Page 7 of Shadebound
His gaze didn’t waver. Instead, he gave a slight shrug, then leant back in his seat as if it were any other ordinary day. Like he wasn’t still without magic at fifteen, a late bloomer of some kind. One skinny leg crossed casually over the other, creasing the fabric of his jeans; his posture as unbothered as it was absurd.
I stared at him, momentarily stunned. Maybe we werebothmentally unwell. Maybe there was something darker than the magic that ran in the Draconis family line—something insidious and generational, like utter stupidity.
Knowing arguing would get me nowhere, I let the silence stretch as I fought the urge to scream into the void. Mostly about the fact that my brother was clearly only alive out of dumb luck, and not because he had survival instincts. But a little because I was about to be locked away for murdering people who deserved it.
Innocent of the crime I thought they committed. But still deserving of death; killers of innocents, rapists, and the like.
Like the mature adult I was, I shoved down all my thoughts and screams and plastered on a scowl instead.
It would be fine. I wouldfixthis. I was not mere moments away from losing another sibling. Or throttling him for his recklessness. Nor would I allow a scream to pass my burgundy-painted lips.
There was no grace in being pulled apart or in showing weakness. Just cold inevitability. Like being unmade strand by strand with no say in the matter. No wonder I got sarcastic. Somewhere inside, I was screaming there instead of into my wicked reality.
But you didn’t get to choose your fate. You could only choose how much you hated it. And pretty or not, screams were useless in the end.Even if Mors Academywasthe end.
My end.
And now, perhaps Draven’s.
Field Journal, Entry #025 — Classified
They call it a school, but it was built like a grave. No one leaves Mors unchanged. Some come out quieter. Colder. Hungrier. And the ones who don’t come out at all? The school forgets their names... but the walls remember.
Chapter Three, A Place That Hates You Back
The carriage glided in near silence. My heart thrummed against my ribs, half-daring the world beyond to give me worse than this taxi to my doom.
As we floated along the dirt road, a faint silver light crept along the treetops, turning the snow-dusted distant hills to muted grey and blue. Every so often, a breeze brushed against the windows, and I could just make out the delicate shapes of bare branches leaning toward the path.
It was too early for colour, too late for proper darkness. Just the right sort of time to make my breath fog up the glass as I eagerly stared at the landscape.
The sudden burst of static down my spine told me when we had arrived at our destination. Hours or minutes after I’d been stolen. I could not tell.
I pursed my lips as we moved through the invisible magic wards that kept New Salem hidden. A second later,I felt my magic push against them. Recoiling back to me almost immediately. Not out of fear, but...unease.Which was comforting. Nothing like your own power flinching away from a place to inspire confidence.
In all seriousness, Draven wouldn’t have been able to feel the magic in the air. He wouldn’t know what was safe or what required him to run far away.
I was instantly on guard duty, one hand twitching towards my thigh, even though I knew I had no dagger stashed away. Not yet, at least. But I’d learned a long time ago that danger rarely announced itself. It crept in quietly. Wore familiar faces. Smiled first. Even without a weapon other than magic, I knew it was better to be ready for a fight that never came than to get caught off guard by the one that did.
Beyond the windows, New Salem unfolded. Rooftops sprawled on the hillsides beneath lantern-bright windows. Smoke curled from chimneys—its acrid bite stinging my nostrils—while a lone shop bell tolled somewhere below. The entire place locked in an older time, no hideously human modernities in sight.
The narrow streets wound upward toward Mors Academy, its jagged spires clawing at the grey sky. A graveyard lay below, stretching across the hills in rows. The sight pulled at me in a way that was hauntingly beautiful. Solemn. But beautiful. My fingers tightened against the seat. I’d always loved places like this. Shadows, graves, gothic spires... they spoke a language I understood. Even here, on the cusp of something terrible, a part of me was strangely at ease.
This was a place built with the architecture of people who’d given up on pretending to be okay.
A place I could finally, perhaps, fit in.
I wasn’t looking for comfort. I’d stopped believing in that years ago. But Icouldlive with understanding. I could live with aplace that didn’t expect me to soften my edges or keep my voice down. Sure, I wasn’t here to be liked. I was here because there was nowhere else left to go for a shadebound monster. Other than to Death’s embrace. But I still wanted a single place in the world that was... that wasmeantfor me.
That accepted me as I was.
From the carriage window, I spotted a man outside a small building. He was about my age, maybe a year or two older, a little taller than Draven. His auburn hair caught the faint light, and his light blue eyes lifted briefly to meet mine as we passed. His frame was solid—the kind shaped by years of manual labour, not just by chance.
I noticed him only because he was human. Okay, a little because he was annoyingly handsome. But mostly because he looked softly mortal. Weak without magic, but not in the same way my brother was.Draven’s weakness wasn’t his fault. The world just hadn’t built itself for people like him. That guy, though? He’dchosento be here. Chose to live in a town that reeked of secrets and sorcery, completely unarmed. That was either bravery or stupidity. I couldn’t tell which. Maybe both.
Thatfelt strange here.
He stood for a moment, then knelt beside a pair of window boxes, rough fingers brushing the leaves and petals as if they were something precious. Not bothered in the slightest when one thorn pricked his finger. The plants clung stubbornly to life in this bleak place, their green and soft pinks a fragile rebellion against the grey stone and chill wind.
