Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

His eyes steal the light from mortal souls
His eyes like deep night and his depths like coals
Mortal flesh is trembling, flames devour it
She disappears – tiny bit by tiny bit

Leira couldn’t unhear this song. The fae were celebrating the month of Lorian’s coming of power. The promising youth of winter faeries, with snow in their souls and sharp-taloned hearts, seemed to enjoy this celebration more than Lunar New Year. Youg fairies – free, unbound and wild – loved Lorian’s reign. Maybe because  they rarely stepped the boundaries which he set. For Leira, it was obvious, that they do not want to – not do not dare. The winter reign was cruel, primal and passionate.

The song… a rare jest on the reign, which was more a keen approval than a true jester’s mock. The voices were accompanied by the sound of sitar, soft, atonal and typically fairy-like. Singing fairies enjoyed the beauty of the wintry night, bathing in midnight – the hour of the lost souls. Which fairy court believed to be haunted by something very similar to ghosts. Not fae ones – these were feeding trees and overgrowth of Ain’asel. The humans, who gaining power of cold touch, returned to torment the ones who once destroyed them. Leira heard that only way to stop the cold soul, is to spill own blood.

How peculiar to believe that a fae blood can quench human soul’s hunger.

Trapped between the iron bars
Her body wears the failure’s scars
Join us in a feast, feed us with your smiles
Show us the garden which under moonlight blooms
and in his endless void dies

His soul darker than the night
His shadow feeding on every budding light
She drowns in black lake, her hands are cold
Her soul suffocating, to the lost one sold…

Why this song made her anxious?

Her slave dress fluttered on the wind, warm and changed by the magical barrier set on windows. The stained glass reflected her face as she passed them – now blood engraved in her reflection, which she was taking with reluctance once, fear even, looked like a crowning of her position here. A ghost of Dal’coler. Maybe he was right. Maybe she at once made it. Fit like an unpaired puzzle into whole image – by force, breaking other elements, only to stay in a place she craved for. An element taken from a different set, put into an art that showed different colors, different life. A lonely one, the only one who sees how grotesque it looks.

Her steps led her further into overgrown depths of Dal’coler. Up, the Stairs of Eternal Longing, the only ones which she knew better than the passages to her own chamber. The black railing was carved in raven wings, a craftsmanship of a higher level, which didn’t leave anything to an accident. The master who did them, possibly already passed away, the artists never were hired from the Higher Fae kind, it had to be a lower fey, who usually lived much shorter. But Lorian always hired the creators of ultimate beauty. How much it was attributed to his own needs and how much to mainating decorum of his position, Leira couldn’t guess. Lorian liked pretty things. But he was far from being vain or superficial. Too much pain changes perception, beauty becomes a trivial thing.

She found Lorian in royal library. He didn’t read – he just stared at the book shelf under a high arches, entangled with old birch. His face – Leira was observant, and with their mental bond, it was even easier to catch that – was lost in some old pain, which he never rugged and torn from his soul.

Leira preferred to not  show she saw it. But of corse the same mental bond was selling her like an old human peddler on the busy marketplace.

His face lost the tension and wore the smile so similar with beauty to stars behind the vast window, that Leira could see the cracks in it, the crevices through starlight allowed the night sky.

“I allowed him to think that he can win” another crack, so beautiful. It could sip her soul, if he wanted. “Now, he is just a shell, empty, dry and left to rot.”

“I thought you enjoyed his fall?” Leira felt almost assaulted by his aura. It was deeper than lowest bottom of the ocean. With his bells still sounding in her being, she could almost touch it – thick like mud, an ink writing the prophecy of death.

“Oh, I did” he laughed. “Most filling experience, a dish served cold and bleeding. No, Leira. It was not only anticipated. It was a crowning of all games we led, all pleasant lies we shared in the court. All fake smiles, all dark dreams we had of each other.’

“But you do not enjoy it fully” it was more of a statement. His thoughts were closed from her, but… his feelings he allowed into her. So intense. Calm as a dead black desert.

His long fingers lay on one of the books. Caressed its cover.

“I remember how it all started. A young soul, who looked at me like into a painting reflecting his dreams. He was flame incarnate, which was destined to be dulled by my shadow. Perhaps he would – his rebellious, young heart would rot between the walls of this fortress, to my joy. He would become not what he would come for. He would become who he never wanted to be. But he would become more. He would be no longer a guest to Dal’coler.”

He withdrew the hand. Shadows imprinted for a small moment on the cover and withered, dispersed by non existent wind.

“And I started to like more not what would bloom under my touch. I started to like what he already was. He maybe never reminded me of myself in his age… but some innocent awe that we all should had, when our years are young. Awe of life, of beauty, of joy from simply being alive. I lost it, Leira. So long ago, that I don’t know if it ever was there. My needs were different. Not joyful. Not beautiful. Not full of awe.”

He turned again to her. His long eyelashes look almost dream-like in his supple face, touched by shadow that always bubbled under his pallid skin.

“I killed all he would want to be. All he was and all who he would become, if he stayed with me, on the path to decay. And perhaps that’s why I find this victory both fulfilling and bitter. A bed made of soft moss and nettle leaves.”

He had to talk about his son.

Leira never asked Lorian about him. Maybe because she felt regrets of her own, which she wanted to hush. Her betrayal which she would repeat, yes, but it wouldn’t sting less. She was calling herself ruthless, but that didn’t come without a price and particles of souls she sacrificed on the way to earn her shadowed crown.

Alnam was a victim of them both. Created by Lorian, drilled by his relentless shadows and pushed into his claws by her.

She wanted him dead. Because he reminded her of the woman she once was.

And that alone was something that made her soul creep and crawl.

“I create my enemies with joy with which others create friends – restlessly, hungrily. Maybe because they flatter me more. Am I vain creature, in the end?”

No. But you like to be admired, Leira thought and she heard the soft laughter in her head.

No one admires as strong as an enemy, she heard inside her mind, a pleasant tug of his power over her being.

That’s why he took her to Dal’coler. To be feared. To be admired. To be hated. To be a Shadow in her eyes, who makes her love him, even if he hurts her.

“Lady Nymre… examined me…” she knew he will see through her words faster than a storm sends lighting to part the tree bark. His smiled carried even more of the cruel starlight. He left the book behind, approaching soft like a cat. His shadows traveling behind him, a thick veil of black mist.

His thumb brushed through her light tangles, and pulled one, curling it around his finger, his hand digging into her thick hair. A caress and a possessive gesture, yet not demeaning. His respect for her was true, his nature unchanged, though.

“I feel you get closer. Mentally, you shed your fear, she – her jealousy. Maybe if it all falls apart, it will be the only way to stop the decay.”

“If… it falls apart?”

He leaned forth, his lips touched hers, she gasped, when they sent a string of shadow into her. A caress. And possessive gesture. His kiss tasted of frozen fruits, even more than usual. A delicious, calm and strong kiss, which made her relax in his arms.

