Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 2

Two

A ric fidgeted with the cuffs as the councilors arranged themselves in the town hall, a jury judging him from behind a thick mahogany dais. Gilt-edged candelabras filled the room with a glow he found insipid compared to the flickering of hellfire. When Malekith stepped through the crimson portal, his very essence demanded attention. Here, surrounded by reminders of the life he'd left behind, Aric was only an intruder once more.

"Is that truly necessary?" Aric asked the guards, looking down at his manacles.

"Yes," another shot back. Bastian Held, he thought he'd heard another call the man. Too harsh, though, like gnashing iron. "Until we determine if this is a trap."

The acting townmaster—she'd introduced herself as Virida—stood before him, arms crossed tightly over her chest. In another place and time, she could have worn the armor of the defenders, and may well have, before her promotion. Acting. The very title implied something abrupt, unplanned had befallen the previous townmaster. Thornhaven, too, had endured much. They were all of them out of their depth, stepping into roles they'd never intended.

The part of Aric's mind that had spent too long studying demonic histories and listening to Malekith's stories late at night wondered if he could use that to his advantage.

"You asked to speak with us," she said coolly. "And now you will."

Her dark eyes searched his.

Aric drew a deep breath. "I know my appearance is . . . unexpected." His throat felt too dry, all the earnest speeches he'd rehearsed in those first few weeks under Malekith's rule vanished from his head. "My name is Aric Solarian. I'm—I was—a member of the Silver Tower."

The councilors exchanged glances. Their heads had all turned toward Virida, but she betrayed nothing.

"I realize this must sound like a trick of the demons. But I've been held prisoner in their realm for months—years, maybe. I’m not actually sure how long it's been." His voice cracked on the last words; he hadn't meant to sound so raw.

Virida frowned, arms still crossed. She didn't look away from him as she asked, "And why should we trust you?"

"Because I have a message for the Silver Tower mages," Aric said simply. "A warning."

She pursed her lips, studying him.

"Please. Just listen. The demons are planning something big?—"

"And why would you know that?" Bastian asked.

The room fell silent at once. Everyone's stares dug into Aric like shards of ice, and he had to fight not to squirm.

"Because they let it slip," Aric said finally. "While I was their prisoner."

They seemed to be waiting for more. He rubbed the backs of his hands over the cuffs, trying to scratch an itch at his wrists. It wasn't quite a lie, not entirely.

"I heard them talking about dismantling the wards all the way to Astaria. I know the path they're taking on their current campaign—the one that felled Drindal. I imagine they'll be striking here first before moving east."

Their faces remained blank.

"It's true," he insisted.

"And yet you knew when to arrive to scare off that patrol," Virida said softly.

Aric hesitated, then said, "I can't explain that. I only ran from Drindal when I—ah, managed to escape them. Yours is the first town I came across." His words tumbled over themselves. "I didn't have a plan. I only knew I had to run, and bring the Silver Tower a warning."

Virida was silent, hand cupped around her chin. The chamber was so still that the guttering of flames in their sconces echoed around them.

"You say you are a mage of the Silver Tower," Virida finally said. "And yet your spells . . ."

Aric exhaled. "I know. Yes, I learned some of their magics while I was their prisoner. I won't deny that. But you saw for yourself how effective they were at destroying their ranks."

"Have you mastered demonic magic, then?" Bastian asked.

It wasn't entirely unexpected; his skin prickled with unease.

"I did what I had to do to survive," Aric said slowly.

"And what if you lie?" Virida pressed further. "What if you're still under their control?"

The question hung heavy between them all before slowly dissipating like fog burned away by dawn.

Then she added, coldly: "Or what if you're a traitor?"

"I know you don't have any reason to believe me," Aric said slowly. "But I'm asking you to trust me. Let me stay here a while longer. I'll help out with whatever you need, earn my keep, prove I'm not a threat. All I ask is that you send word to the Silver Tower. They'll be able to vouch for my identity, at least."

So Aric hoped, in any case.

Virida's frown deepened, but she didn't interrupt.

"I want to help you prepare," Aric went on. "If the demons are planning an attack here, I want to give you a fighting chance. I saw the state your town is in. I know you're short on helping hands. Please, let me prove myself to you. You can watch me day and night, have guards on me at all times—I don't care. After months in the demon realm, under constant surveillance, I'm used to it." His throat tightened; he pushed the thought aside.

Virida glanced over her shoulder at the other councilors.

"It could be a trick," Bastian said.

"It could." Virida's expression was unreadable.

Aric watched her closely. A demonic torturer's smile from his past nipped at his heels; he pushed it away and faced her with open palms upraised.

She studied him for what felt like an eternity. Aric fought not to squirm under her stare.

Finally, she nodded. "Very well."

"Virida, this is madness," Bastian said, speaking quickly. "We can't just let him walk free."

