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.