“It can fall apart into so many tiny shards. Scattered across whole Dal’coler. It can fall apart so easily.”

The lonely shadow touched her cheek. Lonely – just like them.

“And end like many fairytales, which always go wrong. Aren’t we a fairytale creatures? Destined to feed the stars? Falling like them into the mouth of hungry void beast.”

“This was… oh, this was so stupid.”

Her fingers ran through his arm. Wound still ruled his flesh, but Nymre was a powerful – and most of all experienced – healer. She gleamed with translucent light, caressing the sharp edges. She knew he feels pain, but for her it was obvious, that normal suffering is not stopping him anymore. Too long he was taking the much worse torment, forced to smile and pretend nothing ever happened.

She still couldn’t embrace it. He was so stubborn, always. He was always threading the path to his goal like it was an enemy, who needs to be subdued. But this…

It was probably the only way, the inner voice was trying to tell her, a touch of common sense. But it wasn’t making the whole thing less horrid. She loved him, all these years, she lived next to him, touching him, discussing realm matters. She stood by his side. And he– was taking the gods in and with them… the pain, which she couldn’t even imagine.

Her magic slowly healed him, allowing him to not add additional pain to already felt anguish.

Her voice was annoyed when she spoke, but only because so many things could go wrong. Alnam had many supporters, some of them helped him to free Tiyan Markon. Nymre almost suspected pain took common sense from Lord of Devlonmere. He never acted so reckless, ever. Freeing this human man had to be an idea born in the most decayed place of his soul. He couldn’t know what Lorian planned for Tiyan – yet not knowing anything and still acting was not similar to anything he would do.

Lord Alnam eventually reached the bottom.

Which was shocking for Nymre – but seemingly not for Lorian.

“He wanted so much to bury talons deep into my flesh, that he touched the chaos” Lorian was allowing her power to penetrate his skin, edges of the wound closing slowly, but inevitably. “His mind opened for me not long ago, surprisingly, fully. Something cracked in him, Nymre. Something that spread over his soul like a parasite. Allowed me to bite into his core. It flooded me with so many sensations. A treat of most delicious kind.”

Nymre’s hand closed over Lorian’s wound, tighter. Not because she wanted to inflict pain in him. She felt helpless next to things going faster and faster. Now, time leading to gods’ awakening was a maddened maze full of small horrors and tiny scares. Each of them reaching with their hands to them, forcing into view, to present their grotesques shapes.

Lorian’s eyes pinned her to the her seat, a wild joy in them.

She didn’t withdrew.

The window was letting the daylight in, dimmed in the overwhelming darkness of Dal’coler. This place hated the sun. Light fought each tiny second for survival in their palace. But the light… the one that fought hardest and was most resilient, was most beautiful creature that could happen here. Threaded through eternal night, it was becoming something else. A magic of its own.

“I saw his plans” Lorian’s smile bloomed even if Nymre’s talons still were in his wound, and dripped with healing power. “I knew his every step. How he takes Leira’s form. How he drops last plates of his inner armor, to reveal the delicious mental meat. I myself didn’t expect so much pus. So much rot.”

“You wanted him to make this mistake” Nymre shook her head. Since the visit in the gods’ chamber, she realized that fae are by no means all-powerful. Even her. Lorian too, even if his power was growing every day. Why if…

… gods helped Alnam? Their minds still drilled Dal’coler, deeper, harder. What if, they slipped into him and caused more anguish, to eventually push him to do this deluded move?

But of course Lorian told her only now, what he planned. A selfish bastard.

But it worked. It worked, for Sacred Forest’s sake.

Luck… or brilliance of her lover’s mind? Maybe both. And she was fool enough to not ask.

The small bottles filled with herbs were standing by her side, ready to be used. A touch of reality, which was so distant when Lorian was near. Did he make a mistake or allowed Alnam to wound him? Some twisted game, which would later make Lord of Devlonmere suffer more?

“What will happen with him, now?”

The question hanged between them. Nymre heard many times that Lorian respected his most devoted enemy. Death was the most sensible choice now – but she also knew how his mind worked. He longed for suffering. He longed for prolonged torment. And even her couldn’t imagine what he planned for Alnam Devlon.

“Do you like it?”

A sudden question, which pulled her from her thoughts.

“Like…?”

He got closer, his healthy hand reached to her hair, burying deep into the pale tangles.

“Healing me… touching my open flesh.”

She shivered. Why  she was sure that he reached her mind and now reads in her like in a book? He wanted in some way to disturb her… or to instill want in her. Both worked.

She wanted to remove her hand, but she couldn’t. His shadows plastered it hard to his skin. Her light power pumped into his flesh, making it hotter…. but closing faster.

“Isn’t it tempting…” he laughed silently, a pleasant sound, like murmur of the rain after harsh drought. “… to think we could delve into each other… become one in literal way… feast on blood, pain… and pleasure. Purest than any other. A clear path to realm of beautiful torment.”

Her eyes met his black void. She was now sure he reads her mind.

“What will you do with Alnam Devlon?”

His laughter was only a tone louder now. Soft though and content, like his skin wasn’t torn with teeth not long ago, and his path didn’t involve causing the collapse of the hungry gods. She could sense twisted energy beaming off him, like the thought of having Alnam sentenced for treason is a pleasure purer than what he just painted before her.

“Something that will honor my admiration for his hatred. Something that will fill him deeper than his despise and scorn resided in my mind, feeding me with its spores…”

Nymre couldn’t stop looking at him. She could feel the almost fevered need in him. The world started to slowly collapse, revealing a whole realm in his eyes, only she could truly understand. The same light that danced between shadows in chambers of Dal’coler, was negated by his aura. Not because he was more cruel that other fairies. But… because he was darker. His needs were not shallow, he didn’t choose violence for the thrill, for amusement. He was choosing it, because his being needed it to live.

Because he pulsed under fingers of darkness, like a most eager lover.

And she loved it. And she could relate to it.

And she despised it, because it was making her weak.

A beautiful torment he mentioned, already caressed their naked limbs.

*

The candle light licked the walls like alive creatures, sharpening the shadows and creating eerie shapes, which resided in and ruled every nook and every corner of the chamber. It was like daylight, entering Dal’coler, was becoming as vile as its darkness – dull, enshadowed and dangerous. The flames knew that not all what is bright can become a day in the end.

Lorian stood on the balcony of his room, when they dragged Mina in. He seemed to be completely lost in his thoughts… his shadows swirled around his arms, reaching through his fingers into the night. The lesser fae didn’t dare to distburb him, so they just stood waiting until he turns his attention on them.

Mina at once registered his clothes – made of shining leather, tightly pressed to his supple limbs. His ears were adorned with golden earrings, covering the tips with delicate ornaments and his eyes… She couldn’t take hers off them – they were touched with golden dust, which made his black holes look even deeper.

