Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 20

Twenty

T he sounds of battle pursued Aric as he tore down the palace corridors after Valerian, exhaustion straining against him with every step. The guards fighting the demons outside the walls were a distant roar now, but the shouts and cries still lingered in his ears, a reminder of the chaos he'd left behind.

Aric's muscles were burning, his lungs fighting for every precious breath, but he pushed himself onward, his mind a swirling maelstrom of rage and confusion. How could Valerian have done this? How could he have betrayed their people, their kingdom, for the sake of what? A little power? A little influence? No, that wasn't right. There had to be more to it, a deeper motive that Aric was missing.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried to see it, to parse the logic of Valerian's actions, all he could find was a bitter void, a darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

He reached the end of the corridor, skidding to a stop before a pair of ornate doors. The King's chambers. Now it felt like a tomb, cold and unyielding, the silence inside a mocking rebuke.

Aric clenched his fists. There was only one way to find out the truth. Only one way to know for sure if Valerian was truly beyond redemption.

The guards flinched as Aric approached, but their swords stayed sheathed as they took in his silver armor. They weren't prepared for anything more sinister than the demons currently clawing through the city, and he didn't want to give them any ideas. He kept his hands where they could see them, his eyes locked on the doors, still only slightly ajar.

Inside, the council chamber was in chaos. King Aster sat slumped in his throne at the far end of the room, his face even more drawn and pale than it had been earlier in the day. Around him, his advisers and court officials were a flurry of motion, their voices a rising crescendo of panic and fear.

"We need to seal the rift," one of them shouted. "But the demons?—"

"They're too strong," another yelled. "We need more mages?—"

"We don't have the strength," a third added, her eyes wide with terror. "Then we must retreat. Gather the citizens into the Inner Ward."

"The wards won't hold much longer at this rate!" Valerian shouted, his voice rising above the others. He was standing near the head of the long council table, his face set in a grim mask. "We need to focus on sealing the rift before the demons break through."

Aric took in the room. He recognized most of the faces—some lower-ranking Pureblade officers, a few others from the Silver Tower, the commander of the city watch, and the head of the palace guards—but it was King Aster that held his attention. His eyes locked onto the king's violet irises, so dark and bright.

"Why is he here?"

The venom in King Aster's voice was searing. Aric would have preferred the king not notice him at all, in his current state.

"Because we need every sword and every spell at our disposal," Valerian said, calm as ever. "And Aric's shown himself to be proficient at both."

"Sword," Aric repeated under his breath.

"Fine. Whatever." Aster waved a dismissive hand. "But keep him out of my sight."

As Valerian motioned for Aric to join the table, Aster's stare followed him, lingering a moment too long. But he said nothing more, turning back to the council table.

Aric took a seat, trying to melt into the background. He was here to help, to do whatever he could to stop the demons' attack. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a ghost, haunting the court that should have been his, and that everyone in the room wished he would just disappear.

"Now," Valerian said, "let's begin." He nodded to the city guard commander, who opened a map of the city, marking the key points of the demons' attack.

All around Aric, they debated strategies for sealing the rift and driving the demons back. King Aster was fierce, a ruler forged in fire and death, but also a shadow of his former self, hollowed out by loss and betrayal. His presence was a constant reminder of everything Aric had given up, everyone he'd left behind. He was the ghost, Aric thought, watching the council as if from a distance.

They had some options, the king allowed. Valerian's forces were ready to strike at any time, although they'd been focused on reinforcing the wards around the city. The Silver Tower mages were gathering for a coordinated assault on the rift itself, hoping to seal it before more demons could come through. And the Pureblade Order was mobilizing for a counterattack, though their numbers had been severely depleted by the initial attack.

As the discussion raged, Aric couldn't help but stare at King Aster. There was something about him, something he couldn't put his finger on, that seemed familiar and yet not. Not the face, which had been hardened by age and grief; not the mannerisms, which had grown even more imperious and aloof. It was something deeper, something in the way he held himself, in the shadows that danced in his violet eyes.

