Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 15

Fifteen

A ric's shock twisted into anger as he wrestled free of Sylthris’s grasp. "What the hells are you doing here? How did you even?—"

Sylthris smiled with unsettling amusement. "My trade is secrets, my dear boy. One need only know where to look."

Aric fought to steady himself, his senses warring against the nightmare images still clawing at his mind. Her presence in Astaria felt wrong on a primal level. The very air around her was thick with the acrid smoke of an encroaching storm, drowning out the fresher scents of spring wildflowers in bloom.

But she was here, somehow, even amidst the warded bastion of white stone. She was here, and every instinct Aric had screamed that it couldn't mean anything good.

"You're going to tell me what you're planning," he said through gritted teeth. "And you're going to do it now."

As Aric's hand whipped through the air, light flaring at his palm?—

Nothing happened.

No brilliant shield. No fiery glow. No familiar surge of power thrumming through his veins.

His breath hitched as a more primitive fear washed over him. But before he could react, Sylthris was on him, slamming him back against the cool marble of the archway. He strained against her hold, but her grip was inhumanly strong, pinning him in place with ease.

"You're in my space now, sweet mage." Sylthris's voice was a tickle against his ear, cold and smooth like moonlight on a dagger's edge. "Your little tricks are useless here."

Aric struggled to make sense of it. Suppressing his powers within Astaria itself? It was unthinkable. The wards that protected the city, the Tower's mages—they should have warned him. But something had gone very wrong if Sylthris could even be here. That she could completely shut off Aric's abilities . . .

"What do you want from me?" Aric ground out, refusing to let fear take hold in his voice.

"I'm here to help," she said. "Whether you believe it or not. Your city is in danger. But explaining it to you . . . would take far too long."

Her eyes gleamed with an eldritch light as she spoke, two stars shining in the night. Aric tried to look away, but her grip on him was unyielding, her will a palpable force pressing down on him.

"It would be easier to show you."

And with that, Sylthris plunged Aric into darkness.

The world around him faded away, Astaria's white stones and the bustling streets dissolving into mist. Aric fought against the pull, tried to ground himself in the real and the tangible, but it was like swimming against a tide. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts slow and muddled. The darkness wrapped around him like mist, suffocating and thick.

Aric's stomach lurched as the vision took hold, pulling him down, down, down?—

He felt . . . hands and chains and weight.

The floor cold and unyielding beneath his knees.

The pull of a dozen eyes on him, rank with scorn.

Was this still a vision? A dream? But it felt so real, too real—Aric didn't know if he wanted it to be the truth. Or if this was just?—

How had he gotten here?

He could see, he realized, but the sight was as if through a fog. Too bright, too dark, the light all wrong. He shifted his head, trying to move. But the chains were too heavy. The guards at either side of him were too strong.

Cold fury hung on the air like ice shards.

It sliced into him, pinning him to the ground with its merciless weight.

The Throne Room of the Wrathforge's citadel rose around him, oppressive stone walls that seemed to absorb all light. Torches glowed with an eerie greenish hue, their flames casting flickering shadows that danced like phantoms. Heavy black draperies hung from the vaulted ceiling, embroidered with sigils that pulsed with dark power. In the center of the room stood a massive onyx throne, its jagged contours reflecting the warped shapes of the room around it.

Sovereign Zaxos sat upon it, a towering figure of obsidian black skin and molten gold eyes that seemed to pierce through all they surveyed.

Aric's—or was it Malekith's?—vision swam and undulated with a surreal quality. He couldn't even feel Malekith's consciousness beside him; a blank spot in their bond throbbed where he should have felt him like a second skin. His senses were sharp and fragmented at once, both immediate and detached. He couldn't tell if he was truly here or trapped in a cruel vision meant to torment him. He couldn't find himself—the real him—at all.

But the anger radiating from Zaxos was real enough, palpable as any iron shackle. Aric couldn't tell whether it was Malekith who was cowering or himself.

"You have much to answer for," Zaxos growled, voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very stone of the citadel. "And much punishment yet to endure."

There was a rush of wind as Zaxos rose from his throne, shadowy wings unfurling like an inkblot in the air. The gathered demon lords and courtiers around them fell back with a murmured hiss, and Aric caught sight of Vizra's sly smile among them before her honey-skinned face disappeared into shadow.

