Page 92 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
Whenever the Fire Queen was ready to release him, she opened his jar and trapped him within a cage of impenetrable magic. She used her magic to force him to vow to commit whatever unspeakable act she wanted done before unleashing him upon the world to obey. When he returned, she forced him back into the jar, securing the lid tightly and placing it back on the shelf.
That was it. That was all he had ever done, all he had ever achieved.
Imprisonment, mindless obedience, violence. Repeat.
He hated his life. He hated Furie for forcing him to exist and then making that existence worse than whatever oblivion he’d come from. He hated that ninety-nine other beings had lived lives as miserable as his. He hated that they were stuck here even now, at the mercy of one cruel woman with too much power. He hated the injustice of it all, hated his powerlessness, his utter futility. He hated the pain and agony he had caused untold innocents.
With a roar, he struck with the dagger, swiping several jars off the wall. They fell and smashed upon the floor in a great explosion, glass shards flying everywhere as the shadowy beings within braced themselves for whatever fresh horror was surely upon them.
They hung in the air like deathly clouds, and Raith saw their fiery eyes gazing at him in bewilderment. They were like ghosts, but their forms were distinguishable. Shadowy bodies, with pupils of fire and white fangs. Sharp claws and talon-tipped wings. Just like him.
“Go,” he told them, using his voice of his own free will. “You’re free to go.”
Comprehension dawned. They didn’t hesitate—within seconds, the wraiths were gone, dissolving into thin air.
Was it smart to release the deadliest creatures in creation? Probably not, but Raith had once been one of those creatures, and he understood their nature. When not forcibly bound to the physical plane, the incorporeal entities generally wanted nothing more than to disappear, dwelling in an unseen realm they called the Void. They were not of this world, and it held little interest to them.
Raith systematically smashed every jar in the room, one after the next, knocking them from the shelves until there were no more. When he was done, he sank to the floor amid the destruction and buried his face in his hands.
There was no hiding the trembling now, and he didn’t try to.
Two of his four objectives had been achieved—check the dungeons, free the wraiths. The third he would likely not succeed in, but it wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
The end was finally near.
He thought of those five short days of happiness he’d found with Harrow. He remembered lying in bed with her, stroking her hair. Hearing her laugh. Making love to her. The softness that filled her silver eyes when she looked at him.
His chest ached like he was burning alive, but he took solace in the fact that he was doing this for her. This was the only way he could help her heal the wounds he’d given her.
Raith picked up his blade and his still-bleeding body from the floor and went to hunt down the Fire Queen.
…
“You have to take me to him,” Harrow begged Nashira, all but shaking her by the slender shoulders. “Please.”
But the Ether Queen remained impassive. “It’s already too late. It will be too late. It was too late. Now he has to come to you.”
“I’ll die before I sit back and wait for that. Furie could kill him!”
“Yes, she could. She might. She may!”
“Then help me. You brought us here from wherever we were—I know you could find him, and I know you could take me there.”
“That’s plausible.”
“Then please, help me!” Harrow was bordering on frenzied now. Still in her and Raith’s bedroom, she and Nashira were surrounded by Salizar and half the circus laborers, Ouro and his gang, and Malaikah, all witnessing her undignified collapse.
She didn’t care in the least. She only cared about finding Raith.
“You got us this far. You told me how wrong I was about Raith. Now I want to stop him from getting killed, and you won’t help. Why?”
“It’s too late,” Nashira said yet again. “Will be too late. Was too late. Now he has to come to you!”
“He can’t come to me if he’s dead!”
“It’s too late! Will be too late! Was too l—”
“For the love of the Goddess,will you stop saying that!”
