All the Sacrifice of Shadows (Starstorm #2)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

D rake did not approach the hag.

He concealed himself in the shadow realm, watching from a safe distance as the hag puttered around the outside her hut.

All he needed was confirmation.

Thinning, white hair hung past her shoulders and a twig with sprouts of leaves was tucked behind one ear. She wore a shabby cloak of soot gray, its hem frayed and the sleeves wide and gaping. In one hand, she held fast to a crooked oak cane, leaning her weight against it as she ambled through the uneven terrain of the bogs. Her back was hunched over, giving her the appearance of an old woman with ancient bones, but Drake knew better.

Every so often she would pause, then glance up at the sky with milky eyes. She would sniff, craning her neck in a different direction, then shake her head and continue muttering to herself as she hobbled toward a small fire. A scuffed cauldron sat atop the pit of flames, its bubbling contents filling the air with a foul, putrid scent. It reeked of sulfur and decaying bones and was enough to make Drake’s nose burn and his eyes water.

The hag tapped the cauldron with the tip of her cane twice, then grabbed a long pair of clamps from a nearby tree stump. She dipped the clamps into the boiling cauldron, a fitful wheeze escaping her as she pulled out a green gemstone tainted with dark magic. She held it up high, inspecting it from every angle, before dunking it back into the pot and adding a pinch of powder from a tan sack tied round her waist.

She was creating another virdis lepatite, and it was all the proof Drake needed. He could kill her right now if he wanted, end her life once and for all, and prevent realms and kingdoms from ever knowing the power of the gems she made. But doing so would set every coven of witches and hags upon him, and while his strength and power were immeasurable, there was something to be said about being greatly outnumbered. It was a chance he wasn’t willing to take, especially while Creslyn was in Zaleria’s company.

Drake made the trek back to the huts, eager to return to Creslyn and make his deal with Zaleria in exchange for the death of the hag. He moved with the shadows, shifting and crawling between warped trees and disfigured branches. Power swam through him as he navigated the bogs through gloomy shades of gray.

He stepped from the obscured darkness to discover both Creslyn and Zaleria standing outside of the rundown hut. While Zaleria looked peculiarly smug, it was Creslyn he couldn’t tear his gaze from. Her arms were crossed, her jaw set, and fierce determination radiated from her. In her riding leathers and with her plait of hair tossed over one shoulder, she looked positively lethal.

But there was something else.

A waver of uncertainty threaded the bond between them, but Drake ignored it. He would put her mind at ease, soothe whatever troubled her.

Drake eyed Zaleria, his lip curling at the sight of her. His fists clenched at his side, his hands itching to grab Creslyn, who was standing just a little too close to the witch. “I want to strike a bargain, Zaleria.”

Her head canted to one side, and her gold eyes darkened. “Oh?”

“I want to see the hag dead, so she can no longer create the virdis lepatite . And I intend to destroy any of them that may currently be in her possession, as those stones are far too dangerous for this world.” He rolled his shoulders back, neck cracking, as he prepared to name his price. “In exchange, I will bring you Marius’s head on a stake.”

Zaleria laughed, but it was apathetic and lacking its usual fullness.

“The king’s head does sound like a fine treasure. And I’m certain I could find some use for it, as it seems like a worthwhile trade.” She pressed her red lips together, and her forced smile faded. “No, I think I’d prefer something more…valuable.”

A needle of confusion stabbed Drake in the back and his brow creased. “What could you possibly want more than Marius’s head? After what he did to you and the Runes of Callievan?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, you see.” Zaleria’s arm shot out like a snake ready to strike, and her hand snared Creslyn by the neck, hauling her to the witch’s side. “I want your faerie.”

“ No .” Drake stepped forward, but Zaleria’s claw-like nails settled into Creslyn’s flesh—the one area no leather protected her—drawing tiny pinpricks of scarlet.

She gasped against the assault, head falling back, her deep blue eyes wide with fear.

“No,” he repeated, rage consuming him. “Not now. Not ever.”

Shadows expanded like wings of nightfall, thrashing and reaching, but one wrong move, one misstep, and Zaleria would sink her nails deeper into Creslyn’s neck. Or worse, rip out her throat completely. His magic amplified as swaths of darkness stretched, thick and suffocating, threatening to plunge them all into the shadow realm for good.

“Release her at once. She is mine . Through power and blood.” His gaze narrowed. “Creslyn is not some bargaining chip.”