Aric's fingers twitched where they lay shackled at Malekith's sides.

Memories pressed against him like shards of glass—faint echoes of faces and voices calling out to him: Malekith orchestrating an attack on Astaria; sabotage; betrayal; letting one human—no, two humans—escape; soldiers slaughtered by their own magic; innocent lives destroyed in a single fiery strike?—

Or was it Aric who had betrayed them? Who had failed them?

"Did you think I would not find out? That I would not see your treacherous hand in these events?" Zaxos continued, moving closer with each word. "You who I have trusted above all others."

Zaxos's voice rang out, echoing through the chamber like the tolling of a bell. "You stand accused of treason against your own kind. Of conspiring with our enemy, the filthy humans, and sabotaging our war efforts. Do you deny these charges?"

Aric's—or Malekith's—sight came into focus on the throne room's polished marble floor, a hazy reflection in the slick black surface. Malekith's face was contorted in a mask of defiance and fear.

"I deny it all," Malekith said, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around him.

Zaxos's golden eyes narrowed, a predator scenting blood. "Lies. We have evidence—witnesses who saw you consorting with your filthy human pet, plotting to betray us." Beside Zaxos, Sylthris smiled in triumph. The Sovereign spoke again. "You have undermined our plans at every turn, putting our victory at risk."

Aric's heart lurched in his chest as he watched Zaxos advance on Malekith, shadows lengthening behind him like an encroaching storm. He ached to touch Malekith's thoughts, to reassure him somehow. But there was nothing—only a void where their connection should have been.

"Sovereign, please," Malekith pleaded, his composure cracking. "You must believe me, it was all in service to a greater plan?—"

But his words were cut short as one of the guards slammed the butt of a spear into his jaw, sending him sprawling. Pain flared across Aric's own face, an echo of Malekith's agony.

"Hold your tongue, traitor," the guard snarled. "You will answer for your crimes."

Aric struggled against his invisible bonds, helpless within the vision but still filled with fury and fear for Malekith. He wanted to scream at them to stop, to let him go—but his voice was drowned out by Zaxos's laughter ringing in his ears.

The vision blurred and shifted again, dragging him down a dark corridor. He felt Malekith's body moving with him, head throbbing with every step, bruises blooming over pale skin.

The walls pulsed with a sickly green light, and distant screams echoed from unseen chambers. The scent of blood and burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of fear.

Aric's stomach churned as he was dragged into a torture chamber, devices of iron and bone lining the walls. Racks and chains, blades and brands—their purposes too horrific to imagine.

As the guards threw Malekith to the floor, Zaxos entered the chamber, Sylthris at his side. She looked more feral now, a gleam of triumph in her midnight-blue eyes.

"Leave us," Zaxos commanded, his voice smooth as oil. The guards bowed and withdrew, leaving Malekith shackled to the floor.

"Confess your plans, Malekith," Zaxos said, crouching down before him. "Tell me everything you intended."

But Malekith only spat blood at Zaxos's feet. "You know nothing of my plans," he said with a ragged laugh. "And you never will."

As the vision shifted again, Aric felt his stomach churn with dread as he watched through Malekith's eyes. The chamber faded away, replaced by a dungeon deep within the demon realm. Malekith was strapped to a stone table, his body taut with pain and fear.

Zaxos stood over him, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You will tell me what I want to know, Malekith," he said. "One way or another."

With a wave of his hand, arcane energy crackled through the air, slamming into Malekith's body. He screamed in agony as the magic tore through him, his muscles convulsing uncontrollably. Aric felt the pain echo through his own body, a distant echo of Malekith's torment.

The vision shifted again, and Aric watched as Malekith was suspended over a pit of writhing shadows. The darkness beneath him churned and roiled, as if hungry for his soul. Zaxos stood nearby, a look of cold satisfaction on his face.

"Confess, Malekith," he snarled. "Tell me what I need to know, and I will spare you this fate."

But Malekith only glared at him, his jaw set in defiance. "Never," he spat.

Zaxos's smile turned cruel, and he waved his hand again. The shadows surged upward, engulfing Malekith in their inky embrace. He screamed as they tore at his flesh, their icy claws ripping him apart. The pain seared into Aric as well, each tear and rip a knife to his own soul.

The vision shifted once more, and Aric watched in horror as Malekith was consumed by hellfire. The flames licked at his skin, agonizing, searing.

