreams and nightmares. Though he supposed it was probably for the best, as his thoughts would not settle.

He couldn’t shake the uncomfortable sensation that something was going to go wrong. The mounting dread hung around him like an ominous cloud of doom. It would be a risk to bring her with him to the Fenmire Bogs, yet at the same time, he refused to leave her behind at Castle Brackroth. Marius had already tried to take her life once in Drake’s absence, and he had no doubt the bastard would attempt to do so again as soon as he was gone. Unfortunately, it was more than just the journey to the bogs that occupied his mind with worry.

He had not visited Dragnott Lair in some time, and while he doubted the dragons would cause any harm to Brackroth, there was a chance they could become restless, posing a danger to the city as well as the dragon-riders. His soldiers flew them, trained them, but the majestic beasts fell under his command. And with Kjeld still in Aeramere, awaiting Drake’s orders, there was no one to assist with the whelps.

His thoughts whirled, slowly descending into a storm of mild chaos.

It had been a reckless decision to assume he could bring Creslyn to Brackroth and not be faced with any sort of backlash, and while his loyalty extended far, Marius had made it quite clear that he, too, was capable of immeasurable deceit. Most notably with Stygg’s recent betrayal. If Marius could turn one of his own dragon-riders against him, there was no telling how many others he had bribed or threatened to follow suit. Which brought Drake to his next conclusion—Creslyn belonged in Aeramere. And for Drake, that meant only one of two things. Abandon Brackroth and his dragons forever in favor of the security of his wife’s life, or leave her in Aeramere within the fortified walls of House Celestine until he could break his curse and be free from Marius’s clutches permanently.

Drake forced his thoughts to empty as wisps of shadows slinked around his shoulders, easing the burden there.

Creslyn’s deep inhales and exhales kept him company as he reclined in the bed beside her, his hands tucked behind his head with her warm, naked body sprawled across his torso. He reached toward her, running his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, twirling them slowly, his gaze trained on the spitting flames of a fire in the hearth.

The gray haze of morning spilled into the room, filtered by the heavy drapes framing each window. Creslyn stirred, stretching, and the diamonds piercing her nipples scraped lightly along his chest as she eased up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She blinked, her hooded gaze lingering on him and her pink lips curving at the corners. “Morning, husband.”

“Good morning, wife.” Drake’s cock twitched but he ignored it, for once wishing he could feel the warmth, the light, that radiated from her instead of the oppressive cold that continuously enveloped him.

“Do you not ever sleep?” she asked, sliding over him, then climbing off the bed.

She sauntered toward the bathing suite, and he tracked the gentle sway of her hips.

“I haven’t in years.”

Creslyn stilled, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Years? Truly?”

He lifted one shoulder, dismissing the notion. “I haven’t the need.”

A tiny line furrowed across her brow. “How curious.”

As Creslyn freshened up, Drake dressed. He put on his leathers, stalking into the bathing suite to brush his teeth and splash some cold water on his face while Creslyn twisted the multi-colored strands of her hair into a thick plait.

“Is it a long day of travel?” she asked, leaving him to peruse the array of gowns lining her closet.

“A full day if the weather is on our side.”

“And where is it we’re going?” Her nose wrinkled in distaste at her options. “I think you failed to mention it last night.”

“North.”

She quirked a brow, planting one hand on her hip. “Further north than the Northernlands? Does such a place exist?”

“Many places exist, kearsta .” Drake strolled over toward the chest of drawers shoved against the far wall. “But you will not be wearing a gown today.”

“Oh?”

He opened the top drawer and pulled out a satchel wrapped in silver tissue, then turned and placed it upon the bed. “I had these made for you the day you trained with Kjeld and punched him in the face.”

Creslyn’s sapphire eyes illuminated with excitement, and she lurched toward the package, tearing it open the way a child might on the morning of Winter Solstice. But then her smile faltered and something akin to surprise, or shock even, illuminated her pretty face.

“Drake,” she breathed, removing the riding leathers from the crumpled tissue. She ran her fingers over the supple leather as though it was the finest lace. “They are magnificent.”

“Go put them on, I’d like to make sure they fit properly before we travel.” It was a rotten excuse, but she bought it. He just wanted to see what she would look like wearing them. He already knew they would fit her perfectly.

Drake smirked, pulling on his boots and fastening the laces, her murmurs of awe and pure joy echoing from the opposite side of the room. Then he stood and tugged on his gloves, covering the scars on his hands.

“Well?” Creslyn asked.

Drake glanced over and froze.

His mind emptied of all rational thought.

Creslyn was exquisite .

