Shadows Entwined (Shadows Descent #3)

10. Caine

10

CAINE

I stare at the book in front of me, holding my hand up over it. The pages rustle and flip over, searching for anything about the Convergence.

“Anything?” Thorne asks, striding over with Blackthorn.

“No, not yet,” I grumble.

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Flint snaps, still glaring at his book. “We need more resources.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Blackthorn says, causing Flint to look up sharply and then reassess his current mood.

He produces an ancient-looking key from his pocket. “This will grant you access to the most restricted section of the library. Use it wisely.”

We all stare at the key. I’ve heard rumours about this section, whispers of forbidden knowledge and dangerous texts.

“Thank you, sir,” Thorne says, reaching for the key.

Blackthorn pulls it back slightly. “I’m trusting you with this. Whatever you find in there stays between us. Understood?”

We all nod solemnly.

“Good,” Blackthorn says, handing the key to Thorne. “Now, where is Miss Violet?”

“She went to speak with Amara,” Flint explains. “About Nathaniel.”

Blackthorn nods but doesn’t say anything.

“She’s been gone a while,” Flint says, frowning. “Maybe I should go check on her.”

“Give her time,” Blackthorn advises. “That conversation won’t be an easy one.”

I nod in agreement but can’t shake a feeling of unease. Something about this whole situation doesn’t sit right with me.

“While we wait for Violet, let’s see what we can find in this restricted section,” Thorne says, holding up the key.

We follow him to a far corner of the library, where an ornate door stands hidden behind a bookshelf. Thorne inserts the key, and with a soft click, the door swings open.

The air that rushes out is musty and thick with age. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes line the walls, their spines adorned with strange symbols and forgotten languages.

“Wow,” Flint breathes. “Where do we even start?”

“Let’s split up,” I suggest. “Look for anything mentioning the Convergence, the veils or the Old Ones.”

We each take a section, carefully pulling down books and scrolls. The texts are dense and often cryptic, written in languages that have been dead for centuries.

It’s dull work, but we have to be meticulous.

My hand drops suddenly over a page from a book with black pages that are more sinister than any I have ever come across. It growls at me and burns my hand, but it dropped for a reason.

“I’ve found something. I think,” I mutter.

“Something that book doesn’t want you to know,” Thorne states as it slams closed on my hand.

“Ow, you fucker. Open up.”

“Don’t swear at the books, Mr Caine,” Blackthorn says absently, flicking through his own ominous volume.

I glare at the book that has my hand sandwiched between its pages. “Fine. Please open up, you cantankerous tome.”

To my surprise, the book’s pages flutter open again, albeit reluctantly.

“Manners go a long way,” Blackthorn says, coming closer. “Although I’m surprised you managed to open it in the first place. This one is a particularly stubborn book.”

“Stubborn?”

“Hmm, yes,” he says, not drawing his eyes away from the text. “It is said to house the soul of Lucifer himself.”

I frown at it as Flint rears back. “As in the human version of the Devil?”

“You know another Lucifer?” Thorne asks, practically drooling all over the book as he moves in even closer.

“No,” Flint says, although he sounds like he desperately did.

I stifle my snicker and lift my hand, but only to move it to the edge of the book so it doesn’t slam closed again and lose us our page.

“What does it say?” I ask, glaring at it.

Blackthorn leans closer, peering at the page with a squint. “It’s hard to make out. The words keep shifting.”

“Fae?” Thorne perks up.

“No, definitely not Fae,” Blackthorn mutters. “Something far darker than anything I’ve come across before.”

We fall silent as Blackthorn picks up the book, hissing as it also burns him. I feel marginally vindicated that it’s not just me the book hates.

Blackthorn’s frown deepens. “If you read this using the ancient Aramaic text, it says something about a vessel... a being of great power who could potentially channel an Old One during the Convergence.”

My blood runs cold, as that raises more red flags than I am comfortable with. “A vessel like Violet, you mean?”

The others’ heads snap up, their expressions mirroring my concern.

“It’s possible,” Blackthorn says slowly. “It says the vessel is born of two realms and lived two different lives.”

“That definitely fits Violet,” I mutter.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Flint states. “She has lived three different lives.”

“Does that put her out of the running or more in it, though?” I ask a damn good question. Old magickal texts are big on specificity.

