Page 22 of Shade of Ruin

She just keeps shaking her head. The Shade doesn’t interrupt. It’s her decision. Comply with his request or die. It isn’t his place to change the outcome of this. He can’t weigh in or try to convince her.

The mark grows, slowly consuming her arm. Her skin turns a sickening black. Liquid drips as the mark expands, turning her entire arm red and then black. What was once her skin and is now ash floats into the air. The scent of burned flesh replaces the smell of dust and metal filings, and still, both the Shade and Amara watch as she is slowly consumed by the mark.

Finally, as the flames reach her shoulder, she screams. All she has to do to stop it is to decide to make the ring. It would end immediately.

But to some, there are things more valuable than their lives. This is not the first time someone has chosen death instead of paying their debt.

Everything around Amara becomes dark and smoky. As the red-hot flame moves to her torso, it shifts and flows around her heart, flowing up her neck and limbs simultaneously, while leaving her heart untouched.

As her screams die in a smokey haze, the Shade steps forward and touches the unburnt section of her chest. Pure power flows from it to him.

There is a reason that the Shade has been hunted for fifteen years by two entire Great Houses and hasn’t been caught. It’s how he’s known throughout all of Nyth, yet no one knows anything about him. It’s how he can hear the whispers of his name a half-country away by a singular human who has learned the power of names.

There is only one person who has more power than the Shade: the King of the Immortals. The one who wears the Painted Crown. That man will only wear it for another fifteen years, and then there will be a chance to change things. A chance to bring balance back to the world.

But only if all the cards fall in just the right order.

The Shade has taken Amara’s power, but he would rather have had that ring. It would be another tool to manipulate the world. If he can’t align everything in the next fifteen years, it’ll be too late.

And that will be the end of Nyth as he knows it.

Chapter 11

The House of Stone will be the conduit between the anchor and the creatures that have been touched with power. They will feed the world beyond the Immortals.

~Kasan the Lifegiver, A History of Magic and Dragons

I feel worn down—moreworn down than I have in years. Maybe that’s why I overslept this morning. Every day for the past three weeks, we’ve walked from dawn until nearly dusk. Then I hunt and we train with sticks around the fire until I can’t take the pain anymore. After Cole’s asleep, I sneak off to practice magic. I’ve had so few hours of sleep, and the wear and tear on my body is getting to me at this point.

The sun is already high in the sky when my eyes finally open. I look around and notice Cole’s things are packed up, but he’snowhere to be seen. My mouth is dry, my body aches, and I have a headache from where Cole hit me last night while we were training.

I run my hand over the spot on my temple where I’d expect there to be a serious bruise, but it’s barely even tender. The only proof of the injury that had ended our sparring practice is the sticky blood that’s soaked so much of my hair.

I stand up and start packing my things. Where could Cole be? He hasn’t started walking since his things are still here. The longer I’ve been around him, the more I question whether anything could hurt him, so his absence isn’t worrying.

I look down at my own pile of things and shrug. If Cole isn’t here, then I ought to walk down to the stream to get some of the blood out of my hair. I won’t enjoy walking for an entire day with half my hair stuck to the side of my head.

The farther we’ve walked away from Blackgrove, the more the world around us has changed. No longer are we surrounded by thick forests like the ones I grew up with. Now, things are rockier, and there are fewer trees. The clearings have become far more common, and at night I’ve had to walk further away from camp so that my magical scent doesn’t wake Cole up.

In the distance, the Ethereal Spine is visible, the mountain range that Draenyth is a part of. The capital city of the Fae is built around Skycrest, the highest mountain in Nyth. We can’t see that particular mountain yet, but we’re no longer a world away from Draenyth. It’s only taken three weeks of steady walking.

I go down the hill to the thick bushes following the stream where we filled our cook pot last night, and I hear something splashing. Without thinking, I immediately silence my movements, sneaking through the bushes to see what’s in the river. It could be a bear or an elk. The latter wouldn’t matter, but I’d prefer not to be surprised by a bear.

As I push a branch out of the way, I realize that a bear would have been far less surprising than what I see.

Cole is standing waist deep in the stream, his clothes left on the bank. I instinctively know that I should look away. I should wait for him to come back to the camp before I wash my hair. But I can’t seem to turn from the view.

His body is beautiful. Every inch of it is covered in tight muscles from an immortal life full of physical training. That body was built for killing. He stretches and flows and moves, and the water runs over those sharp curves. I can’t look away.

Especially when he turns away from me, and I realize the burn scars I’d noticed on his shoulder are so much more extensive than I’d thought. Bright red, they stand out in the morning sun. Running from his shoulders down to the middle of his back, I can’t believe how terrible the wound must have been to leave something like that. I know he’s from the House of Flames, so it would make sense for him to occasionally burn himself while learning, but this? This had to have nearly killed him.

And yet, even though they’re scars, they fit him. The tight white lines through the red looks almost like a sunburst across his shoulder. It’s a terrible mark that couldn’t be more stunning.

It's like he hears me thinking about him because he whirls around to face the bushes I’m hiding in. “Wyrdling…” he growls.

Now I’ve done it. Embarrassment is not an emotion I’ve ever been familiar with, but today, it’s the only thing present. “Yes?” I say, barely more than a whisper, as I stand up, turning to face away from him at the same time.

“Why are you watching me bathe? I thought we had an unspoken understanding.”

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