Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 24

Twenty-Four

A ric spread his arms, wings of golden flame flaring around him. "No," he shouted, his voice raw and breaking. "Please. I . . . I beg you. You must not harm him."

The assembled forces hesitated, their weapons wavering. Aric felt a surge of hope, a glimmer of a chance. But then Valerian's voice rang out like a curse, shattering it.

"Surrender the demon, Solarian," the Lord Regent said. "Or answer for your treason."

Aric's heart twisted. Malekith was watching him, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable. Aric couldn't bear to let him down again, to be the cause of his suffering.

"I'll go with you," Aric said, voice cracking. "Just . . . Spare him. Take him prisoner. Take us both. But let him live."

"You would let him kill hundreds of people today, and still spare him?" Valerian’s voice dripped with disgust. "You're even more far gone than I thought."

Aric's fists clenched. "He's not responsible for the demons that you unleashed?—"

A collective gasp from the crowd, but Valerian was already dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Silence your traitorous tongue. Liar. " Valerian moved toward him. "Stand aside and let us do what must be done."

"Please . . ."

But the soldiers closed in, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Aric felt his grip slipping, his control shattering. He couldn't lose Malekith—not again.

He turned back to Malekith, their eyes locking. So many words they needed to say, so much that needed to be resolved. But there was no time, no space for it now.

Aric took a step back, the flames around him receding. He felt the soldiers' hands on him, the cold metal of the inhibitor cuffs snapping into place again.

"Aric." Valerian's voice was a vise. "Tell me why you protect this demon."

It was too cruel, too impossible, that Valerian could speak to him in such tones. As if they hadn’t kissed, hadn’t danced, hadn’t shared so many unspoken truths. As if Valerian’s touch had never made his heart stutter in his chest. But the Valerian he had known was gone, had never existed—and for that, Aric hated him.

He scanned the faces around him—the Pureblade knights, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The Silver Tower mages, their fingers twitching with spells ready to be unleashed. All of them watching him with confusion, with suspicion, with a growing sense of betrayal.

"I don't . . ." Aric's voice was raw with emotion. "He's . . . He's not what you think."

Olaya broke ranks, her silver robes billowing around her like storm clouds. "How did you do it, Aric?" she demanded, her voice low and fierce. "How did you close those rifts? What power have you been consorting with, to wield such might?"

The other Silver Tower mages murmured in agreement, their eyes bright with suspicion. Aric felt their judgment pressing down on him, a weight he could barely stand.

"I . . . I don't know," he said, words small and thin. "It's a power I just found myself drawing on. As if necessity brought it forth. I barely understand myself."

"Then why?" Ruta asked, stepping forward, her eyes blazing. "Why keep it hidden from us? Why not share it, if it could help us against the demons?"

Aric's thoughts whirled, trying to find a way to explain, to justify. "I thought . . . I thought it was best," he said finally. "That it was too dangerous, too powerful, for anyone to know."

"Too powerful for anyone but you, you mean," Valerian sneered. "Tell us the truth, Aric—that it's a power you've been hoarding for yourself, to use against us as you see fit."

Aric shook his head, but the doubt was a poison, choking him. How could he make them understand the truth, when he'd kept so much from them already?

"I only wanted to help," he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm not the enemy here," he said, trying to force strength into his voice that he didn't feel. "The demon is. And we need him alive."

Ruta snorted. "So he can kill more of us?"

"No." Panic rose like bile in Aric’s throat. "So we can interrogate him. Find out what he knows."

Malekith hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. His silence was a weight, pressing on Aric's chest.

"What good is that?" Olaya said, her voice weary. "He's a demon. He'll only lie."

Aric cast about for a better argument, but found none. "We can't just become executioners. Not without even trying to learn what he knows."

Until we learn what was done to him . . .

"Aric, please," Valerian said, and even he sounded exhausted. "Think of what's best for our realm."

Aric's shoulders sagged. He couldn't see past the haze of fear, of love, of desperation. All he knew was that he couldn't let them take Malekith from him.

Aric closed his eyes, his tears falling like embers into the snow.

"I can't," he whispered.

The crowd began to murmur, their tone darkening, and Aric's heart clenched.

"Step aside." Valerian’s voice was firmer now. "Or we'll make you."

Valerian advanced, his hand on his sword hilt. "Aric. Think of the city. Think of your duty. Do not let this demon turn you against us."

Aric's pulse thundered in his ears. Too many eyes on him; too many lives at stake. Malekith's life.

But he felt the words gathering in his throat, the terrible confession that could destroy everything he still held onto.

"I can't?—"

"You don't have to."