He looked just as old fairytales were depicting fairies – otherworldly and dangerous, with a gleam of something evading comprehension.

She decided to not meet him in fear, even when her body still felt the last collapse. And Lorian was first with whom she met after that. No one brought her food or water, like they used to before. Whole day without meeting anyone, just macerating in panic which was growing stronger with every breath.

When they separated her from Tiyan, she still remembered his pained eyes, even through her malign state.

What will they do with him?

What will they do with her?

“Sit her down.”

His voice was filled with strange content, the air snapped when the shadows returned to him – like whole night shifted and breathed out the air it held. The lesser fae pushed her on a crimson couch, so soft, that Mina almost drowned in its silky texture and pillows.

“If you ever could taste Ain’asel…” he mused, not even looking at her. The shadows solidified behind him, and now, they looked like enormous black wings, made of smoke and black mist. “It has scent of old, thick woods… tastes like fresh snow… combined, it’s like god’s blood” he laughed silently, like amused by his own words. “But that could be said only by someone, who doesn’t know how godly blood tastes like.”

He turned to her, the shadowed wings dispersed in a second, a mist escaping from the gust of storm wind.

“And you, Mina Markon… you showed me, that your blood is stronger than any other I have seen in this palace” his steps was silent and cat-like. Mina drowned further into the pillows. “What child would still lie, still listened to my orders, seeing her brother bound and hurt? You truly impressed me. How your little heart had to ache, witnessing his state. Yet… you didn’t falter.”

“I made a deal. You promised not to kill us” murmured Mina. Now she could really sense the snow around them. His violets were frozen. Not sweet anymore. F r o z e n.

“You brought something intriguing to my court” continue Lorian, like he didn’t hear her. The tight leather clothes stretched on his body with perfect rhythm with his muscles. His eyes, surrounded with golden dust, were empty in the darkness and Mina couldn’t see if he is angry, joyful or pleased. His tone indicated nothing. All fae were peculiar unsolved riddles. “Boldness of someone who saw only few winters. How such creature can be so courageous, especially if surrounded by dangers. That is impressing.

“What… what happened when me and Tiyan… ?”

“What was bound to happen” Lorian grinned with all shadows; they drifted to Mina and clasped around her hands, swiftly binding them. Mina threw in her seat, but only drowned further in soft couch. “You ate the apple with such joy – a real treat for whole court. You ate it so eagerly, that you tethered yourself to Dal’coler, not only whole realm. Your hunger was also impressive. How such young soul can possess so many promising traits…”

Shadows slid over her arm and tangled with her now untruly locks. Mina didn’t move this time. She petrified, changed into stone statue.

Lorian bent over her, she could see up close the adornments on his ears, which reflected each flicker of light in the chamber. His eyes were so close to hers now, that she for the first time could look deeply in them.

They were reflecting her own face, her own frantic eyes, she saw herself in them.

And then, her reflection started to drown.

Reflection’s hands closed over its throat. And squeezed.

Mina felt that she lost breath. She wanted to stop looking into the void, but his gaze held her captive, unable to move. She made a gurgling sound, when reflection’s nails dug into its neck’s flesh, blood trickling from puncture wounds.

“… but I have better future to paint before you, brave Mina.”

She fell, catching for air, with her back straight into the soft cushions. Her body shiver from the intensity of the vision.

“We have made a deal…” she gasped, still not being able to take a full breath.

“I promised to not kill you. Mina, you clever child” Lorian straightened up. The night brought suddenly from afar the notes of atonal but beautiful music. Dal’coler lived its life, joyful, pleasurable… a dark maze of lies and half-truths.

He won’t be true to his word.

He won’t. But how? Fae can’t break the deal. They can maneuver around it, but somehow, the deal is binding for them, for better and for worse.

“Why you can kill me” her voice was stern and strong. Her stubborn nature rejecting his threats and his lies. She wanted the truth. Even if most horrid.

“You did your part in this game” he shrugged, his smile so perfect, that Mina wanted to throw up. “You showed your brother few things he won’t forget. But… your real purpose is coming now” he laughed. His laughter was sweet, causing her to shivered. “You will help breaking him.”

“Why. can. you. kill. me” she didn’t know from where these words came from. They were sharp, and strong, like not created by her child throat. She wanted to know. She needed to know.

“Because you made a mistake that every mortal before you did. You made me promise not to kill you. I won’t” his shadows coiled around her waist and lifted her suddenly up, making her stand on her toes, just before him.

“Someone else will.”

He turned again to the landscape that spread before the balcony; an endless woods, touched with moonlight, the distant mountains covered with snow. Mina tossed in the clasp of his shadows, her heavy breath laced with panic.

He moved a finger at the lesser fairies.

“Order the kitchens to prepare her. She must be whole. And crisp as the winter morn.”

Mina started to scream, loud, when she realized what that means.

She screamed all the way down.

They said that when Feirne angered Lorian Ain’Dal, he traveled there himself, with Nymre by his side and a small group of nobles, who wanted to see this peculiar, unusual sight – humans who dared to raise heads. Nymre parted with main group and galloped forth on her horse, to see the heart of the opposition quicker. The walls of Feirne were covered with iron plates, under them – a rowan wood which created a tall palisade. The city looked like a heavy turtle, prepared for any blow, with a flesh made of many desperate and tough people. Nymre demanded to talk with the leader of this place – an older woman appeared on the battlements. She was not tired though or afraid. Nymre asked to open the gates, because it’s rude to keep guests outside. That she demands giving her bread and salt, like human rendition says. The woman replied that she should come and get it herself, if she can.

And Nymre did.

Her light aura spread around the city walls like a thick mist. The iron, which the humans of Feirne were sure is the ultimate weapon against fairies, started to slowly corrode and rust.  Nymre just stood there – the lesser faeries possibly would be long ago wounded by the touch of it. But she was old, powerful and even if the iron aura stung her skin, she was here to show these humans, they can’t kill even one fairy, without the punishment.

The wide lobes of red and copper iron were falling from the walls, like blood. Nymre’s power slipped on the battlements, coiling around the guards’ necks.

“Stop!” the woman said, a real fear in her eyes. “Do not kill them. It’s me who lead them. You can take me, but allow my people to live.”

“This is such a foolish request” Nymre narrowed her brows.

The group of faeries arrived in the same moment, clad in black, green and crimson. Lorian with his cruel shadows, and Sadin with his sand and earth. And Volaria, with wind and storm. Lorian’s silver crown, shaped as spine, shone in the late noon sun. His gloved fingers held the reins nonchalantly. The horse under him stood with its red eyes turned just at the human leader. Empty like wells filled with autumnal colors.

Lorian bent in his saddle, looking at the woman with a stunning smile, which was kind enough to make the humans shiver. It never promised well, when a fairy was in good mood.