“Now, now. Hear me out.” With her free hand, Zaleria lifted one of the chains tucked into her bodice. Hanging from the strand of metal was a virdis lepatite roughly shaped like a large rock. “I propose a better idea. I’ll even kill that old hag for you. And to make it fair, I get the faerie, and you…” She yanked off the necklace and tossed it to him. “Get this.”

He plucked it out of the air with one hand, turning the gemstone over in his palm.

“Don’t listen to her, Drake.” Creslyn’s voice was firm. Steadfast.

But the call of the virdis lepatite was stronger.

Dark, malevolent magic thrummed through him. It was a poison seeping into his veins, and he welcomed the rush of venom. His mind clouded, his thoughts evaporated, as the lust for power infiltrated his soul, its icy grip locking him in chains of vicious greed. The stone gripped his thoughts, corrupted his mind, snaring him deep into its ruthless hold. It was like a vise, clutching, squeezing, and the claws of its dangerous magic took root inside of him.

“Think of what you could become, more than a bloodthirsty assassin who bends to the will of a despicable king.” With each word Zaleria spoke, the sickly green stone burned brighter, pulsing in his open hand, tempting him. “You would be unstoppable. Untouchable. The power you would wield could shape new worlds. Or destroy them.”

One by one, he closed each of his fingers around the pendant.

“Drake,” Creslyn pleaded, his name soft as it fell from her lips. “Drake, look at me. Please, look at me.”

He blinked slowly, but staring at Creslyn was like looking at her through a foggy mirror. She was blurry, a smear of a reflection. She was there, just before him, yet out of reach. Her appearance was nothing more than a haze, unfocused and dimming. He could no longer recall the shape of her lips or the exact color of her eyes.

“Feel the bond,” she whispered, but it sounded as though she was speaking to him underwater. Distorted. Muted. “Feel my heart. Feel my soul.”

There was a faint tug, like a distant memory. A dull thump and nothing more.

His shadows cringed, flinching, drawing back into him.

“It isn’t love you crave,” Zaleria purred, her tone coaxing the darkness to life, and Drake allowed it to pull him under. “Monsters made from the dark don’t need the light, they simply seek to vanquish it.”

And what was he, if not a monster?

“Drake, do not do this,” Creslyn entreated, but he didn’t spare her a glance, his gaze once more drawn to the gem emanating its command over him. “Do not let her?—”

“Make your choice, shadow prince, for I do not have all day. There is a hag whose blood I would love to have on my hands,” Zaleria boomed, pushing him closer to the vile power needling its way into his soul and forcing him to choose. “The virdis lepatite for the faerie.”

But the choice had already been made.

He was a creature of malice, corrupted by bloodlust, cursed into a realm of shadows. He was wicked. Cruel. Nothing could reach him. Nothing could save him. He was beyond any favor from gods and goddesses, the stars disowned him, the fates abhorred him. He was a blight. A plague. But more than all those things, he was powerful . Cold engulfed him, waves of heartless, vile energy consumed him. Overwhelmed him. The stone seized him then, fully, its potency filling him with insurmountable force.

Drake was, and always would be, the villain.

He lifted his head, meeting Zaleria’s wild stare, and said, “Done.”

“Drake!”

He knew it was Creslyn who screamed his name, but he was far too gone to care. If he could not break his curse, then he would embrace it, and ensure the world suffered as he had for so long.

“Kill the hag,” Drake demanded, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Now.”

Zaleria snapped her fingers. “With pleasure.”

An explosion rumbled through the northern section of the bogs, quaking the ground so the marshy wetlands shuddered and the trees trembled, their boughs nearly snapping in half. Plumes of smoke rose from the heavy canopy of leaves, and the gust of frosty wind carried with it the scent of charred flesh. In the not so far distance, was the deafening sound of gurgling screams.

Zaleria smirked, smoothing her skirts, and dusting off her hands. “I never much cared for her, anyway.”

Drake nodded once, the nefarious lull of the virdis lepatite luring him further into his own madness. Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

“Drake! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Creslyn’s shouts were muted, silenced by a wall of foul magic. “Drake, please!”

A throaty, mocking laugh drifted through the trees, haunting him.

“DRAKE!”

Creslyn’s final scream did something to him. Perhaps it was in the way her panic chilled his blood, or maybe it was the way his name seemed lodged in the back of her throat, squeezed out by a gasping sob. But he felt it through that damning bond, the absolute snap, the definitive breaking of her heart.

His footing stumbled, just barely, and he paused for half of a breath.