Malekith's voice was soft, and yet it cut through the rising tension, stilling Aric's racing heart. Malekith stepped forward, his eyes burning into Aric's, and for a brief moment, Aric let himself get lost in their depths.

"Enough." Malekith's voice cut through the air like a blade. "If you seek my surrender, you shall have it."

The crowd stilled, all eyes on Malekith, as he spoke with calculated precision. His presence was a force, a dark gravity that drew them all in.

"I offer my surrender to you now," Malekith continued, "along with information on the demon forces. But only if you guarantee the safety of the one who has sheltered me thus far."

He inclined his head toward Aric, and Aric's heart fluttered. For all that had happened between them, Malekith was still protecting him.

Valerian narrowed his eyes. "And what assurances do we have that you won't betray us, demon?"

Malekith's lips curled into a small, mocking smile. "You have none, my lord. But consider what I offer—a chance to learn from your enemy, to gain intelligence you would never otherwise possess."

Valerian's eyes moved to Aric, his expression inscrutable. "And you think this is worth the risk, Solarian?"

Aric hesitated, torn between the conflicting tugs of duty, loyalty, and love. "I—I don't know," he said finally, his voice small. "But I trust him more than the others of his kind."

I trust him more than you, Aric added silently.

The soldiers shifted, their armor clinking, as they weighed Malekith's words. The Pureblade knights spoke over one another, arguing over tactics. The Silver Tower mages exchanged glances, their eyes gleaming with the prospect of new knowledge. Even the town guards, battle-hardened and weary, seemed to be considering the offer.

Aric's heart twisted. He didn't want to give Malekith up, to lose him to their interrogation. But he saw the way the soldiers were looking at him, the way their hands tightened on their weapons. He couldn't let them do this.

"It could be a trap," one of the guards said, his voice rough with exhaustion. "He could be trying to get inside our defenses."

Valerian nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I don't trust him, either. But we need to be strategic about this."

Aric clenched his fists, his magic sparking against his restraints. The golden flames that usually danced around him were cold and still, but he could feel the power inside him, itching to be released. He couldn't let them take Malekith away, not after everything they'd been through.

Malekith turned to him, his eyes solid onyx. Aric wanted to reach for him, to pull him close and protect him from the world. But the inhibitor cuffs were cold and unyielding, a cruel reminder of his own helplessness.

Malekith's smile was thin, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. Aric's soul tore at the sight, his flames sputtering and dying out. With a resigned nod, Aric allowed the Pureblades to haul him up, their gauntlet-clad hands clutching his arms like iron shackles.

"Yes," he said, his heart breaking. "I trust him."

Valerian's expression was unreadable as he gestured for the Pureblades to stand down. "Very well," he said. "Let us hear what this demon has to say."

Malekith's chains clinked as he stepped forward, the soldiers parting to let him pass. "As I said," he repeated, his voice a low rumble. "I offer my surrender. Along with the information you seek."

"And what is your condition?" Valerian asked, his tone sharp.

Malekith grinned, his teeth sharp and gleaming. "That I be granted a warden—an intermediary to ensure my good behavior." His eyes met Aric's, and Aric's heart stuttered as the world tilted on its axis. "I name Aric Solarian as my choice."

The crowd around them erupted into shocked murmurs, the air crackling with tension. Aric's mind raced, trying to process Malekith's impossible demand.

"You want me to serve as your warden," Aric said, his voice shaking.

Malekith's smile widened, and Aric saw a glint of the demon he had once known—the cunning, calculating predator that had ensnared him in his web.

Aric's heart was a vice, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He wanted to believe Malekith, to trust in the bond they had shared. But the weight of the soldiers' stares, the threat of the Pureblades and the Silver Tower, was too much.

What have they done to you? Aric thought once more.

And, belatedly: What will they do to us both?

If he could protect Malekith, though, just long enough to learn the truth . . . Maybe even long enough to gather evidence on Valerian and Sylthris and stop his mad plans . . .

Could Aric trust Malekith, even if the Malekith he knew was all but gone?

A tiny voice in the back of Aric’s mind asked: Could he bring Malekith back from whatever brink he’d been pushed toward?

“Please,” Aric said, the words thick in his throat. “I can get the truth from him. We have to try.”

Valerian stared at him so long that Aric’s muscles gave out, and he dropped to one knee, the replica sword—one that had still proven plenty powerful—keeping him upright as he used it for balance. Valerian did not miss the motion; did not miss the sword and the reminder of what it had been capable of Aric’s hands.

And if Aric detected even the slightest flicker of fear behind his eyes, then Aric would cling to that.

He would cling to Valerian’s fear, and his own hopes.

"Very well," Valerian said, his voice cold. "Then it shall be so."