“You didn’t greet my lover with bread and salt. Maybe you do not have enough of worthy food. Would you want me to offer the goods, which you could taste for years?”

The woman looked at him with surprised expression. The panic slowly was seeping in, even if she tried to silence it. Feirne now was exposed, at the mercy of the conqueror.

“We do not greet invaders like ones of us.”

Nymre laughed. Volaria scoffed. Sadin looked amused.

Lorian only slid his hand over his sholi horse mane; sholi didn’t move, still with red empty eyes just on the woman. The Fae king’s expression brightened even more. The strings of shadows danced around him, brushing his hear so they moved like underwater.

“Salt” he mused casually.

The guards standing near her, ready to defend her, if the situation needed it, the men who fought with lesser folk for months… the woman saw how they petrify in place with wide open pupils. They limbs sagged, like drained, fast, like pierced by the needle which made them lose the water and air. Their bodies began to tremble uncontrollably, their veins slowly becoming visible, red lines of suffering. The woman didn’t know how to help them, didn’t know what is even happening. Until the cry of pain didn’t reach her ears. It was so loud, and so sudden. A wail torn from the reality with cruel magic.

She could hear Lorian’s voice though, even through the howling of her people.

“Maybe bread too… after all, I am generous today.”

The guards’ mouth started to salivate, foaming with blood and parts of flesh, their throats and stomachs bulged like pushed from within. Something seemed to grow in them, their faces unnaturally wet and bloated.

“I do not like the scent of rotting meat, Lorian” Nymre looked at him with faked reproach.

“Oh, they are not rotting, my cruel raven” laughed Lorian charmingly. “They are prepared for a good feast.”

The walls, now not protected by the iron were nothing for Lorian’s power. A tiny shadow slid from his foot and traveled to the gate, going up and up, and wherever it went, the wood started to molder, fell off. Door touched with decay needed only one push of Volaria’s gust of wind, to fall under the Fae’s feet.

The battlements slowly started to collapse; the guards, now crimson red and swollen, alongside with the leader woman, were trapped by Lorian’s shadows and when Feirne was collapsing under own weight – carried under his feet.

The woman feared him, but didn’t show humility. She raised on her hands and with an utter scorn on her face, she spat before the group of Unseelie.

“You are nothing” she uttered, through throat clenched by anger. “You came here, thinking you are gods. But you are not ones.”

“We aren’t” Lorian cocked his head and leaned over the woman. The gargling sound of guards “being prepared” didn’t suppress his soft chuckle. “Because even gods will bend their backs.”

Volaria looked at Lorian with pure joy.

“You Majesty, this one is very unique. She is not fearing. Maybe we could keep her. Just to enhance the next celebration.”

Lorian’s tone darkened.

“Do not be childish, Volaria. This woman would definitely not like it. And we still want to be guested with bread and salt” he turned to the woman again. “Will you invite us, so we could enjoy your city, fully?”

“Be gone” her teeth gritted. “You will never be welcomed by Feirne soil.”

“Ah, but even the sacred soil has weaknesses and even strongest wind has to cease. Will you offer me Feirne, Talara?”

“NEVER.”

His smile for a moment became predatory, so much that women’s heart skipped a beat.

“Let us in… Foyere.”

It was like a blow of a strongest wind, taking breath away. Like a mountain avalanche, claiming the travelers and burying them under a colony of stones. A hope that she still had, a tiny, small and very insistent, drowned in this one word.

He knew her true name.

“We still would adore being invited by the real hosts of this place” Lorian continued with a sadistic precision. “After all, the soil subdues only to those who have right to step on its flesh.”

The guards next to her looked like sacks of meat, moaning scraps of what they were before.

The people in the city held a breath.

He knew her real name.

“Will you guest us, Foyere?”

She panted, a painful groan escaped her throat. They of course could enter. But if the witch allows someone to her place, the ground welcomes them too. And embraces all they bring, because the soil trusts the witch.

An old rule.

But it will allow him to destroy this place for eons.

She would stab him in that beautiful face.

She would tear his guts out, with her bare teeth.

She would…

“Yes,” she uttered. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape.

At least they fought. At least they killed hundreds of lesser fairies through the months they were given to by the goddess. At least… they bought time to other villages.

Lorian went through Feirne, the walls, rusty and decayed, opened before him like lover’s legs. Then the decay followed and wherever his foot touched the ground, the rot was inflicted, deep, endless and merciless. The humans were finding out that ground under them starts to swallow them with a bubbling sound, mud and dirt, decayed like old meat.

It spread, taking in possession not only the houses, farm animals and humans. It instilled deep into the roots of the land of Feirne, poisoning whole area, traveling to nearby cities and villages, and doing the same with them.

Lorian’s steps were supple and graceful, he was passing humans, who slowly drowned in rust, his shadows caressed their faces and trashing limbs. His feet were like a sentence and the shadows – executioner.

Until he stood. Breathed in, taking the scent of decay and blood into his lungs.

And turned to Nymre, his nobles, the swelling guards and the woman, who didn’t even cry.

His face became a epitome of beauty, a purity that sends darkness on its feet.

He cocked his head again and spoke, his voice a sensual  caress.

“Now… we can start the feast.”

*

Alnam’s eyes fluttered open, his limbs immediately responded for him waking up with a groan of pain. His whole body was pain, like someone instilled in his flesh millions of glass shards and ordered him to crawl.

The words of tale about the horror of Feirne rang in his head, a long forgotten dream he didn’t even witnessed. The bards were singing it at almost every celebration, laughing from humans who dared to stand against the Unseelie kind. That was the moment when, after their arrived back and Lorian’s most trusted nobles shared what happened, he started to suspect Nymre holds much more danger than he thought at the beginning.

Nymre, when arrived to Dal’coler for the first time, was a fresh breeze, a sunlit silky creature in love. Crisp like winter, but hot like summer. Then, she changed, as whole court, aside of few. The frozen season made them all like winter.

Three times more ruthless than winter fairies of the past.

Lorian instills rot in everything.

Why you think of her? Why her? Where are you?

The chain clang when he tried to stretch his arms. Like through mist he remembered how he tried to save that human. How he shapeshifted. How he was blinded by pain.

How he attacked Lorian frontally.

A laughter, bitter one, broke from him. You are truly a desperate man. Desperation can so easily change into death wish. He thought he still have more coldness in him, macerated in ages of grief. But in the end… he ended as all living beings – closing his fingers on a dagger blade, to not to sink.

He was a prisoner then. He gave him a perfect excuse; not that he needed one. He just allowed him to slip into his soul and place there burning coals, pressing that hard, aching spot that hurt for too long.

