Page 8 of Shadebound
The pink was the same shade as my sister’s hair, and now the two strands I’d dyed in the front of my own, and my heart constricted at the sight of it.
As the carriage slid past, a dog appeared from behind the building next door—a rough-coated stray, ribs showing through patchy black fur, eyes wary but hopeful. The man paused hiswork and reached into his dark shirt pocket, pulling out a small scrap of something meaty. He offered it, calloused palm open and steady.
The dog approached cautiously, nose twitching in the cold air. When it took the food, its tail gave a faint, tentative wag. A small, quiet moment of trust in a place that seemed to offer so little. The man’s light gaze softened as he watched the dog, a faint crease in his brow betraying a care that otherwise remained unreadable.
Our eyes met briefly—just a flicker when he glanced at the carriage—but in that instant, something unexpected stirred.He looked gentle.Kind. Possibly the worst kind of threat.The sort who’d hold your hand as he ruined your life. And stab you in the heart and then blame you for bleeding.
I could almost swear I heard my twin sister’s voice whispering in my mind—soft, warm, and full of wonder. Bells had loved dogs, loved people, loved moments like this—fragile, gentle, and real. Even here, even with her gone, it felt like a part of her still lived on, quietly reaching out through the smallest acts of kindness. And with her sass in my ear promising that heartbreak was worth it if the ride wasthatpretty.
Easing back against my seat, my gaze lingered on the hills and the graveyard. This was all that remained of my people. A sanctuary next to the only portal left that would take us home. A patheticallysmallsanctuary. Filled with more woe than peace.
It was rather disappointing that this was our last noble attempt at heroism. I’d expected something grander. On the morbidly bright side, nothing saidwelcomelike rows of dead people and an aura that screamedtherapy is not an option here.
At least there was no pretence. Nobody here was pretending this was a place of joy or light or second chances. It was a graveyard with dorm rooms. A prison with a syllabus. Andeveryone inside probably deserved to be here just as much as I did.
Korrax, I thought, reaching for the dark shape in my mind as I glanced at the next row of buildings.Scout the grounds. Bring me back what you find.
He answered without sound, my shadow raven. He rose from my shoulder in a rush of inky shadow-born feathers. Black eyes met mine for the briefest moment before he bled through the carriage wall as if it weren’t there. I felt him winging upward into the mist and away, already obeying and hunting. My pulse spiked. I needed him to secure the area, but alone he was vulnerable.
I hated any part of me being vulnerable. Especially the extensions of my soul.
I’d had Korrax since I was nine.
I’d got lost in the woods near our house—too deep to call back, too far to retrace my steps in a place that had been new to me. It had started raining. I remembered slipping in the mud, yelling for my mother even though I knew she wouldn’t hear. I’d panicked, like any child would. But instead of crying, I called to the shadows.
They came.
Hecame.
He appeared from the treeline and perched beside me like he’d always meant to. He looked like a raven because I liked ravens. They were beautiful. Smart. A little cruel.But Korrax wasn’t a pet. He was a pact. A tether. A tiny sliver of shadow that chose me when no one else had.
Since that day, he’d never left me. He was always nearby, watching. I used him to scout places I couldn’t reach. To find things that didn’t want to be found. And when I closed my eyes, I could see through his.And because staring through a bird’sbeady little murder-eyes was marginally better than facing my feelings, I did that now.
The world sharpened as mine went dark, my heart hammering against my ribs. His wings cut through the mist as he climbed higher, tilting with the wind. Below, the hills unrolled in soft curves, dotted with the dark outlines of trees. He flew low for a moment, skimming rooftops and sharp chimneys, scanning the quiet town below. The streets were empty. Windows shuttered. A curtain twitched, but no one came out.
And then—he stopped.
Something shimmered in the distance. Another magical barrier, just outside the gates of Mors. It wasn’t just a wall. It was laced with something sick. Not evil, exactly. But close. Like a trembling veil echoing whispered tales of those who’d tried—and failed—to breach these ancient wards.
He hovered there, waiting.
I felt his question in the back of my mind. He would keep trying if I asked him to. Stay until he found a way through. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t sacrifice what belonged to me.
Come back, I thought.That’s enough for today.
He turned. The tether drew tighter as he dissolved into shadow, slipping back toward me. The moment he returned, he settled behind my eyes again—quiet, and blissfully safe.
I opened my eyes just as Draven tapped my shoulder. Shaking away the oddness of seeing through another, I turned to face him, blinking away the last of my shadow adventure.
Why does this place look like Mortavia?he asked.
I lifted my hands.New Salem was built to look like our old home. Father told me that we had to have a reminder of what we fight for, and this was it.I didn’t bother to voice my disagreement with the notion. Not just because it was a foolish one, but because I thought it did the opposite. This was amacabre prison—other than me, who would want to be in a place just like it?
Why did they do it near a prison?My brother’s brows furrowed as he stared out the window for a moment.And it doesn’t look the exact same. Mortavia is burned but before that, it was beautiful. This is just... creepy.
I shrugged when he faced me again.I presume they liked the atmosphere. Or it’s easier to send soldiers to death when the last portal is right there.I pointed to the farthest hill with old ruins on the top.
Beyond those crumbled pillars stood the last remaining portal to Mortavia: a white tree shaped like an arch, etched with faint silver runes that seemed to shift when you blinked. Step through, and the air hummed with wild magic—colours sharpened, your heartbeat synced with the land’s pulse, and memories you never knew you had floated to the surface. Only the determined ever made it across, or so the stories said.