His chest caved, his heart torn in half.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the gem firmly clutched in his grasp, and when he opened his eyes again, he kept walking away. And he did not look back.

Drake stomped through the bogs, but his footfalls grew heavy and weighted with each step. It was like traversing through ankle-deep muck, a slog to make any kind of progress. He was tethered to an invisible rope, one that continuously jerked and wrenched him backward, and he fought against the urge to sever it completely.

By the time he finally reached Svartos, Drake’s chest was heaving in pained breaths and his muscles were taut with agony, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years.

The dragon, however, was furious.

Svartos screeched and thrashed, rearing back on his hind legs, claws digging into the damp ground. His wings stretched in rage, the claws lining them catching on trees and branches, ripping them to shreds. He unlocked his massive jaw, displaying the fullness of his deadly fangs, and a fiery orange glow appeared in the back of his throat, sending waves of excruciating heat that slammed into Drake. Sweat lined his brow and dripped down his spine.

“Burn me, then.” Drake stared up at the dragon, spreading his arms wide. “End my suffering with your inferno.”

Svartos’s piercing yellow gaze narrowed. He threw his long neck back, sending the deadly blaze of his power high into the sky on a howling shriek. Fire engulfed the overhang of trees, scorching the leaves and charring the branches until they disintegrated into nothing but clumps of cinders, covering the bogs in a gray blanket of ash.

“Right.” Drake heaved himself up into the seat on the dragon’s back, slumping as his energy continued to drain. He gathered up the reins in a loose grip, his lids heavy, his mind weary. “Maybe next time.”

Svartos tossed his head, and Drake swore the beast scowled.

“ Vaeja ,” he muttered, falling forward, collapsing onto Svartos’s back.

The dragon hesitated, pawing at the ground, but then he was airborne and the bite of the wind was a harsh slap across Drake’s face.

Drake’s vision wavered as the distinctive thread binding him to the other half of his soul frayed, threatening to snap completely.

The dream world was not what Drake remembered, though to be fair, it had been hundreds of years since he’d slept, and his expectations were little more than a muddled memory.

At first, he thought he was in the shadow realm again, for the world around him was gray and dismal, like an opaque cloud of darkness. There were no mountains, no trees. No rivers or valleys. No earth, no skies. Just a constant, leaden mist of shadows that moved and shifted with his every breath. It was like he was in a place between worlds, where a permeating cold settled around him, where there was nothing but a vast expanse of emptiness.

Moments morphed into minutes, bleeding by in this endless state of unnatural delirium, until a collection of shadows gathered, taking the form of a figure.

It glided toward him, and Drake held his ground.

If his dream state chose to descend into nightmares, then he would welcome it. He deserved nothing less after what he’d done.

The figure approached, looming closer. A hood was pulled low over his face and a cape of ethereal mist swirled around him, never quite touching the ground. He moved with stealth, with regal silence, so much so that the lack of sound echoed loudly in Drake’s ears. There was only the beating of his heart, the distant, broken thud of another, and the slow intake and exhale of air as something tightened inside his chest.

“Who are you?” Drake asked, reaching for his Shadowblade.

But his hand grasped only air.

He glanced down sharply.

There was no blade, even the sheath had vanished. His riding leathers were gone. His other weapons were non-existent. In this place, only his shadows churned around him. They rippled around his shoulders and abdomen, cloaking his legs, extending from the tips of his fingers like wisps of night.

The figure lifted his head, and the hood fell back. The face that stared back at Drake was one seemingly carved from stone. His features were sharp and chiseled, his jaw locked, his mouth set in a hard, ruthless line. Silver hair fell to nearly his shoulders, the tips of them an inky black, and the strands billowed around him in a wind that did not exist. Cool gray eyes lined heavily with kohl gazed at him with composed indifference. Potent, ancient magic swelled, the scent of it reminiscent of bleak, cold winters, overripe fruit, and decaying blossoms.

The male spoke, his deep voice sounding like it had been forged from the otherworld itself. “You know my name.”

Drake swallowed, apprehension piercing through him as the realization sank in, cementing what he knew to be true, despite his lack of conviction.

“You are Aed.” Drake hoped he’d come to collect. “The god of death.”

“And you are Cian, god of shadow and prophecy.” The corner of Aed’s mouth lifted slightly. “Though I suppose Drake is more suiting. Either way, you are a god.”

Drake scoffed, the notion was absurd. “Is that so?”

