Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 21

Twenty-One

A ric stumbled back, struggling to keep his balance in the shifting ruins of the throne room. Malekith—General Malekith, Prince of House Ixion—stared at him, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Nothing but coldness and hatred.

The air was thick with dust and smoke, the acrid stench of burned magic and the remnants of the explosion sizzling around the edges of the hole in the palace wall. Aric's heart was a deafening roar in his ears, drowning out the panicked shouts of the guards, the cries of the advisers as they fled.

Malekith took a step toward him, and Aric's body moved on instinct, his feet carrying him forward. He had waited so long for this moment, for the chance to see him again, to ask him all the questions that had haunted him for so long. Why had he left? What had happened in the demon realm after Aric had fled back to the human world? Had their time together meant anything, or had it all been a lie?

But as he drew closer, Malekith's expression didn't change. If anything, the hatred in his eyes only deepened.

Aric's chest felt like it was caving in. The agony was almost visceral, a physical wound opening inside him. He had thought he was prepared for anything—another fight, more lies, even a cruel dismissal. But this . . . this was like dying all over again.

"Malekith," he choked out, his voice cracking. "Please?—"

Malekith's hand shot out, and Aric flinched, expecting a blow. But instead, Malekith grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, yanking him close. Aric's hands went to Malekith's chest, trying to push him away, but the demon's grip was iron.

"Stay out of our way, human."

The words were a low, venomous hiss, Malekith's breath hot against Aric's skin. And then he was gone, the grip on Aric's collar vanishing, the scent of smoke and blood still lingering between them.

Aric stumbled forward, his mind a whirl of confusion and hurt. He reached for Malekith, but the demon prince was already turning, striding out through the gaping hole in the wall, into the night beyond.

"No," Aric’s voice was a broken whisper. "No, you can't?—"

He started after him, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor. But the palace was still shuddering around them, bits of stone and wood raining down, the air thick with the smoke of burning magic.The energy of the rifts called to him, the tear between their worlds, and a part of him wanted to reach for it, to test if it were the same.

But he couldn't think about that now. He had to reach Malekith, had to make him remember who he was.

"Malekith!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Please, listen to me?—"

The demon paused, his silhouette framed in the jagged edge of the portal. And then he turned back, his eyes meeting Aric's.

For a moment, Aric's heart dared to hope. But then Malekith's expression hardened, the fury and hatred all the more brutal for their return.

"I have work to do," Malekith said, and then he was stepping through the crack in the wall, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Aric felt himself shatter.

Aric scrambled to his feet, the debris of the shattered throne room clutching at his legs, pulling him down. He kicked it away, forcing himself upright, but the palace seemed to tilt around him, the world off-kilter and wrong.

Malekith was only a shadow now, just past the wreckage of the intruders who'd stormed the court.

"Malekith!" Aric called again, his voice breaking on the name. "Please—don't leave me!"

More smoke, more rubble, more screams—why was no one headed toward the breach in the wall, toward Malekith and whatever his forces were up to?

The inhibitor iron cuffs around Aric's wrists felt like deadweight, and he sank to his knees, bile rising in his throat.

What had Malekith done?

What had they done to him?

Aric staggered to his feet, forcing each limb through heavy resistance. He had to get to him. He had to make this right. He'd do anything, say anything, give anything, if only Malekith would hear him.

A rustling sound behind him. Aric turned, his blood surging, his emotions a molten tide.

Sylthris was clawing her way free from the rubble, the guise of King Aster crumbling away, revealing her true form. Her eyes glowed with a malevolent satisfaction, and her lips curled into a twisted smile.

"Impressive display, human," she said, her voice a slithering taunt. "I can see why Malekith was so enamored with you."

Aric's chest heaved with fury as he glared at Sylthris, the memories of their last encounter still raw and festering within him. Rage welled up inside him, hotter than any magic he'd ever wielded, but he forced it down, channeling it into a cold, hard shell around his heart.

"What did you do to them?" he ground out. "To Malekith, to King Aster?—"

Sylthris chuckled, the sound like nails on slate. "King Aster is of no consequence now. And as for Prince Malekith . . . I believe you'll find out soon enough."

Sylthris's laughter echoed through the ruined throne room, a chilling sound that made Aric's skin crawl. "Oh, don't look at me like that, human. It's not as if I had a choice."

“Of course you had a choice!”

Sylthris shrugged, the movement unnaturally fluid. "Aster was terribly rude and perished before I was finished with him. So I had to take matters into my own hands. As for Malekith, well, he was more cooperative. With the appropriate persuasion." Her smile widened, the sharp points of her teeth glinting in the firelight.

"Finished with King Aster?" Aric's fists clenched at his sides, the inhibitor iron cuffs Digging into his wrists. "You murdered him, you monster?—"

"Oh, you humans and your obsession with life and death. It's so very quaint." Sylthris stepped closer, her eyes glowing with a malevolent light. "But no. I'm afraid King Aster's death was entirely his own doing. I merely gave him a little . . . push."

Aric's fury was a white-hot flame inside him, consuming him from the inside out. "And Malekith? What matters did you have to take into your own hands with him?"

When Sylthris bared her teeth, it sent a thousand tiny legs skittering down Aric's spine. "You are just full of questions tonight, aren't you?"