The leather he’d chosen for her was a sleek black with a rainbow sheen, shimmering, just like her. Crushed moonstone was formed into twin eight-pointed stars on her hips, the longest point stretching down the length of her thighs. The corset was snug, cinching her waist, and studded with diamonds near the swell of her breasts. Smooth leather draped off her shoulders, covering her arms, stitched with two silver dragons, the tails wrapping around her delicate wrists.

Drake’s mouth ran dry, and for the briefest of moments, he forgot how to breathe.

Her brows furrowed. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He swallowed. “I think I made a mistake.”

Creslyn’s face fell, crushed beneath the weight of his words.

He went to her immediately, taking her in his arms. “You misunderstand me, sjellhert . Now that you’ve put them on, all I want to do is take them off of you.”

She brightened, rising on her toes to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Soft and warm and everything he never thought he wanted.

“If we do not leave now,” he muttered, pulling her close as she squirmed in his hold, “we will never make it out of this bedroom.”

“Then we should probably be on our way.”

Creslyn twirled away from him, her braid whipping through the air. He caught her by the woven plait, yanking on it slightly, angling her head back for another kiss.

“After you, solysa ,” Drake murmured, smacking her leather-clad ass.

After ensuring Svartos was packed with bundles of extra clothing, food, and a few other provisions, Drake and Creslyn took to the skies.

They soared over Brackroth, past the jagged mountain peaks and channels of rivers cutting through them, to where the murky clouds faded into a swath of crystalline blue. Rays of sunlight bounced off Creslyn, showering her in a wash of gold, crowning her like a goddess. Yet its warmth never quite reached Drake, its radiance carefully avoiding the darkness of his soul.

He guided Svartos north, over the stretch of land known as Rivermoor, where lush valleys rose and fell, winding rivers emptied into lakes of turquoise, and small villages dotted the picturesque landscape. Rivermoor was a quiet country, one Marius had seemingly ignored for their lack of wealth, and Drake could only hope it remained that way.

The longer they flew, the colder the air became, and Creslyn snuggled back against him in an effort to block the chill of the wind.

She glanced up at him, brushing a few wisps of hair back from her face. “Where are we going exactly?”

Drake’s grip on Svartos’s reins tightened. “To the Fenmire Bogs.”

“Bogs?” Her nose crinkled in disgust, the freckles sprinkled there taking the shape of constellations. “Whatever for?”

Drake ran his teeth along his bottom lip, debating how much to tell her. It would be useless to keep it a secret. Either she would figure it out on her own or just barrel into his thoughts through the bond. When it came to Creslyn, it was far easier to tell her the truth than to try to manipulate her with a lie.

“There is a hag who dwells in the Fenmire Bogs.” He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze focused on the horizon. “She crafts a particular kind of gemstone called the virdis lepatite , an object of great power and destruction.”

“And…you want this gem?” Uncertainty edged her tone, her gaze darkening with concern.

“Not exactly. The virdis lepatite was responsible for the very near demise of Faeven. I have seen the ruination it is capable of inflicting.” Drake chose his next words very carefully. “Without the hag, no more stones can be created. Without the stones, its dark magic will no longer be accessible to the corrupt and villainous. It is my intent…to kill the hag.”

“I see.” Creslyn nodded, processing his words. “Is this hag the only inhabitant of the bogs?”

“She is not. The bogs are the current home of the Runes of Callievan, an ancient coven of witches who seek refuge there.” He always despised this part of the story. “Years ago, after Marius took me in, he fell in love with a witch named Zaleria. She offered him power beyond his wildest dreams, something he readily accepted. But being the selfish prick he is, Marius did not remain faithful to her, and when she left him, he went on a rampage. He slaughtered and imprisoned hundreds of witches. Burned them and tortured them. Those who could, fled, vanishing into the wretched bogs as a means to save themselves from a worse fate.”

Creslyn’s eyes rounded like glowing orbs. “King Marius is not your true father.”

It was not a question, but rather a statement of fact.

“No. He was like a father figure to me once, but that was long ago. Marius named me his heir once I was bound to the Shadowblade and his bidding, as a means of maintaining some form of control over me.” It had been a damning decision on Drake’s behalf. He’d craved it then, the lust for more power, to be both assassin and eventual king. “As you now know, I am not of his blood.”

She rubbed her lips together, considering. One finger tapped restlessly against her thigh. “And you think this coven of witches will simply allow us to waltz into their home and murder this hag in cold blood?”

Us.

Drake bit back a grin.

“Yes, because I plan on giving them something they want.” Malice curdled inside of him. “Marius’s head on a stake, as payment for his crimes against them.”

“But you do not yet have it,” Creslyn countered, a tiny crease forming between her brows. “His head, that is.”

“Not to worry, kearsta. I will get it soon enough.” Drake bent down, pressing a kiss to her temple. “And I never break my word.”