"If he's truly from the Silver Tower, then he deserves a chance to prove it." Virida turned back to Aric, expression hardening once more. "You say you're willing to earn your place here. I'll hold you to that."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping. "But make no mistake, mage: if I find out you've lied to us, if I find even one shred of proof that you're working with the demons, I'll put you down myself."

Aric nodded slowly, trying to appear cowed. Inside, he felt only numbness. Virida didn't trust him, and he didn't blame her for that.

He'd just have to prove himself to them all.

Virida straightened, folding her hands in front of her. "You've asked for a chance to earn our trust," she said. "Very well. I've got just the task in mind."

Her smile was cold enough to make Aric's blood run chill.

The tang of sweat on his brow and the bitter sludge caking his gloves made it hard to remember he'd once wielded the fate of worlds in his hands. But now, as Aric toiled in the sewage tunnels beneath Thornhaven, ankle-deep in muck and stifled by the stench, it was all too easy to forget who he'd been. The rhythmic scrape of his shovel on stone, the dribble of sludge underfoot—these things were real. Grounding.

At least this was a problem he could tackle with brute force alone.

The dampness and the dark closed in around him, claustrophobic but somehow comforting, reminding him of the shadowy tunnels under the demon realm. But here there were no sinister echoes or malicious whispers carried on the damp winds. Only silence, broken by his own labored breathing and the occasional drip-drip-drip of water seeping through ancient stonework.

Aric leaned into the mindlessness of it, let the hours dissolve into a blur of exertion. No thoughts, no regrets; only the twist of the shovel in his hands and the rough abrasion of rock on leather gloves.

But as dusk fell and he staggered back to ground level, filth staining every inch of him, he knew he'd done good work. Repaired breach after breach; strengthened stone seams; stabilized sections near collapse.

And for now, at least, this exhausting monotony was enough.

Over the next week, Aric threw himself into any task he could find. He shored up breaches in the town's defenses, dug out trenches, and helped with repairs to the main gates. The townspeople were wary at first, but as he worked tirelessly alongside them, some of the suspicion began to fade from their eyes.

He helped reinforce a pig pen where a boar had broken free, and laughed with the children who rushed to round up the escaped pigs. He moved lumber and hoisted frames, and shared meals by the fires in the evening. It was far from the life he once knew, but it was honest work, and for now, that was enough.

But even as he integrated himself into Thornhaven's routines, Aric couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. There were too many hushed conversations when he entered a room, too many wary glances cast in his direction.

He dismissed it as paranoia until the night he awoke with a searing pain in his back.

The mark left by Malekith's sigil burned through his thin tunic like white-hot iron, and Aric curled into himself, stifling a cry. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, whispering seductions and mockeries that he couldn't understand.

We should have just cut him down ? —

Shh, you know it's not that simple. He's ? —

Aric squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if that would banish them.

Then a new voice cut through the noise—not a voice so much as a presence—and everything fell away. The sigil flared to life, illuminating the darkness around him.

And for just an instant, Aric saw through Malekith's eyes.

All was shadow and stone: thick chains binding wrists and ankles; scars crisscrossing over alabaster skin; violet eyes wide with fear—no, defiance. Faint torches cast the barest glow over it all, turning the chamber into a sea of muted shadows and painful screams that echoed off ancient stone walls.

Then Malekith turned his head slightly, as if sensing Aric's presence within his mind. Their eyes locked—and in those depths, Aric saw not just pain or rage or hatred . . .

But also a fragile flicker of hope.

The vision faded suddenly, leaving Aric breathless and disoriented on his bedroll once more.

What did this mean? Was Malekith trying to reach him somehow? Or was it merely wishful thinking on Aric's part?

He clenched his fists against that thought. He'd made his choice; he'd fled for a reason. But now an unwelcome sense of guilt clawed at him nonetheless: what if Malekith truly was in danger? Just how much damage had Sylthris really inflicted?

It didn't matter, he told himself. Malekith wasn't his problem any longer. Thornhaven—Astaria—were his priorities now. It was the only way to help them both.

Still, he couldn't forget the look in the demon prince's eyes.

"Oi!" An elderly farmer waved at him from across the town's main square. "Could use another pair of hands over here."

Aric finished setting the last shingle in place on the healer's shop roof and hurried down. The farmer had the kind of squat, solid frame that spoke of a lifetime of hard labor, but his age was catching up to him. As he approached, Aric saw the sweat glistening on the farmer's brow, his face creased with lines of worry.

"What do you need?" Aric asked.

"I'm tryin' to figure out what's been messin' with my crops," the farmer said. "Somethin' strange out in the woods. Thought I saw movement last night, but when I went to check it out, it was gone."

Aric felt a chill race through him. "And you want me to investigate?"