“In it,” Blackthorn says. “I misread. It is three different lives.”

Three sets of eyes glare at him, which he does a damn good job of ignoring.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” he says dryly after a beat. “You will forgive my lack of fluency in this ancient demonic language.”

“What else does it say about this vessel?” I ask urgently.

Blackthorn’s eyes scan the page, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It speaks of great power and great sacrifice.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It’s not entirely clear,” Blackthorn admits.

“There’s more,” Blackthorn continues, his voice grave. His expression is grim as he reads the final passage. “The book speaks of a prophecy. It says that during the Convergence, a being of great power will arise, one who has the potential to either save our world or destroy it utterly.”

“Let me guess,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “This being is also the vessel?”

Blackthorn nods solemnly. “I’m afraid so. The prophecy, as we’ve already mentioned, is one born of two realms, who has lived three lives, and carries the blood of an ancient line.”

“Morgan’s line,” Thorne mutters.

“Precisely,” Blackthorn confirms. “The prophecy states that this being will face a choice during the Convergence, to embrace their power and become a force of creation or destruction beyond imagining, or to reject it and potentially doom our world to the Old Ones.”

“That’s not much of a choice,” Flint growls. “Either Violet loses herself, or we all die?”

“There has to be another way,” I insist. “Prophecies are never as straightforward as they seem. We need to find Violet and tell her about this. She needs to go into this with her eyes wide open.”

“I fear that it may be too late to prevent this from happening,” Blackthorn says, his eyes still on the text. “She knew.”

The last two words are whispered but are as loud as a roar in the silent library.

“Who knew what?” I whisper back, scared of raising my voice and shattering the delusion that this isn’t going to be the worst news ever.

Blackthorn slams the book closed and throws it on the table in disgust. “Morgan le Fay,” he growls. “She knew.”

“Knew what?” I snap, now getting annoyed with this lack of forthcoming.

“She knew Violet was the one to rise. She gave her essence to her child to complete what she couldn’t.”

My cold blood freezes as I take that in. Licking my lips as Thorne and Flint stare at him in disbelief, I clear my throat. “Are you saying Morgan planned all of this? Nathaniel, the Order, Violet being staked, just so she could give her essence to her daughter?”

Blackthorn’s serious blue eyes meet mine, dulled with a pain that is hard to read and even harder to look at. “It’s possible, yes.”

“No, you have backtracked,” Thorne snaps. “Two seconds ago, you said she knew this would happen.”

“Watch your tone, Mr Thorne. I am still your Headmaster,” Blackthorn growls.

Thorne visibly calms himself, but underneath, he is raging.

“There is a plot, yes,” Blackthorn concedes after he, too, calms himself. “It may run deeper than we think.”

“Amara,” Flint states. “I never trusted her.”

I shoot him a wry glare. “Don’t lie. You agreed that if our dads trusted her, then we should too.”

He rounds on me, fists clenched, and I rise, ready to smack some sense into him if needs be.

“Gentlemen,” Blackthorn interrupts our face-off. “It seems we have all been played.”

Seven words that send the bottom of the world smashing and grunt as it hits me. “I will kill him,” I growl.

“That would make you the Ice King. Sure you want to do that?” Thorne snaps, irritated but happy that his treacherous family isn’t involved in this shitshow.

“Dad wouldn’t do this,” Flint insists. “He wouldn’t. He is on Violet’s side.”

“Is he?” Blackthorn says. “I appreciate that you want to trust in your father, Mr Flint, but this collusion goes far beyond what we imagined. What I imagined.”

“What do you mean?” Flint demands, his voice rising. “You need to make sure you have a damn good reason for saying that... sir.”

I snort, unable to stop it from happening, even if I wanted to. His grand defence of his dad was cut woefully short by the sir .

Blackthorn sighs heavily, suddenly looking every one of his considerable years, despite his youthful appearance. It’s hard to remember he has seen empires rise and fall. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but I couldn’t be certain until now. The pieces are finally falling into place.”

“What pieces?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level despite the anger and betrayal that is punching me in the gut. Although why I feel so betrayed is beyond me. Dad is, was and always will be a douche canoe of the highest order.