He didn’t even hoped he will even be free again. Nor that he dies soon. He lunged with claws and fangs at the king of Ain’asel, stole his prisoners and used other fairies, urged them to break a vow to the crown. Even Marnsul would punish that, mercilessly. Lorian…

He was a traitor now, in the eyes of whole court. Someone who advised their king, supported him, feasted with him… and turned against him. Only fae still loyal to him will know the truth. And no matter to what he would be subjected, he won’t allow Lorian to know their names.

How… joyful.

His long life will end here, in prison cell. Sentenced for treason, which he would commit again. And again.

He wanted Corvel to see his actions. Fae souls do not have afterlife. They grow in trees, replenishing the leaves and making their life hundred times longer. If he was a human, he would believe the earth swallowed his soul and prepared it for another cycle. That way, he would meet Corvel and Narlia again, in next life. Lorian too. Nymre. Leira.

Maybe it would be repetition of his well known mistakes and faults.

But he would not be alone.

Now, the only thing he hoped for was…

… death.

There was a sound, soft, almost too soft to notice, echoing down the corridor. Tiyan held his breath. It was too easy. And far too… simple. This woman – if she was a woman at all – was either a liar leading him straight into a trap, though he couldn’t fathom why, if he was already served on a bleeding plate. Or she was deluded and suicidal. Maybe both. Every second felt like a dreadful moment before something worse to emerge from the dimly lit shadows – a lesser fae, or something even darker.

He now looked like one of them… But he wondered if that was enough to fool them.

Without warning, the Leira-creature shoved him against the wall. Tiyan prepared himself for the touch of stone against his face – but it never came.

The wall moved.

It shifted and closed around them, enveloping them like the jaws of a forest beast devouring its prey. A hidden passage, he realized, heart pounding, limbs trembling with tension and fear.

The last few days have been a nightmare for him. His thoughts followed Noyda and the pain and death he had brought upon her. Her tear-filled eyes haunted him. Her screams resounded in his head every time he tried to sleep. He had destroyed her, murdered her, because he couldn’t face the promise of much worse torment. Because he hadn’t been strong enough to give himself up for the greater good.

Lorian would feast on his pain for years. No one could endure that, no one, ever bravest and fairest one. But… he had agreed so quickly, so easily. That was what terrified him the most, what gnawed at his mind with sharp fangs. It had almost shattered him, and only some cruel miracle had kept him alive.

Fire had burned within him all the time, fire that broke two of his chains. But it never touched the fae who was coming to him, the flames never helped him. They was as dead as this cursed place. And when Lorian visited him, twice, the flames burned high and willing, feeding the fae king’s twisted delight.

Lorian didn’t just desecrate his body. He mocked his power. Toyed with shadows, to prove nothing in Tiyan could ever resist him.

But now… now Tiyan was behind the wall. And there, standing before him…

Mina.

He froze.

It struck him like lightning. Mina, alive. She was standing beside a monstrous fae with black horns and stark white eyes, her wings like a bat’s, painted with crimson veins which formed a delicate pattern.

Then Mina was in his arms, falling against him with raw joy and utter relief. She recognized him, she had to be warned that he would wear someone’s else skin. She held onto him like he was life itself, like water after passage through scorching desert. He found himself sobbing into her hair as her small hands wrapped around him, squeezing hard. She still wore the intricate court dress, her hair was still pinned in an elegant style. But something had changed. She was no longer a doll.

She was alive.

“Tiyan!” she cried, pulling back slightly, a lock of hair slipping loose. “Tiyan, I’m so sorry! I had to…I had to lie. I made a deal with the Fae King… he promised not to kill us.”

“Not killing someone can take many forms,” the woman-creature’s voice was cold. “Some of them are worse than death.”

Tiyan knew that already, all too well, yet he still clung to life. Maybe because some tiny spark of hope still lit in him. Or maybe it was because Mina was here, her mind unbroken, only with a tear-stained face and trembling. Her fingers dug into her pinned hair, pulling until it was wild and tangled, a mane of fierce rebellion.

Her eyes gleamed with the same force – determined and not beaten.

Not yet.

The winged fairy stepping from foot to foot, her movements almost a dance. Her teeth glistened in the darkness, sharp, capable of ripping their throats out in an second. But she wasn’t here to kill them. She was here to help, as twisted and bizarre as it was.

“We have little time,” the woman said, pulling Tiyan from his thoughts, like with a fish hook. “Lorian Ain’Dal could return from the hunt at any moment. We need to reach the gate and deal with the magic protecting Dal’coler’s walls. That will be the most difficult part.”

“No one escapes Dal’coler,” the small fairy said, her voice grave. “Not with their sanity and not in one piece.”

“Dahorat,” the woman cut her off. “We are here to break the rules, not to obey them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Dahorat said, grinning wide. Her teeth seemed longer now.

My Lord. So it was a man. A shapeshifter. Something out of the oldest, most cruel tales. But wasn’t this place itself made of nightmares and ancient legends? The kind of stories where humans lose their firstborn – or their souls.

They ran through the hidden passage, Tiyan’s heart pounded in his chest like a moth trapped in a jar. This couldn’t be real. Even if they made it through the gates, Lorian would hunt them down. The fae would never let them go. But the fact that he ran and he was with Mina, made him feel free. He was no longer chained in that chamber, no longer waiting to be defiled again and again. He could at least try to save Mina. And even if they will be followed, he still had free will.

He could still choose.

The shapeshifter’s golden hair shone with dim light ahead of him, and that reminded Tiyan of Noyd. Noyd, who now waited for him in a quiet village, with a dog who missed him and a home they could rebuild together.

As foolish as it sounded – because the fae would never let that dream to be fulfill – he imagined spring. Spring which he long forgotten, but now it knocked to his minds with green branches and soft leaves.

The shapeshifter pushed the wall.

When it opened they heard voices. He shook his head, showing at the entrance to another passage. Tiyan saw a group of Fae, approaching them, courtly talks threaded with soft and delicate laughter.

“We will pass them by,” the shapeshifter said, voice sharp and deliberate.

There was no tremor of fear in him. Only the cold, quiet weight of purpose. A warrior’s determination, he was a fighter who entered the battlefield. Tiyan watched him and couldn’t understand. The Unseelie were craving blood and suffering. Every one he’d met was as ruthless as frostbite on a winter dawn. So why was this one helping them?

Were there Unseelie who… weren’t like the rest? Could that even exist? If so, they must be exiles and outcasts.

“You look like one of us,” the shapeshifter said, glancing at Tiyan. “But I can’t shift the girl.”

“Why?” Mina’s voice rang, sharper than Tiyan had expected.

The shapeshifters mouth pulled into something like a smile, except it wasn’t present in his eyes, which were full of old pain.

“I can’t change human bodies so young. The process would tear her apart. If she survived, she’d never heal. Not fully, at least.”

Mina opened her mouth, but the words died in her throat.