“If it is not, then explain to me how you wield shadows like a weapon? How you can move between realms of darkness and light? The ability to foresee prophecies is not for the weak. It is a blessing bestowed to only a god, no other being is worthy of such a rite.” Aed tilted his head, analyzing Drake’s outright denial before he even spoke the words. “Not even you can trace the history of your origins, yet you would be so quick to dismiss the truth?”

“You are mistaken. I am a cursed soul, tainted and vile in every aspect. Gods are worshiped and feared, statues and altars are constructed in their honor, sacrifices are made for their favor, and prayers are whispered for their blessings. I am none of those things.” Fuming at his own misfortune, Drake lifted his chin in denial, his hands squeezing into tight fists. “You make a mockery of me and would have me think the damning life I’ve led for centuries is one of worth? And why would I dare believe such a thing?”

“Because…” The god of death’s partial smile vanished, his gaze narrowing. “You are my son.”

“Lies!” Drake shouted, and a wall of power slammed into him with such force, he sank to his knees in anguish.

Immense pain speared him like a blade, driving into his chest, his heart, his soul. His arms contorted, wrenching behind him. His head snapped back, sending stars dancing before his eyes. A groan of despair escaped him, his blood boiled, his magic waned—the shadows shriveling until they were just out of his grasp. He writhed in agony as his body spasmed, the pangs of torture so intense, he nearly considered begging for death.

“Call me a liar again,” the god of death crooned, “and I will end you.”

Aed’s power ebbed, subsiding just enough for Drake to draw a rough breath of air. It scraped the back of his throat and scalded his lungs.

“Your mother was Liadan, the goddess of rites, and I loved her. Yet, she was taken from me by the Ancient Ones.” Aed’s voice trembled with calculated rage. “All because she refused to give you up. They wanted you, not so much for your shadows, for darkness is easily created, but the prophecies…they are a source of greed.”

“What…” Drake rasped, struggling to stand, his body still reeling from the assault. “What do they want with prophecies?”

“The Ancient Ones are fading from existence. Those who were revered in the before are now all but forgotten. Their names. Their faces. Their power.” Aed moved closer, plunging them into a pitfall of impenetrable night. “They seek to restore what is lost to them, and prophecies…well, what better way to gain control of realms than by holding the secrets of fate?”

Drake shook his head, wincing as his temples throbbed and ached. “And what of Liadan? Of my mother?”

Aed’s face morphed into a mask of chiseled stone. “She hid you away in the shadow realm, beyond their reach, to save your life. And as punishment, they took her from me.”

Drake opened his mouth, but the god of death lifted one hand, silencing him. “I do not know if she lives, if her heart continues to beat.”

“Then why now?” Drake demanded. “Why have you come to tell me this now? Why not years ago, before…”

Before I became what I am , he wanted to say.

“Your choices are your own to make,” Aed’s answer was cold, a hint of malice cutting through his tone. “Gods do not meddle, they do not interfere unless they are begged for assistance. And sometimes, not even then.”

Drake’s brows pinched together, a waver of uncertainty shuddering down his spine. “I did not beg for you.”

“No.” He drew the word out, opening the palm of his hand where a fragment of golden light and shimmery rainbows swirled like a floating orb. “But she did.”

She.

Creslyn.

Shit.

“The celestial faerie was right.” Aed reached out, grabbing a hideous green gem whose glow faded abruptly in the palm of his hand. “This is not who you are.”

Drake had no idea how the god of death had pulled the virdis lepatite into the strange dream world, and he didn’t dare ask. He could only watch as Aed crushed the stone with his fist, reducing it to nothing more than blood, bones, and fumes of rancid magic.

“You are not a monster. You are a god .” Aed sneered as he dusted the remains from his hands, and then his silver gaze latched onto Drake. “Now…act like one.”

There was another burst of profound magic and Drake jerked upright, his eyes flying open. He was still seated atop of Svartos, the dragon’s black wings slicing through wispy gray clouds as a sliver of moonlight illuminated their path through the night sky, and the virdis lepatite was gone.

He blinked once. Twice.

Either that was one hell of a dream, or Aed had indeed paid him a startling visit, and he was a god.

Drake’s shadows preened at the acknowledgement.

Fuck.

He grabbed the reins, coiling them in his fists, and steered Svartos back toward the Fenmire Bogs.

Creslyn. He had to get to Creslyn.

“Creslyn!” Drake shouted through the bond, hoping it would reach her. “ Answer me!”

But Creslyn did not respond, and the fraying bond remained painfully silent.