Aric's fingers twitched with the feeling of magic, his instincts screaming that something was off. But the council room was too crowded, the air too thick with the smell of fear and desperation. He forced down the urge to act, to draw his sword and charge into the fray. He would do whatever it took, whatever was asked of him, to stop the demons. But he had to tread carefully.

"We can't just wait for them to attack again," Valerian was saying. "We need to take the fight to them. Destroy the rift, cut off their reinforcements, and drive them back to whatever hell they came from."

"Agreed." Aster leaned back in his chair. "What do you propose, Lord Regent?"

Valerian leaned forward, his blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. "I think it is time for me to bring my new forces to bear."

A sudden pain tore through Aric's back. He flinched, his gauntleted hand flying up to press against the sigil. The images flooded his mind once more: Malekith, forced to his knees, blood streaming down his face. Malekith wincing as the branding iron approached. Zaxos standing over him, gloating. Sylthris watching from the shadows.

Sylthris.

Sylthris, and her too-familiar eyes.

Aric's heart stuttered. The pain in his back was joined by a different kind of agony, a cold, heavy weight settling in his chest.

The shadows in the court.

The King.

The deadly stillness in his violet eyes.

Aric forced down the bile rising in his throat. All around him, the council continued to argue and bicker, oblivious to the horror clutching at his insides.

Aric's mind shot back to the catacombs, where Sylthris had melded into the shadows like ink in water. He knew she had some way to access the palace, and suspected she was on Valerian's side, for whatever reason he couldn't begin to fathom. But could she really take the king's place? Really usurp him right under their noses?

Possession, or disguise? They were both layers of the same lie.

Aric's train of thought derailed as King Aster turned his head, and his eyes met Aric's.

The gleaming, opaque violet of his eyes.

Aric's breath caught. The candles in their sconces flickered, the shadows in the corners of the room crawling. The king's voice came to him, warped and distant.

"Am I boring you, mage?"

Aric's heart hammered in his chest. He felt the eyes of the council on him, all the distrust and disdain they’d barely held in check the past few days now boiling to the surface. But he made himself meet King Aster's gaze, hold his ground.

"Your Majesty," Aric said, his voice steady, the words like iron in his mouth. "I apologize. I was merely thinking of a spell that could be of use in defending the city."

King Aster's lips curled back in a snarl. "A spell, you say. You think we are not using all we can to stop these demons?"

Aric's jaw clenched, his blood singing with the memory of his fire. But he bowed his head, to play the part of the obedient subject. One wrong move, and he would be cast out of the palace, left to face the demons and the Pureblades on his own.

"I only wish to help in any way I can," Aric said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

Aric moved before he even realized it. He was on his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He staggered, one hand shooting out to steady himself on the back of the chair.

"Valerian," Aster interrupted, his voice too calm, too controlled. "Let him speak. I'm sure he has a good reason for interrupting the council."

Aric swallowed hard, his mind racing. There was no time for subtlety, for careful dancing around the truth. If the king was truly possessed by Sylthris, it meant she was already one step ahead of him. And if she wasn't, if the truth was something even worse lurking beneath the surface, they had to find out before it was too late.

"Blasphemer," King Aster said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You dare question my authority? My judgment?"

Aric stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of Aster's corrupted aura, the wrongness that pervaded his presence. The council's cries faded to a dull roar in his ears. All he could hear was the pounding of his own blood.

"You want to be trusted?" Aric said. "Then show us your face."

The words sliced through the council room, silencing the courtiers' ceaseless arguing. Yhe king's advisers turned towards him, the judgment in their stares as thick as the heavy perfume of the room.

King Aster's eyes narrowed, and the shadows seemed to swirl around his head like a crown. "What are you implying, Aric Solarian?"

Aric straightened, trying to muster all the authority he could. "Your Majesty, I?—"

But as he met Aster's gaze, Aric hesitated. The king's violet eyes were like twin voids, drawing him in, promising to devour him whole.

Aric took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest. "You're not—you can't be?—"

"Aric," Valerian said, an unmistakable warning in his tone.