“Now, no one can recognize you in this body. But with time, your flesh will start to refuse to keep fairy shape. You will return to your human form” the shapeshifter’s blue eyes were stern and cold like a winter stone. “It will hurt. But not as much as recovery from it. You are a human. You will have to adjust yourself again to your body.”

Tiyan would shrug, to show he will do anything for freedom. But it would be a defiant gesture. Something he had no strength for. Not for showcaase of chivalry.

“He will know” Mina sudden voice broke the minute silence. Dahorat, after considering her for a second, laughed. Tiyan felt this laugh both misplaced and somehow… it made his skin creep. It was dull, silent and hazy, like a sticky dream, which you cannot forget.

“He will know. With time. He knows many things.”

The shapeshifter’s moves were incoherent, when he pushed him forth,. This man… whoever he was, was delusional. He didn’t know anything about Tiyan’s purpose here. He wanted some kind of retribution. He could see numbed rage in his face. Old, fried and ready to serve on a plate of their biggest failure.

But Tiyan didn’t comment. Much worse things awaited him in his room, where shadows were thirsty and bodies too hungry. There was still a slight hope, he will survive. Even if he will have to hide whole his life. Learn to live with constant danger. And one day, they will come for him. It will buy him only months of life.

If not days.

But Tiyan wanted these months. Maybe his flaming power will grow. Maybe he learns to use it.

Maybe…

The shapeshifter led him into much darker passages, the fairies’ presence was more scarce here and Tiyan’s heart, even if still jumping in his chest, was slowly, inevitably, calming down. He now saw the absurdity of this situation.

Here he was, with a fae who he never asked for rescue, didn’t know his motives, even his face. He looked as fae too, and only Mina was a touch of normalcy in this madness. Mina, who’s skin looked strangely pale in the dark light of the fairy fireflies that were surrounding him, attracted to their doubt and fear.

“Where you lead us?” he demanded, reaching the point of not caring how to speak to the fae before him. If he was offended, it was somehow filling Tiyan’s heart with strange pleasure.

“This passage leads to the portal to Shadowlands. We have five portals in Dal’coler. They are shorcuts to all parts of Ain’asel .”

“And you think no one will chase us” Tiyan’s bitter tone halted the Leira look-a-like in midstep. “And… Shadow Fairies won’t eat me as soon as I appear there?”

“No” he said into the void. “I will send Dahorat with you. You survived with Trickster of Dal’coler, you will survive with her.”

Toyan doubted, cold fear started to creep into his guts. This fae didn’t care about him, he just wanted to feed whatever wound burned in him. Tear him from Lorian claws. And clean his hands from his future fate. Only for Lorian to not delve his fangs in him.

Maybe he will be able to hide Mina. Transport her somehow to Avras. But he knew well enough his time is counted.

Rage, burning and devouring, filled his bones. Whoever you meet, wants to use you. Wherever you turn, you see walls.

The passage started to widen, slowly yet steadily. The fairy light also became more prominent, to eventually swarm before them and lighten up a vast chamber.

Nothing could prepare Tiyan to what he saw. The portal didn’t look like the ancient door in Shadowlands. It was bigger. So big, that the arches were disappearing in the darkness, seemingly never ending. The old power was oozing from them, in form of thick roots, which looked like formed by eons, no, eternity. Tiyan suddenly felt small. Not small in earthly meaning of this word. In some forgotten spiritual plane, Tiyan was just a bread crumb on a plate of a giant.

Mina seemed enchanted. Alive like never before. Dead like something not living for eons, or eternity.

The shapeshifter was giving him some advice, or orders. Or both. Tiyan heard only the bells of time in his ears, wanting to deafen all what was left from his hope.

“… you don’t listen. You must listen” not panic in his voice. Something bordering on desperation. “Listen to my voice. Now.”

Mina. Mina didn’t move. She surely heard the bells too. But… it was not petrified state of someone afraid. She just… became a stone. And her eyes rolled back.

The gates’ ancient darkness already was reaching to them, the shapeshifter steal spoke, urged him, but Tiyan only seen Mina… and the tiny spot in the door to Shadowlands, which ordered him to leave her and abandon all hope – all at the same time. It brimmed with raw flesh and boiling blood.
Tiyan turned toward his sister. His legs threatened to collapse, his lungs burned, like eaten from the inside. This sweet taste in his mouth… like a poisoned candy and vomit. A horrific, grotesque taste of his own cooked meat.

I know who you are. And you are mine. My tasty delight.

This can’t be truth… he can’t…

“Mina,” he rasped. “Mina, you have to move.”

She didn’t.

Then she shook. Violently.

Foam spilled from her mouth. Her nails buried into her palms, blood flew down her hands, glistening red in the dim light. Her eyes rolled back, and all that remained was a white sclera, painted with crimson veins.

“Curse it, Mina!” Tiyan’s voice cracked. Something inside him moved, wild, primal, terrified. A flame cracked beneath his skin, boiling his blood, a flame that devours and destroys. It was coming loose, embracing him with warm, white fingers.

He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, trying to stop the violent shaking. But something took her, a force, invisible but merciless. She was torn from his grasp and was tossed backward.

Her body slammed into the wall with a sickening sound.

“Mina!”

“She can’t go with us.”

The shapeshifter’s voice changed gravity around him. Tiyan turned wildly to him, his eyes flaming. His skin started to smoke. But he didn’t waste time for his vile words. He won’t leave Mina behind.

His legs still shook, but he managed to collapse next to her. She looked like dead, but her chest heaved.

“Mina… please.”

She seemed to not connect, like a doll, she hoped she was not anymore. Her eyes were completely white.

He made them kidnap her. If not his choices, she would still be safe. If he allowed the lesser folk to eat him, nothing of this would happen.

No.

It was not his fault. He did all he could. He entered the poisoned maw of a cruel beast and still does everything he can, to save her. Even if it’s all sentenced to failure, he won’t stop. Mina still breathes. He still breathes.

Mina rolled her white eyes.

Tiyan breathed in the cold, freezing air.

The icy touch of winter. Even through the closed gates.

Everything covered by frost, which couldn’t come through shut up entrance to Dal’coler.

Something – someone – was coming and Tiyan with dreadful clarity realized who. He felt him. Like through some strange connection the horrid union of their bodies and minds had caused.

The air, his body, his whole being suddenly was enveloped by blinding darkness. And reality snapped. The gate disappeared, his nerves bursted with pain and the passage became wider, bigger, enormous, like a stomach of a time beast.

Mina, still petrified. His hopeless rescuer. And Dahorat, laying chopped into pieces a mere two meters from him.

Noone who eats my apples, tastes their blood, can leave Dal’coler, a voice inside his head, a cruel, cold, amused one. And Tiyan knew all is lost.

All was lost since the beginning. They had no chance. Even if hope crawled into his heart, when they managed to come so far.

