Page 197 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

Gripping his sword tight, he waited for the shadow to attack. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. The Trinity had designed this trial to bring him to within an inch of his life. Only the strongest and most worthy would survive.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see something move. The hair on his arms stood on end. Instinctively he raised his sword just as the shadow’s fell upon him. The weapons clanged against one another. Caiden grit his teeth, pushing with all his might against the shadow, only to be met with equal force.

Their faces nearly touched as their swords braced one another.

Caiden stared into the shadow’s eyes… his eyes, before tearing his sword away. The shadow did the same.

Chests heaving, they circled each other again.

Caiden ran through his old training in his mind, trying to remember the moves he’d learned half a century ago. But how could he outsmart this creature?

The shadow lunged, and he quickly sidestepped the attack. There had to be a pattern. For the most part, the shadow mimicked his attack, while other times it attacked on its own. What was the cadence of these attacks? Was it when he was distracted?

He decided to test his hypothesis.

The shadow looked at him, blinking every time he did.

He took a deep breath and turned his head toward where he thought he’d entered. Sure enough, the shadow lashed out with his sword, but Caiden jumped back, running his own weapon through its shoulder, bringing him to his knees.

“Got you,” he said, just as the shadow ran a dagger through his side. A hot pain radiated through him. He stepped backward, pulling his sword from the shadow.

An evil smile cut the creature’s face in two, but where Caiden had square teeth, this creature had a mouth of sharp fangs.

He got to his feet.

Blood poured from Caiden’s side. Why wasn’t Illya’s gift clotting the blood? He desperately tried to cover the wound. His heart pounded in his chest.

“What magic is this?” he wondered out loud.

The shadow did not answer. He only moved closer. Caiden stumbled back. He had to end this, now.

The shadow raised his sword to strike again, and Caiden blocked it. The sound of steel on steel echoed through the chamber. His body screamed in agony, but he couldn’t let the shadow win. Too much depended on this.

He sucked in a breath, before kicking the shadow in the gut, sending him flying across the room.

Caiden mustered every ounce of power in his veins and lashed out at the shadow before he had time to think, sending two massive bolts of lightning hurtling into the shadow. The creature’s body convulsed as energy radiated through it. Caidencould feel his magic dwindling but still he summoned more, pouring every ounce of frustration, of hate and anger into the being that was a shadow of himself. He couldn’t save his wife. He’d lost Aelia. He would not let this specter best him. The creature shook uncontrollably, until finally Caiden stopped his lightning.

The smell of chard flesh filled the air. A macabre feeling washed over him. He’d killed himself. And part of him was glad. Perhaps this was the part that loved Aelia. Perhaps this was the part of him that had caused her so much pain. He could move on now and be a better person. Be the person she hoped he was.

Smoke smoldered from the charred body of his shadow self. He stared at it, taking in this version of himself—charred and crisp. A pit opened in his stomach, and he hurled its contents onto the floor.

“Caiden!” The sound of Aelia’s voice echoed through the chamber. “Caiden, are you alright?”

She came running at him—a look of concern etched across her beautiful face. His chest lightened. She still cared for him.

“You’re hurt,” she said upon seeing his blood-stained hands.

Caiden’s eyes flitted to Tharan, who stood stoically behind her, arms crossed over his chest. He did not want to get between the Alder King and his love, but he couldn’t help but be pleased she’d been worried about him.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” Amolie chimed in. “Let me see.”

Caiden moved his hand to let Amolie have a look at the wound.

“Take off your armor. I’ll have to sew it up,” she said, already reaching for a needle and thread in one of her dress’s many pockets.

“Here?”

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