Aric's heart clenched at the sound of his name on Valerian's lips, but he forced himself to focus. He'd been too caught up in his own emotions, too focused on Valerian's duplicity and Sylthris's games. He couldn't let himself be distracted, not now.

Aric dropped to one knee, lowering his head. "I beg your pardon, councilors. But my instincts tell me that the king is not who he claim to be."

The room fell deathly silent. The courtiers' stares bored into him, the tension thickening the air.

"I am the King of Astaria." Aster’s voice was solid and frigid as ice. "There is no need for you to question me."

Aric rose, his eyes locked on Aster's. "Then prove it. Show us your true face."

Aster's eyes widened, a glimmer of fear seeping through the haze of shadows. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cruel smile. "You are a foolish man, Aric Solarian. I have tolerated your insolence because of your supposed expertise in the matter of the demon incursion, but do not mistake my patience for weakness." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I will not hesitate to have you thrown in the dungeons alongside your former demon brethren."

The guards flanking Aric moved forward, hands on their sword hilts. Aric tensed, his muscles coiling, ready to fight or flee. But even if he could escape the palace, where would he go? The streets were a war zone, and he was running on nothing but instinct and adrenaline at this point.

His hand still gripped the back of his chair, and he forced himself to release it, to stand tall. He had to keep his wits about him, even while facing down the King himself.

The words of the dream echoed in his mind, a terrible inevitability. His mind raced, desperately grasping for options.

But then one of the guards grabbed his arm, his grip iron-strong. The Pureblade's voice was a low growl. "You will come with us."

Aric struggled, trying to wrench his arm free, but it was no use. The Pureblade's hand was unyielding, his fingers digging into Aric's flesh.

"Let me go?—"

The Pureblade's grip tightened, and Aric felt a sudden, sharp pressure against his wrist. There was a soft click, and then a cool, metal band clamped around his forearm.

Inhibitors.

The Pureblade released his hold on Aric, stepping back as the inhibitor took hold. Aric staggered, his head spinning as his magic was locked away. It was like a part of him had been sliced off, the connection severed, leaving him hollow and empty.

No. Not again. He couldn't lose it again.

The room spun; sweat cooled like ice as it traced down Aric's face, and his knees buckled. Oh, Light, he was becoming unmoored. Nothing was real any longer. Nothing was real?—

"Aric! Enough."

Valerian strode forward, his expression one of barely constrained fury. The courtiers fell silent, their deference to him evident.

"I don't know what warped delusions have taken hold of your mind, but you will cease this madness at once."

"Delusions?" Aric spat, the word tasting like ash. "I'm not the one who?—"

Valerian's hand shot out, grabbing Aric by the collar and pulling him close. Blue eyes locked onto Aric's with a cold, calculating gleam.

"You will do as you're told." Valerian’s voice fell to a menacing whisper. "Or I will ensure that you never see the light of day again."

"I'll ask you one more time," King Aster said, stepping down from his throne. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

Aric's heart sank. The rulers were in on it together; he was sure of it. All around him, the courtiers were watching, waiting for his answer. Even if Aric could face the king's wrath, he didn't know if he had the strength to defy Valerian as well.

But he had to try. He had to force the conspiracy into the light.

"My elite mages," Valerian said loftily, "have been stationed throughout the city for months now, gathering intelligence and preparing for just such an assault."

Aric's heart stopped. He kept his gaze forward, afraid to betray anything of the storm raging within him.

"They are the most powerful and skilled members of the Silver Tower, trained in covert operations and magic suppression. I propose we unleash them now, to strike at the demons while they are still disorganized and reeling from their attack."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to King Aster, the air thick with untapped potential that prickled Aric’s skin.

"Very well, Lord Regent," he said, his voice soft and deadly. "You have my permission to proceed."

Aric's mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. What were these elite forces of Valerian's? Did it have something to do with those plans he found in Valerian's workshop? If Valerian was indeed working with Sylthris and whoever was pulling her strings, if they were behind the demon invasion, then what did they hope to gain from it?