The passage to the chamber o p e n e d , a mouth giving out the ultimate darkness. Shadows crawled in, like tentacles, a night so thick that it obscured all light. They filled the whole portal room, Mina tossed in place, roots emerged from the wall, embracing her in waist, trapping her arms and legs.

The shapeshifter’s features started to change. His skin softened, his bones changed shape, but without a familiar sound of snapping. Before Tiyan, a Unseelie stood, a high fey of long, brown hair and green eyes like spring overgrowth, his gaze showing both fear and determination. His face was a mask, but emotions bubbled in him, ready to force him to do something inevitable.

“Alnam, ah Alnam” Lorian’s voice reached them through the shadowed mist. Lorian himself emerged from them, perfect like a night sky during crisp winter. His smile – a death of thousand cuts. “How delusional.”

His shadows seemed to be pumped into the chamber, Tiyan felt them on his skin, trying to find a crevice to push into.

The shapeshifter – Alnam – didn’t wait. Desperation drew him to the point he could have either do something – or die trying. His form changed again, fast, almost a blink, fur taking place of pale skin, and his face making way to a fanged maw.

Lorian laughed.

“So you want to offer me a Shagita to hunt, eventually.”

The beast lunged.

Tiyan saw that like in slow motion, just like when a fey beast attacked him, long ago, in another life. The creature Alnam became in the last throe of desperation, attacked Lorian. The shadows crept in immediately, but Alnam’s power clashed with them, pale and breezy, the sharp fangs managed to reach the fae king’s arm.

Blue blood poured, Alnam breathed fast, his long tongue licking it from his maw, like a source of life and death, altogether. His eyes shone, Tiyan knew he will attack again, his bright power gleamed with light aura, which now looked like something… autumnal. The scent of pine forest became a warmed stone, and the color of vermilion almost overwhelmed Tiyan, sharp and raw like the source of autumn itself.

Alnam was autumn, its heart, and its servant. And it wanted the white throat of winter.

Lorian’s eyes met the beast’s ones. In the dark void – a spark of something that made Tiyan’s skin crawl.

Dal’coler sighed.

Dal’coler took a breath.

And exhaled.

The tendrils of something ethereal reached to Alnam, straight from the walls. Tiyan could see open mouths, fingers dripping with mist and teeth sculpted from nothingness. It was like the wind took a predatory form and rushed through the passage to feast on flesh, bite it off from bones. They started to push into Alnam’s throat, choking him, filling him with gossamer.

And the time stopped.

Not slow motion anymore.

It was a full stop.

Time died for one second.

Lorian’s lips curled up in a smile. Nymre was trapped in mid-step, in the moment when she was approaching, ready to act, with her eyes set on the wound the beast inflicted in her lover’s flesh. Whole Dal’coler held a breath. The song stopped too, and Tiyan felt as his mind again start to connect, but the more dreadful all of this became.

Lorian couldn’t look more nonchalant, when he passed Alnam, hung in the air, his long tail touching the ground, and his neck bent in a horrifying position. The fae king walked slowly to Tiyan, blood dripping off his wound, caused by Alnam’s teeth.

“There are things that only gods can do” he mused casually. “And one of them is stopping for a while and enjoying the world around us.”

This was not possible. The mist hanged over them, welcoming the shadows with a silent and pained wail.

But here he was, while Tiyan body was locked in eternity, and his mind cried out in utter despair.

“Some say that trapped souls can become a burden for their owner” Lorian continued. He stood just next to Tiyan and his hand reached to his face. Touched it, with a tender gesture. And smeared a petrified tear on his cheek. “But I know how to make them useful.”

Trapped souls. Were they…?

The flames boiled in Tiyan, begging him to let them out. The moment prolonged, the fire became almost unbearably hot inside his tormented veins… he felt the crisp scent of frozen violets, of jasmine touched with cruel frost… until the mist didn’t allow the time to snap in its place.

Alnam landed on the stone floor with a loud crack, Nymre almost tripped, when she regained the ability to move.

“Lorian,” she growled, her voice angry and worried. It ran through Tiyan’s mind, how much she knew about that shade of Lorian’s power.

“Release the fire” Lorian purred into Tiyan’s ear. “Please me.”

And Tiyan started to burn. Flames intertwined with Lorian’s night, whole passage filled with a white heatwave. She saw Nymre and Alnam, surrounded by shadows, which pushed the fire off them.

Lorian bathed in his flames. His smile ever perfect, but something, a hint of of something much deeper and dangerous painted into it, like a gruesome detail placed in an overall beautiful portrait. A midnight prevailing over noon. Darkness claiming the body of light.

And the world became black.

And sweet.

The first visit to the captive boy instilled a tangled mix of hope and dread in Alnam’s tormented heart. The boy was more than human – Alnam sensed it, not just because he could see through Leira’s borrowed skin with  ease. Lorian had chosen the boy not simply to play with him or destroy him for the thrill.

There was a deeper plan behind it. One that Alnam instantly wanted to dismantle.

He visited the boy several times, still wearing Leira’s face – both to remain hidden, and because Tiyan might break under Lorian’s power and turn against him.

Tiyan Markon.

Alnam had only learned the name, but he had already discreetly sent his people into human lands. It was a great risk, but he took every precaution, ensuring they couldn’t be exposed. His estate of Devlonmere was home to many loyal fey, who could easily disguise themselves as thrill-seeking guests in Avras – like so many who had once left Ain’asel to toy with human bodies and minds.

Winter had not yet claimed everything in its cold embrace. Gaps in the snow left room to breathe. Alnam gave his people purpose, and they bloomed like autumn thorns and bonfires, ready to burst into high flame.

The boy came from Inamora, a lonely village in the Venklann Valley. His parents had been killed not long ago – and one of the girls Lorian danced with at that peculiar ball had been his sister.

Possibilities began to flame up in Alnam’s mind, accompanied by a distant, gnawing fear: that Lorian already knew everything about his efforts. That he was allowing him to move freely, only to strike with a final, devastating blow when the time was right.

But Alnam began repeating it to himself like a mantra: If not now, then never. Nothing to lose. Nothing to fear. He might die, but at last, he would try to tear down Lorian’s web of plans.

He ensured everything was falling into place.

Then the day came – a day Alnam had feared as much as he had awaited.

Lorian took Nymre on a hunt. Not for humans this time, but for the most dangerous beast in the forests of Ain’asel: the Shagita. These creatures were feral and deadly, their backs covered with poisonous spines. They had the power to mislead even the Unseelie fey, conjuring illusions and visions until the hunters were lost and helpless at their mercy.

Only Lorian could be bold – or arrogant – enough to hunt Shagitas for sport.

He did not leave with fanfare. Instead, he departed quietly, astride his sholi horse, an all-knowing smile on his lips. Nymre rode beside him, dressed in thick trousers and a feathered cape. They might have passed for dark twins – Lorian’s clothes were cut in the same style – if not for their eyes: light and dark, day and night. Nymre’s aura was light, her presence scented like an  ocean breeze. Lorian, all shadow, smelled of violets and jasmine.

