Page 20 of Cursed Shadows

“Variant has already been to Geldingstock by now, and most probably has lookouts stationed there. It would be too obvious.”

“Hmm,” he says, nodding as though I’ve made a good point.

“I could make one,” I tell him, “if I had the right tools.”

“Are those tools difficult to come by?”

I shake my head. “Not difficult, but perhaps time-consuming. And it seems time is an extravagance we can’t afford.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, then faces me with hope in his eyes. “Do you believe the stone would allow me to regain my lost memories?”

I take a deep breath. He was dead. I don’t know the rules that govern him now. “I don’t know.”

He nods. “It’s worth a try. For the angel and for me.”

I nod, too, and let out a deep sigh. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for everything I need.”

Baron perks at my words. “I happen to be an expert at finding things that don’t want to be found.” He smiles and, despite my exhaustion and general hopelessness, I find myself returning the expression.

In truth, I don’t have complete confidence the stone will work on either one of them. Even if it does, crafting one takes hours and requires metal, wool, and wood from trees only found in the Fae Realm. Transmutation Stones are powerful objects, capable of protecting against all manner of enchantments. But, while their magic can be stronger than that of their maker, I wonder if it will be strong enough to undo whatever is exercising its hold on the angel’s memory. And Baron? I have no idea if the stone will help him.

Baron’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “News of Ferchad’s death will soon find its way through the city. He has more than one friend here, and all the manticores in all the realms won’t be able to protect you from them.”

I nod and stand up, ready to start our journey yet again. I notice Baron doesn’t make any move to follow me, and I wonder if perhaps he wants some time to himself. I decide to oblige him and open the door, stepping into the hallway.

Confronted with darkness, I inch my way along the corridor, using the last of my strength to inspire my eyes to see. The darkness around me lessens, allowing me to locate the first door. I knock gently before entering.

Thoradin’s huge, slumbering form lies beneath a blanket on a bed in the middle of the fire-lit room.

“Gather your things,” I say to him. “We’re leaving.”

CHAPTER SIX

DRAGAN

Grimreap

Shadow Realm

I awake to the sound of shifting sheets. It’s impossible to know how long I’ve slept— exhaustion still calls to me and my body is reluctant to wake—but Eilish is tossing and turning from where she lies beside me. I roll over as she lets out a frightened moan. Gently, I clasp her shoulder. She calms at my touch, but suddenly, I’m no longer in this room with her.

I’m standing in a familiar chamber, the sight of which makes me shudder. The last time I was here, I watched as Baron was stabbed through the heart with a dagger made of ice. This was the room where it all happened—the beginning of the end: the balance of our realms lost to tyranny and greed, the end of life as we knew it.

But now, the hall is empty. Cold air hangs around me, reminding me of the chill I once felt in this same spot—where I watched Variant standing over Baron’s limp body. Now I see an expanse of clear, carved ice—so smooth, it looks like white marble.

At this altitude, the air is icy and my breath comes out in clouds of white. Slender, fluted columns hold up the high, lofted ceilings. Their tops are ornately carved, decorated with intricate leaves and scrolls.

When the four kings ruled, the ceiling was enchanted to reflect the balance of all things: light and shadow ruling alongside one another. Now, the scene is different. It shows only a large portrait of Variant, his wings held aloft and his body suspended in cloud. In the image, Variant is deified, his already impressive features enhanced to make him look evenmore powerful and foreboding. Its intention, quite obviously, is to intimidate those who are brought before the king.

Bright, colored light streams in through the stained-glass windows—each depicts a scene from and after the Great War; my eyes stop when I recognize a familiar scene. I wince as my eyes catch an image of myself, kneeling in surrender.

At the far end of the hall are steps carved from ice, which lead to a low platform boasting an impressive throne made entirely of icicles. Long, frozen rods fan out from the base of the chair; their sharp ends compose the back of the throne.

It’s then that I realize Eilish is standing beside me, her eyes fixed on the two massive double doors that mark the entrance to the room. I follow her gaze in time to see the doors open. Through the growing crack between the doors, a beam of white, blinding light obscures the two figures entering the room, I can only make out their shapes—one large, proud and muscular, the other the size of a child, posture submissive.

Panic floods through me as I search for a place to hide, sure we’ll be seen when the two turn away from their conversation in time to see the most wanted fugitives in the kingdom. The door closes and the identity of our company is revealed. One, a lightfoot halfling, and the other, the most dangerous man alive: Variant.

My breath catches, and I watch as Variant scans the room with a steady gaze but makes no comment on our presence. It’s as though he looks right past us. As though he can’t see us. I don’t understand how this is possible, but I stay where I am and fight the instinct to hide.

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