Sylthris raised her hand, and before Aric could react, a surge of magical energy hit him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He flew backward, crashing into a pile of rubble, the impact jarring every bone in his body. The inhibitor cuffs on his wrists pulsed with a dull, draining energy, rendering him powerless.

Sylthris approached, her expression one of cold amusement. "Pathetic," she said. "And to think, Malekith once believed you were a threat."

Aric struggled to sit up, but the bindings held him down. "What," he wheezed, "are you going to do with me?"

Sylthris crouched down beside him, her eyes glinting with the reflection of the dark fires raging around them. "So many questions," she said. "For now, you'll watch as we reclaim what is rightfully ours." She stood, her form shifting and blurring back into the disguise of King Aster. "But it is amusing, isn't it?" she asked. "How helpless you are without your little tricks."

Aric's jaw clenched, and he yanked on the cuffs, feeding every bit of his magic into them, but it was like trying to fill a ruptured wineskin. "Malekith will come for you," he said, his voice a low growl. "He'll stop you."

Sylthris laughed, the sound echoing through the throne room. "Oh, my dear Aric. I think you'll find that Prince Malekith is quite occupied with his own concerns."

Aric's breaths came in ragged gasps as he lifted his chin to meet Sylthris's eyes. "What . . . what did you do to Malekith?"

Sylthris's smile fell away, her eyes narrowing. "Malekith is none of your concern." She took a step closer, her presence oppressive. "You should worry about your own fate."

With a flick of her wrist, Sylthris sent another wave of magic at Aric, pinning him to the ground. The rubble bit into his back, and he struggled to breathe, the inhibitor cuffs on his wrists a constant drain.

"You see, Aric, I have plans for you," Sylthris said, standing over him. "And I promise you, if you continue to behave like this, they will not be pleasant ones."

Sylthris turned and began to stride out of the wreckage, her disguise shifting back into her true form. Her silhouette was a menacing shadow against the flickering fires, her laughter echoing in the night.

"No!" Aric shouted, fighting against the magical force holding him in place. "Stop!"

But it was no use. The inhibitor cuffs drained him, sapping his energy, and he could barely move. He could only watch as Sylthris disappeared into the night, her laughter fading into the distance.

Aric's mind was racing, trying to piece together the fragments of information he had gathered. What had happened to Malekith? What were Sylthris's plans? And how did it all fit together with the strange vision he'd had in the dream of Malekith?

But the inhibitor cuffs were a relentless weight, dragging him down, and all he could do was slump back against the pile of rubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

As the magical force dissipated, Aric pulled himself loose from the rubble. Every muscle in his body ached, but his mind was focused on finding answers. He knew he couldn't stay here; he had to act quickly. His thoughts turned to Valerian, remembering the cryptic mentions of his "forces."

Was this what he'd been referring to? Aric wondered if it was related to whatever Valerian was developing in his workshop.

Aric's mind was a storm of confusion and fear, but he stumbled from the council chambers in search of Valerian’s workshop once more. The palace was in ruins, the air clotted with smoke from the eerie dark fires and burning magic.

Aric's heart ached as he recalled the way Malekith disappeared into the night. This wasn't the lover he'd known—the fierce, proud prince who had looked at him with such intensity, such longing, and with a fierce, frightful determination burning in his chest that Aric wanted to consume them both. This was a stranger, a shell of the man he had loved.

But that didn't mean he was willing to give up on him.

Not yet.

The pain of seeing Malekith like this, of knowing that some part of him had to be suffering just as he was, only fueled his resolve. He couldn't let them tear Malekith apart, not without a fight. But he couldn't save Malekith until he understood the full scope of what was happening.

First, Valerian. He was the most immediate threat. There was still a chance to stop him and his forces before they seized control of the city.

Aric gathered his strength, pushing through the pain and the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. He focused on the magical tingle in the air, the resonance of the rift that had opened just beyond the palace walls. He reached out with his senses, drawing on his own magic, the fire that burned bright within him.

He wouldn't let Valerian win. He wouldn't let Malekith fall to whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

Not without a fight.

Aric's footsteps echoed through the desolate corridors of the burning palace as he wound toward Valerian's workshop. The once-grand halls were eerily silent, with only the distant rumble of magical explosions and the screams of panicked citizens serving as a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

But Aric couldn't afford to be distracted. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—of Valerian's duplicity, of Malekith's betrayal, of the Shadow she warned him of—but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Time was running out, and every second counted.

As he reached the entrance to Valerian's workshop, Aric's heart was pounding in his chest. He had to find a way to stop Valerian's forces before they could do any more damage.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of the magical rifts. The world shifted and twisted with the flow of unbound energy as he wove his way through the ominous equipment, the arcane runes glowing a sinister blue.

Aric's mind raced as he tried to calculate his next move. He had to disable the rifts somehow, but he didn't have the power on his own.

There had to be something else. Some other way.

An idea formed in his mind—a half-baked, reckless plan—but it was all he had.

He would have to drain the anomaly's energy.

He would draw the anomaly's power into himself, absorbing the energy until there was nothing left to sustain the rifts. It was dangerous, unprecedented—potentially catastrophic—but Aric didn't care.

He had to stop Valerian.

He had to stop the demons.

He had to save Malekith.

And if that meant burning himself out like a shooting star, then so be it.