Alnam watched them for a long time, until they became no more than dark specks on the horizon.

Then he acted.

He sent Noli to make sure Leira would not expose him or interfere with the plan. When he was informed she had been found in the eastern wing of the fortress, Alnam knew his chances had improved.

He shapeshifted again, taking her face as his own.

But a sharp sting pierced his heart. Something held him still for a moment. Something he had seen in Lorian’s eyes – something that didn’t fit.

He couldn’t grasp what it was. And he feared his mind might be deceiving him, tricking him into hesitation, into missing his chance and falling even deeper into the abyss.

But no.

All precautions had been taken. He was no young fae anymore. Leira couldn’t know. Lorian couldn’t know. His plan had no holes. He had lived too long to allow himself a misstep. He had spent too many days on battlefields, lost too much blood, left too many splinters of his soul in distant realms.

The door to Tiyan’s room was guarded by the same twin sentries. Alnam brought water and bread; they let him pass without a glance.

A good sign, though perhaps a very bad one.

He found Tiyan unchained, clean, dressed in a black shirt with a royal symbol sewn on the front.

Alnam stopped, nearly frozen.

The Brusha symbol – on black cloth.

The same one he had seen on the banner they used to cover Corvel. The tormented face, the moment he pulled it from the mangled, bloodied body. The eyes that looked at him, full of pain.

And the voice. Battered, weak, muffled, but the words were burned into Alnam’s mind.

“Father… I tried…”

Alnam blinked hard.

Not now. If you turn back, you are lost.

Tiyan sat at the edge of the bed, staring out the window. His hair was a wet, tangled mess. His eyes were bloodshot. He rocked slightly, back and forth, a silent mirror of Alnam’s own torment.

“You’re here again.”

Tiyan didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. He knew.

“Yes,” Alnam said softly. “And this time, not in vain.”

The boy scoffed, dark and bitter.

“You’ve come to live up to your word and save me? Before he orders me to fuck every slave here and fill them with blood?”

Alnam – wearing Leira’s face – shook his head. The thick blond hair moved wildly as he stepped closer.

“I’m taking you. Everything is ready. This time, it’s not just a visit. There are fae, who will make it possible.”

Tiyan looked at him like he was insane.

“This is a cruel joke… or you’ve truly lost your mind.”

“I have,” Alnam replied calmly. “And I know exactly what I’m doing. Both.”

Tiyan stared at him, eyes filled with pain and disbelief. He wanted to believe. Desperately. Why would he do it? This place was rotting. Dead. Even if it still pulsed with life and ran red with fresh blood.

“Why?”

One word. But it opened a flood inside Alnam. He wanted to tell him everything – about Lorian, about Leira, about his son. But there was no time. He could only hope his servants had already taken action. If not…

“Because this isn’t the only way the fae can live.”

Tiyan’s deep brown eyes glinted with fire in the Dal’coler darkness.

“I’m not going anywhere without my sister.”

“That will be taken care of too. She ate from the Core Tree, yes. That may bind her to the realm but I will do everything in my power to secure her, and to try to break the spell.”

“No,” Tiyan said, shaking his head. “You must do more than you can. I’m not leaving Ain’asel without her. I’ve lost too much already. I won’t lose her too.”

Alnam saw the desperate glint in Tiyan’s eyes; determined, almost broken, but not yet. There was still fire in his veins. Lorian hadn’t managed to take that from him, not completely.

“I promise,” Alnam said.

It was a lie. Core apples were the ultimate prison. The girl would never leave the realm, not even if Alnam bled himself dry on the altar to free her.

But the boy wouldn’t come without hope.

A lie, yes. But a necessary one.

A weapon in the game against Lorian. Just like Tiyan Markon himself – a weaponized body, carved with suffering.

Tiyan nodded.

“The guards?” he asked.

“They should be sleeping now.”

And they were. Kinary, Alnam’s oldest servant in Dal’coler, was one of the plumpuppets. They could induce sleep filled with nightmares. The twins slept with their eyes wide open, irises rolling aimlessly in their sockets.

“I know a path through the gates that’ll help us avoid most of the fae,” Alnam said, finally exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He had feared Kinary had been caught, and the guards would still be there. If they had been, he could have lied to them; humans couldn’t lie to a fae, and they would never suspect one in human disguise.

This small success felt like balm on his soul, on his mind.

Alnam took Tiyan’s hand – the same one Qhal had mangled twice – and with a swift motion, he made a cut on one of the remaining fingers. Tiyan didn’t move, watching calmly as Alnam sliced his own finger and pressed the wounds together. Blue and red mingled.

Alnam suspected Tiyan had seen too much, lived through too much, to feel fear at this kind of magic.

Dal’coler chews you up and spits you out. In the end, you’re just flesh, minced meat, no matter if your blood is red or blue.

There weren’t many shapeshifters in Dal’coler. Alnam was one of three. A rare gift, like shadow magic, and just as dangerous when used well.

By mixing blood, he could shapeshift others. Not permanently, but long enough.

His heart filled with a bitter kind of exhilaration. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Maybe never.

And he began to weave his magic.

Tiyan’s features began to change.

The transformation never hurt Alnam – but for others, it was painful enough to cause a scream. Bones relocating, skin stretching. Yet in this case, it was the lesser evil.

Tiyan’s face lengthened, his limbs grew more supple, his eyes turned deep green. Alnam couldn’t replicate a fae aura, but he could wrap Tiyan in his own. He had already dimmed it while passing through the sentries’ guards before his door.

He heard a low grunt, and a bone snapped – not in the right place, but where it needed to.

Before him now stood one of the fae twins – at least in form. His eyes were tired, but newly lit with hope.

Hope is dangerous. Deadlier than a dagger in the night. Crueler than the executioner’s hand. But Alnam had it too, a wild, reckless thing that gave him strength.

“Go,” he whispered, in Leira’s soft, deep voice.

Tiyan stumbled slightly, muscles strained by the shifting, but he had strength enough to move.

This is madness, a voice whispered in Alnam’s mind. Devlon, what you’re doing is mad. It won’t work. You’re more insane now than when Corvel left you, your hands dripping with his blood, ready to end yourself. When Narlia tried to speak to what little sanity you had left…

It’s madness. And you know it.

He did. And still – he would do it.

They took the least populated corridors; paths that bordered on abandonment. Vast arches loomed above them, and statues watched in silence. Grotesque reminders that Dal’coler despised disobedience – and punished it as a warning.

They chose the darkest passages.

Still, the sculptures watched them.

The columns leaned toward them, tangled in roots and twisted trees.

They walked slowly; but inside, a gale raged. A silent storm in their souls, snowflakes of  sharp fear and icy touch of an uncertain future.