Page 74 of The Maleficent Faerie
The rush of power hits me like an orgasm. It’s a terrifying pleasure, because the roaring flood is intense enough to tear me apart if I don’t remain focused, in control. I press the treadle, spin the Wheel, and chant the words I devised when I first crafted this spell.
“Mastery of the arcane, confinement of the abyss. Let me be blind to the light, deaf to the world. Come to me, father of destruction. My bones shall house your infinity, and my mouth will bleed your shadows. I tether you, bind you, pour you into me. Your violence shall be mine to tame, and your monsters shall answer my call. Because I have need of you, Formless One, Endless Depravity. Glorious Abyss, inhabit me. Spill into my soul, split my veins, fracture my heart. Submit to me, reside in me, yield to me. I am the residence of the tempest, the cup of endless wine, the guardian of your greed.”
The Void responds, a wave of dark energy crashing into my mind. My hands turn black from claw-tips to forearms—my sight vanishes in a blaze of green flame. I throw back my head, and I scream.
27
Clinging to the doorframe, I take in the spectacle before me. The servant boy, bound to the Spindle, his blood gleaming dark crimson. The shadows flowing along the Spindle, curling around the Wheel, blending with the flickering green fire and then racing in dark threads into the fingers of the Maleficent One. He is wreathed in shadow, his robes streaming darkness, his horns twined with smoke, his wings outspread.
Behind him, behind the great Wheel and the enormous Spindle, hunched and roiling in the endless black, there is a gargantuan shape—a fathomless entity feeding itself into the machine Malec has built.
In this moment, I understand why the Fae of Caennith fear him so much. And I understand why he is called the Void King.
I’ve seen him vulnerable. Uncertain, powerless, insecure, troubled. In the desirable, self-deprecating Fae male I’ve come to know, I had almost forgotten the sorcerer who overturned the royal carriage with shadows, the one who has single-handedly stopped the Void from overcoming this bastion of his.
I forgot to be afraid of him.
Malec’s head snaps back, a violent scream roaring from his throat. His eyes are twin emerald flames, and my breath stops because what if the magic burns them out—what if he becomes blind, like the words of the spell I heard him chanting?
He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, exactly. The arch of his body, the heave of his chest, the rigidity of his wings—he looks as if he’s either being tortured or fucked. Maybe both.
A horrified thrill races through my body as Malec pulls himself upright again, as if he’s reclaiming control over himself, over the shadows. He keeps spinning for several long minutes, while the Void writhes around Iyyo and the Spindle as if it wants to swallow them both.
And then the green light glimmering on the Wheel fades away. It slows gradually, and the remaining shadows along it flow into Malec’s hands. The Void stirs, uncoils, and melts away into the dark, like a predator who has lost interest in its intended victim.
Malec rises from his stool, wavers for a moment, then steadies himself. He lifts his hand, and the chains around Iyyo loosen and fall away.
As the young servant staggers down the metal steps, someone brushes past me. The healer must have been quietly watching from behind me, waiting until they were needed. They give me a pleasant nod and a soft “Your Highness” as they move out onto the tower roof and hand Iyyo a vial. They loop his arm across their shoulders and help him back inside, while I shrink against the wall to let them pass.
When they’ve descended the stairs out of sight, I cautiously move out of the doorway onto the roof.
Malec is standing by the battlement, staring down at the road that leads through the Void, back to Daenalla. His horned head is bowed, and shadows still flow in smoky ribbons from his wings and robes.
“That spell,” I murmur. “You devised that yourself?”
“Yes.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Of course it is. I invited the Void into my body. If I did not have a healthy fear and respect for It, I could never hope to control its power.”
“And what can you do with this power, exactly? Tangible shadows that do your bidding, Endling monsters—what else?”
He glances at me, his eyes still luminous green. “You want to know all my heretical tricks?”
“I suppose I’m curious.”
He looks more like the monster of my nightmares now—yet I don’t fear him. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he needs me, or the sacrifice he was willing to make to save me—or the way his lips curve slightly, the way his eyes dip to my mouth.
“Your people are coming,” he says softly. “Look below, and you’ll see. I must greet them unpleasantly, I’m afraid. I hope you don’t have friends among them.”
I follow the elegant wave of his pale hand. A contingent of Caennith soldiers are advancing along the narrow corridor through the Void, approaching Ru Gallamet. Most are on horseback, but some are aloft—winged Fae, circling above the heads of the riders.
“So many of them,” I murmur. This isn’t the full power of the Caennith army, but it’s a significant advance force. I can’t imagine him and his handful of knights holding off this attack. “Why don’t you have more soldiers here at Ru Gallamet? It’s a site of strategic importance, and so close to the border.”
“I won’t risk the lives of too many people here, where the Edge could advance beyond my control,” he says. “Trust me, little viper—I can handle this. You may want to step back.”
He leaps onto the edge of the parapet and whips out his immense wings. The rush of power exploding from him strikes me in the chest, and I stagger back with a gasp. He looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes green flame, his teeth bared in a menacing grin. And then his body begins to expand, to change. The inky color of his fingers spreads up his arms, flowing over his skin. His shoulders swell, ripping through the black robes, and rows of black scales solidify along his lengthening form, while his face darkens and extends into a long, slim snout. His hands become clawed feet, and his feathers shift into the leathery black wings of a dragon. As he springs into the sky, his tail whips out, lined with bristling spikes.
