Page 9 of Shadebound
Only a handful of those ever returned.
Even then, their souls were often left behind.
My brother seemed satisfied with that, but I could still see the tension in his shoulders. And the way he leant closer to me without really thinking about it.
I nudged his boot with mine.
When he looked at me, I dragged my flat fingertips up my chest a little before giving him a half-hearted double thumbs-up. I wanted to know how he was, but in a fake casual way. So I could get an answer without him thinking I was making a scene. Only I wasn’t sure it did a good job, seeing as I realised my necklace was missing when I did it.
As I worried about my gift rotting away in the family graveyard, he rolled his eyes and signed,I’m fine. You worry too much, J.
I glared at him, forcing myself not to get upset over a piece of jewellery even as my hands shook when I raised them.Only because you make it a full-time job.
He smirked, and the tension eased a little from his jaw and mine. Enough so that we both returned to our sightseeing as we cruised onward, and I made a mental note to ask my parents to look for the necklace when I got in touch with them about Draven.
For a while we existed in a peaceful silence. At least we did until the carriage shuddered to a halt, and I struggled to decide whether I was feeling excitement or dread the most.
I braced myself as the carriage resisted the stop. Draven did the same. I doubted it was for the same reason.
I remembered the whispers—no one ever left Mors whole. No one ever left alive. They said the walls listened. That the staff were not entirely normal. That the worst monsters weren’t the ones locked away, but the ones given keys. Of course, no one said it too loudly. And no one ever said it twice.
I didn’t believe in rumours. Not really. But that didn’t stop one specific memory from biting at the edge of my thoughts—one night, one mistake, one person already swallowed by this place.
I’d never said goodbye. Buthehadn’t asked for one, either.
Reaching into my pocket, I gripped the rose stem until the thorns pierced my skin. As blood trickled, I swallowed all my thoughts.
Feelings of embarrassment were for children, and I was no longer a child. I was three emotionally stunted raccoons in a faux fur coat, held together by eyeliner and spite. Perhaps a sprinkle of malice thrown in for good luck.
Even if I would never admit it, a faint ember of concern pulsed beneath that patched-up armour.
Not that Ihadto be honest. Especially when facing the monstrous reality of the next hundred years of my life.
Field Journal, Entry #017 — Classified
Mors doesn’t greet you. It studies you. It weighs the usefulness of your bones and calculates how long you’ll last. Then it lets you in, not because you belong, but because you won’t matter for long.
Mors only takes people who do not matter.
It takes them and proves that all their dark late-night thoughts were right.
Chapter Four, A Grave Or A Home
As soon as the carriage doors opened on their own, the pungent magic of Mors Academy tried to choke me.
My mouth almost begged for more before my brain remembered to be sensible.
The power was dense, with a low hum thrumming through the air and a metallic tang prickling my tongue. My vision blurred at the edges whilst I fought to inhale. My jaw tightened as I concentrated on the magic older than the Death-tinged whispers in my mind could grasp. It coated every inch of me until goosebumps bloomed across the grey-tinged flesh of my arms.
Inhaling carefully, I slowly tasted power in the air the way others might have tasted salt. My ribs tightened in response, my heart beating a little faster.
Head tilting, I leant forward. My magic reacted before I could stop it, flaring like molten iron under my skin. It wanted to surge out, to protect me—to protect Draven. But at the same time, it recoiled, hesitant, as if the magic here might consume it if it dared. Part of me wanted to go forward; the rest hesitated, fearing the price for my creatures.
For some reason, I remembered the first time my magic had betrayed me. My creatures had almost torn me to pieces when they battled against my will, not yet bowing to me as their master. Not yet realising that darkness could obey something other than itself.
But Iwastheir master now. So it was with ease that I cautiously released a few shadows into the mist. They slid across the stones, tracing the edges of the unknown. Checking for anything hidden. Or waiting.
Anything that could harm the idiot who was smiling about our arrival.