The farmer hesitated, then nodded. "Figure someone with your . . . experience might be better equipped to handle it than us plainfolk."

Aric's mind immediately leapt to the idea of a demon out there causing mischief. But it wouldn't make sense for a demon raiding party to settle in at the edge of town without launching an attack.

Unless they were waiting for something.

"I'll take care of it," Aric promised. "You have my word."

The farmer wiped his forehead with a grimy cloth and glanced around nervously. "I won't deny I'm concerned 'bout having a demon-bound mage pokin' around our woods," he said gruffly.

"Then I'll take someone with me," Aric offered quickly, hoping to ease the man's doubts.

The farmer studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "All right then. I'll send my boy Tomas with you." He jabbed his chin toward a gangly young man stacking wood nearby.

Aric suppressed a wince as he spotted the kid staring up at him with wide-eyed fear. Hardly ideal conditions for tracking a potentially dangerous threat. But if that was what it took to prove himself . . .

"Thank you." He gave Tomas what he hoped was an encouraging smile as the boy trotted over.

The two set off together across rolling fields and pastures turned rich shades of copper by the setting sun, toward where they thought they'd seen movement among the tree line beyond. As darkness crept over Thornhaven, they picked their way into the thick forest underbrush.

Twigs snapped beneath their feet as their eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, the shadows twisted and reached, forming shapes that weren't there when viewed directly. Aric's senses tingled with a lingering dread, the forest too still, too silent around them.

"This is where I saw it," Tomas said, gesturing to a small clearing ahead. "But now . . ."

Aric could see what he meant. The trees here were warped, their trunks twisting unnaturally. The underbrush was patchy, withered in some places, overgrown in others.

More worrying were the animal carcasses they found scattered about the clearing. A deer with its flesh shriveled and leathery, as though drained of all moisture. Birds fallen from the sky, their feathers brittle and discolored. A rabbit lying limp and cold with no apparent wound.

"What could have done this?" Tomas asked, voice trembling.

"I don't know." Aric knelt down to inspect the bodies closer.

The decay seemed to have set in far too quickly for any normal predator's work. And yet there was no visible trace of demonic magic that Aric could detect—not the distinctive sulfurous tang he associated with hellfire sorcery.

In truth, it reminded him more of something else: a spell gone wrong, much like the anomalous side effects of human magic destabilized during their campaign against demon forces—the very weapon that had brought about his capture.

But Thornhaven was too far removed from any direct battlefronts for Aric to imagine such magic reaching it here.

Aric stepped into the clearing, senses on high alert. But as he neared the tree line, another vision slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Malekith, bound in chains, shrouded in flame. The fire danced around him, and he writhed in agony as his flesh blistered and burned. His screams reverberated through Aric's skull, and he the heat licked at Aric's own skin, smell the acrid stench of burning flesh.

"Stop it," Malekith whispered through the pain. "Make it stop?—"

"Are you all right?" Tomas asked, voice distant and tinny.

The vision snapped away, leaving Aric gasping for air. The sigil on his back still burned, searing him from the inside out. Malekith's presence lingered on, his power, resonating through him like a dark echo.

"I'm fine," Aric said hoarsely. He forced himself to look at Tomas—a face creased with concern, not fear. "I just . . . need a moment."

But Tomas wasn't buying it. "I've seen that look before," he said quietly. "You saw something, didn't you?"

Aric wrestled with himself. Tomas had been nothing but kind, trusting him even when others shied away. But that was exactly why Aric didn't want to burden him, to drag him into the web of secrets and lies that ensnared his own existence. He didn't want to become a source of fear for Thornhaven's people any more than he already was.

"It's nothing," Aric said finally, forcing a smile. "Just an old memory."

Tomas studied him a moment longer, but whatever he saw in Aric's eyes must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly. "All right. But if there's anything you need to talk about . . ."

Aric's chest tightened. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

After his investigation in the woods, Aric returned to Thornhaven with a strange sense of unease, the details of his vision gnawing at him. He barely slept that night, the sigil on his back burning hotter with each passing hour. But he forced himself to push it aside, to focus on the task at hand: proving himself to Thornhaven's people.

He reported his findings to Mayor Virida, careful to frame them as anomalous—perhaps the lingering effects of the crumbled wards or one of the demons' curses. She listened closely, her frown deepening as he spoke.

"I don't like it," she said finally. "But I believe you when you say it's not a demonic threat." Her tone was uncertain, as if she were trying to convince herself. "Still, we can't be too careful. I'll have the guards increase patrols in that area and set up protective wards."

"Thank you," Aric said. "I only want to help."

Virida watched him, her expression softening ever so slightly. "I hope you mean that," she said. "Because Thornhaven could use someone with your skills right now."

Aric nodded, a weight lifting from his chest. Slowly but surely, he was earning their trust.