It was too much to process, too many threads to untangle all at once. But one thing was clear: Valerian's "elite mages" were a threat, one that Aric needed to stop at all costs.

King Aster—a ruse, a deception, Sylthris's twisted game—leaned back in his seat. "Thank you, Lord Regent. Your actions will surely save us all."

The advisers nodded in reluctant agreement, their desperation a palpable thing. But Aric's blood ran cold. Astaria was being handed over to Sylthris and her forces, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He reached for his magic, but his golden fire was an ember, snuffed out by the inhibitor's grip. Valerian's rage simmered just below the surface, but there was victory in his eyes. Victory over Aric.

Aric's hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let Sylthris and Valerian's scheme unfold unchecked. But with his magic locked away, he was powerless, a ghost haunting the palace halls.

He had to think. There had to be a way to stop them. A way to break through the darkness and reach the light. But the clock was ticking, and he was out of time.

Aric wrenched one hand free of the guard's grip, driving his elbow into a chin. He kicked out with one leg, catching another guard in the stomach, and managed a few steps toward Aster's wretched form.

"Aric!" The guards shouted his name, but he was beyond caring. All he could see was the threat before him, the dark shadow poisoning the heart of Astaria.

He was almost to the throne when the guards tackled him from behind, driving him to the ground. His head struck the stone floor, stars bursting behind his eyes, and the inhibitor on his wrist seemed to tighten, mocking him with its cruel grasp. He fought against the guards' hold, but they were too many, their grip too strong. They forced him onto his back, pinning his arms and legs, and he was trapped, unable to move, unable to save the kingdom he'd sworn to protect.

Aster leaned over him, his face a mask of hatred. "I should have known you would be a problem."

Aric was about to reply when a deafening roar filled the air, a sound like the world being torn asunder. The palace trembled, the floor buckling beneath them, and then they were falling, the world spinning out of control.

The explosion threw Aric into the air, the force of it tearing him from the guards' grasp. He hit the ground hard, the stone floor shattering beneath him, and then he was rolling, tumbling, everything a blur of noise and light and pain.

When he came to a stop, the world was upside down, the air filled with smoke and screams. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it trickling down his face, but it was the least of his concerns. The palace was collapsing down around them, great chunks of stone falling from the ceiling, the walls buckling and crumbling.

He had to move. He had to get out of there. But his body felt like it weighed a ton, his limbs refusing to obey his commands. He tried to stand, but the ground was shifting beneath him, the floor tilting at a crazy angle. All he could do was crawl, dragging himself across the shattered tiles.

He had to find the others. Valerian, Sylthris, King Aster. They were all in danger, all at risk. He had to warn them, had to stop whatever evil had been unleashed upon the palace.

But as he struggled to his feet, a figure emerged from the smoke, their silhouette backlit by the burning debris.

Aric's blood chilled in his veins. It was one of Valerian's soldiers.

An Ixion soldier, clad in shadowed glass and silver.

But that was impossible. Truly impossible.

Aric scrambled backwards, his boots slipping on the blood-slicked floor. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out the chaos around him. He couldn't look away from the soldier's face, those dark eyes that had haunted his dreams for so long.

Malekith.

First he wanted to laugh, laugh and laugh at the cruelty of it all. They had been here too, and somehow, through blood, grief, and so much desperation, Aric had found his way back; all so that they could be torn apart.

Then he wanted to weep. To weep for all the threads of fate that had brought them here, to this terrible moment.

Malekith.

General Malekith of House Ixion.

His former captor.

His lover.

A thousand memories crashed over Aric all at once. The first time they'd met, the hatred burning in those dark eyes. The nights they'd spent locked in a battle of wills, each trying to outmaneuver the other. The moments of tenderness they'd shared, those rare glimpses behind the mask. The physical ache of waking up without him. The raw, bleeding wound that had never fully healed in his absence.

And now he was here, right in front of Aric, Malekith whom he'd come this far to not let down, and he couldn't even make himself move.

But then Malekith stepped forward, and Aric's heart stopped.

There was nothing in the inky depths of his stare. No recognition. No thought. Nothing at all.