Through it all, Zaxos continued to demand answers, but Malekith refused to break. Aric felt sick, wanting desperately to look away but unable to do so. The images seared themselves into his mind, a reminder of the cruelty and ruthlessness of the demon realm.

Aric watched helplessly through Malekith's eyes as the torture scenes faded, leaving him back in the throne room. Malekith curled up on the floor, his body broken and bloody. Zaxos paced in frustration, while Sylthris watched with an expression of bored amusement.

"Perhaps we've been approaching this wrong," Sylthris suggested. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on Zaxos's. "Maybe Malekith really was just a pawn of 'that wicked human' all along."

Zaxos stopped pacing and turned to face Sylthris, his expression torn between anger and uncertainty. "Do you truly believe that?"

Sylthris nodded, a calculating gleam in her eyes. "It's possible, isn't it? We know so little about this human mage. He could be far more cunning than we realize."

Aric shivered as he watched the exchange between Zaxos and Sylthris. He knew all too well the danger that they posed to Malekith’s plans, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of Zaxos and Sylthris underestimating him.

As Zaxos considered Sylthris's words, Aric felt a spark of hope ignite within him. Perhaps there was still a chance to turn the tide, to stop Zaxos and save Malekith. But he knew that time was running out, and every moment they spent debating was another moment that Malekith suffered.

Zaxos initially scoffed at Sylthris's suggestion, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Malekith is no fool," he growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the crumpled form on the floor. "He would never allow himself to be manipulated by a mere human."

But as Sylthris continued to speak, her voice smooth and persuasive, Zaxos's expression began to change. She painted a vivid picture of Malekith as a pawn in Aric's cunning game, emphasizing how this could be turned to their advantage.

So Sylthris was manipulating Zaxos. Hardly a surprise there, but Aric felt no closer to grasping her true intentions just yet.

As Zaxos listened to Sylthris, his brow furrowed in thought. He paced back and forth across the throne room, his hands clasped behind his back. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps we have underestimated this human mage."

Sylthris smiled, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I can help you uncover the truth, my lord." She took a step closer to Zaxos. "Together, we can expose Aric's deception and crush him beneath our heels."

Aric watched, his heart pounding, as Zaxos turned to Sylthris, his eyes narrowed in thought. "What do you propose we do with Malekith if he was indeed just a pawn?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, I know just how to make use of him." She didn't elaborate further, but the chilling expression on her face filled Aric with terror that settled in the pit of his stomach.

As Aric continued to observe the scene unfolding before him, despair rose up in his throat. But as he searched for a way to break free from the vision and return to his own body, he found himself trapped, unable to move or speak. He could only watch in horror as the events unfolded before him, his hands trembling and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The silence in the throne room was palpable as Zaxos considered Sylthris's words. The tension was so thick that Aric could practically taste it, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting for Zaxos's response.

Finally, Zaxos nodded, his expression grim. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "We will proceed as you suggest."

The vision began to fade, the oppressive atmosphere of the throne room dissolving like mist. Zaxos and Sylthris turned away, their voices dropping to hushed whispers as they left the chamber. Aric strained to hear their words, but they slipped away like smoke, leaving him with nothing but a sense of dread and helplessness.

As the darkness encroached, Aric's gaze fell upon Malekith's broken form. The demon prince lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, his once-proud body weak and shattered. In that moment, Aric saw not the powerful, enigmatic figure he had come to know, but a vulnerable being, stripped of all pretense and power.

Malekith's lips moved, a silent whisper in the encroaching gloom. Though no sound escaped him, Aric read the word as clearly as if it had been shouted: "Aric."

The raw emotion in that single, silent utterance tore through Aric's heart. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, to promise that he would rescue Malekith. But before he could act, the vision shattered.

Aric's consciousness hurtled back into his own body with brutal force. He gasped, his eyes flying open as he jolted upright. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of what he had witnessed. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his hands trembled as he tried to orient himself in the familiar surroundings of his room in Astaria.

The lingering echoes of Malekith's pain clung to him like a shroud, and Aric found himself struggling to separate the vision from reality. He drew in ragged breaths, his mind reeling from the horrors he had witnessed and the task that now lay before him.

As the disorientation slowly ebbed, one thought crystallized in Aric's mind with painful clarity: he had to save Malekith from their plans, no matter the cost.