“Violet’s turning and the events which led up to it, Violet’s sudden arrival here, Cryos and Glacier’s rally around her, Amara’s intense interest in Violet’s training, the timing of the Convergence, Nathaniel breaking free from the ice cage to stake Violet, Morgan’s sacrifice... it’s all been orchestrated. I believe they’ve been grooming Violet for this role, perhaps for centuries.”

“But why?” Thorne asks, his face pale. “This is a lot of scheming and machinations and who is really behind it all if that is the case? Amara? She’s the only one left standing?”

“Apart from our dads,” I point out, much to Flint’s rage.

“Power,” Blackthorn says simply, ignoring the Dragon snarling in the corner. “The kind of power that comes from channelling an Old One is beyond anything we can imagine. It seems they believe Violet is the key to unlocking that power, to harnessing an Old One’s power, the power of a god. And you know what gods can do?”

“Bring people back from the dead?” I pipe up helpfully.

“Precisely. They have sacrificed themselves for what they believe is the greater good.”

“And what happens to Violet in all of this?” Flint growls, his hands clenched into fists. “Does she just become a vessel, losing herself in the process so these creatures can continue using her?”

Blackthorn’s silence is answer enough.

“We have to stop this,” I say firmly. “We have to find Violet and get her out of here before the Convergence.”

“It may already be too late,” Blackthorn warns.

“Stop saying that,” I snap. “It’s not too late until the Convergence is here. We have two days.”

“One and a half, and if Amara has told her about her potential to become an Old One, which I suspect is high on the list of priorities, Violet may already be preparing herself for this outcome,” Blackthorn says gravely.

“No,” Flint growls. “Violet wouldn’t agree to that. She wouldn’t want to lose herself.”

“She might if she thinks it’s the only way to save everyone,” Thorne points out quietly. “This is Violet we’re talking about. She has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.”

I nod in agreement, a cold dread settling in my stomach. “We need to find her. Now.”

We all start towards the door, but Blackthorn’s voice stops us. “Wait. There’s one more thing you should know.”

We turn back, dread settling in my stomach. Blackthorn has opened the book and is reading from it again.

“The book mentions a price for this power. To fully channel an Old One, the vessel must sacrifice the last remnants of their humanity.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“No,” Flint says firmly. “We’re not letting that happen. Violet’s humanity is what makes her who she is. She may be a vampire and whatever else, but her compassion and love, her empathy for other creatures is profound.”

“Agreed,” Thorne nods. “We’ll find her and get her out of here if we have to.”

I nod, determination setting in. “Let’s go.”

We rush out of the restricted section, leaving Blackthorn behind with the demonic book. As we hurry through the halls of MistHallow, I suddenly come to a halt.

“What is it?” Thorne asks, slowing down to a stop as he sees me.

Leaning heavily on my cane, I give him a searching stare. Flint stops, too, although I can see the anxiety rippling beneath his skin. “Get her out of here, if necessary,” I murmur.

“Huh?” Flint asks but comes closer, knowing I’m not just uttering craziness.

“Cryos was insistent that I go back to the Ice Kingdom and bring Violet with me to protect her. Why would he do that if he was in on this conspiracy? He would want her here, right?”

Thorne and Flint exchange glances, considering my words.

“That’s a good point,” Flint says slowly. “If Cryos were really part of this plot, he’d want Violet here for the Convergence.”

“Unless it was all part of the deception,” Thorne argues, but I can see doubt creeping into his expression. “Make us think he was trying to protect her when really he just wanted to isolate her. If she is this vessel, and he is so-called protecting her, that leaves him wide open to swoop in, bring her back here at the right time, see her become a god and then use her.”

“For what? Last time I checked, gods don’t exactly do others’ bidding.”

“If that’s the case, then none of this makes sense,” Flint huffs, running a hand through his hair. “If the others sacrificed themselves knowing they would be brought back by Violet, then that flies in the face of everything we know about gods.”

“True,” I mutter. “This entire situation is...”

“What situation is what?” Violet asks, coming up behind me with Amara.

“Ah, there you are,” I say smoothly, straightening up. “This entire situation is exhausting. You should get some more rest.”

She fixes me with a searching stare, and I smile. She returns it, but she is wary. She knows I’m lying. But with Amara hovering, we have to play this game and hope that we can get Violet on her own, sooner rather than later.