That evening, Aric was surprised when he received an invitation from the tavern keeper to join some of the guards and townsfolk for drinks. It was the first time anyone had reached out to him since his arrival, and he accepted with a cautious smile.

Inside the bustling tavern, laughter and music filled the air. Bastian, the guard captain, was already seated at a long table with a tankard in hand. He gave Aric a nod as he approached, though there was a tightness around his eyes that warned Aric off of saying anything more.

"Figured it was about time we got to know each other," Kamlo, an older guardsman, said, his gruffness softened by the ale. "You've done good work these past weeks."

"Thank you," Aric said, though a part of him still waited for the other shoe to drop.

As the night wore on, more townsfolk joined their table, sharing stories of demon raids and victories won. A woman named Delia recounted how she'd taken down three demons with her crossbow while defending the walls. A burly blacksmith named Jorun bragged about forging armor for half the town's defenders. Each tale was met with raucous laughter and sloshing tankards.

Aric listened in awe, feeling a bittersweet pang in his chest. These people were strong, resilient, even in the face of all they had lost. They were everything he had once aspired to be. And yet now he was only an outsider looking in, a ghost haunting his own past.

Just as he began to feel truly at ease among them, though, a small child burst into the tavern.

"A monster! Near the town's edge!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The revelry died instantly as everyone turned to stare. Aric set down his tankard with a grim smile. "Looks like we might have some company."

Aric leapt to his feet, and in moments, they were racing toward the town's edge, several townsfolk following. The firelight danced wildly around them, casting strange shadows over faces lined with panic.

As they approached the scene, Aric's breath caught in his throat. A corpse lay sprawled across the cobblestones, but it was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

The body had been twisted, contorted by some unseen force. Limbs bent at impossible angles, skin stretched taut over warped bones. Worst of all were the eyes—empty sockets oozing with dark, viscous liquid.

"What in the gods' name . . ." a guard murmured, face pale.

Aric knelt by the body, heart pounding. The proximity to his visions made it hard to focus; it felt as if he were caught in Malekith's gaze once more.

"Anomalies," Aric said softly, understanding at last. "The side effects of magic gone wrong. This is what it looks like."

The townsfolk recoiled, whispers of fear spreading through the crowd. But Aric remained steady, a calm at the center of their storm.

"We need to secure the area," he said firmly. "Move back the perimeter, and keep watch for anything unusual."

A handful of guards jumped to obey. Virida watched Aric closely, an odd mix of emotions in her eyes.

"What do you need us to do?" Bastian asked, voice tight.

Aric gave him a terse smile. "Just follow my lead."

As they worked together to secure the scene, Aric felt a strange warmth spreading through him. Despite everything—the secrecy, the lies—this was what he'd yearned for. A place where he could use his talents to protect those who couldn't defend themselves.

The next day, Aric met with Mayor Virida to discuss increasing the town's magical defenses. Her office was tucked away in a narrow stone building at the heart of Thornhaven's marketplace, the walls lined with grim portraits of past townmasters staring down at them.

"We're stretched thin as it is," Virida said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Between your reports of those anomalies and the constant demon threats, I don't know how much more we can handle."

Aric shifted in his seat, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. He was still getting used to how physical every part of life in Thornhaven felt. But even that, he reminded himself, was a privilege—a reminder that he was alive and free to make these small sacrifices now.

"I can help bolster your wards," he offered. "It won't be much, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Virida's lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. "You've proven yourself to us over these past weeks. I trust your judgment."

A warmth spread through Aric's chest, and he sat up a little straighter.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, breathless and wide-eyed as he burst into the office.

"Mayor Virida!" he gasped out. "Trouble at the gates—a band of horsemen in silver armor, approaching fast."

Virida's face paled, her eyes darting to Aric. "The Pureblade Order."

The Pureblade Order. Those three words filled Aric with a chilling dread. The ones who wanted him dead more than any demon in their realm ever did.

But before he could voice a protest, they were at the gates, demanding to see him. The town was abuzz with activity as the knights dismounted their horses, their silver armor shining in the torchlight. Despite the years that had passed, they looked exactly as he'd remembered: broad, serious faces, hands always a hair's breadth from the hilts of their swords. Weapons chosen not to incapacitate but to dismember.

Panic roared in his chest as he staggered back from the door, gasping for air. He heard himself speaking, felt his throat vibrating with it, but couldn't tell over the rush of fear what words he'd actually chosen.

Virida's hand landed on his shoulder like a rough shackle. "I swear to you, I didn't call them. I sent word to the Silver Tower just like you asked me to."

A hush fell over the room as Bastian stepped forward, his arms folded over his chest. "No," he said roughly. "I called them."

Aric's heart skipped a beat as he turned back to Bastian with wide eyes. How could he have been so naive?

"You were never one of us," Bastian sneered. "And we know exactly how to deal with demonic taint like yours."