Page 59 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
Aytara stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind her eyes—love versus duty, hope versus fear.
"The last time we tried something like this," she said quietly, "it failed. The man we asked to attempt it... the darkness consumed him completely before he could channel it out of the others. He became something monstrous, and we had to..." She swallowed hard.
“Sayven,” I murmured.
Her eyes widened. “How do you… yes, yes Sayven. Taveth was showing signs of being one of the strongest mages we’d had in generations. He was already stronger than Sayven as a child. Sayven couldn’t bear the thought of watching his son spiral into madness, so he took the risk and tried to save them all. And now…”
“Now he’s kept chained to the floor of his cell,” I said tightly, picturing Taveth in the same situation.
"Yes," Aytara confirmed, her voice hollow. "The similarities are... disturbing. Sayven was brilliant, powerful, convinced he could bear the burden for all of them. But the darkness was too much. It twisted him into something unrecognizable. And that's the fate that awaits Taveth if he follows the same path. Even if he's stronger, even if he has a better chance of success—if he fails, if the darkness overwhelms him during the attempt..."
I closed my eyes, trying to process what she was telling me. The image of Taveth chained in those depths, reduced to nothing but rage and madness, made my stomach turn. But the alternative—watching him slowly disappear, piece by piece, until nothing remained but the monster I'd seen tonight—wasn't any better.
"But Taveth is stronger," I pressed, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them. "You said so yourself—he's more powerful than Sayven ever was."
"Power isn't the issue," she said bitterly. "It's the nature of the darkness itself. It doesn't just consume—it corrupts. It takes everything good and noble about a person and perverts it into something monstrous. Sayven wanted to save his people. The darkness used that desire against him, showed him that the only way to truly protect them was to eliminate all threats. Permanently."
I thought of the way Taveth had looked at me earlier, the calculating coldness in his pale eyes as he'd planned exactly how to break me. Was that his future? Would love itself become a weapon the darkness could wield against him?
"There has to be another way," I said desperately. "Some other solution—"
"Don't you think I've looked?" Aytara's composure finally cracked completely, years of suppressed anguish pouring out. "Don't you think I've spent every waking moment for the pastdecade searching for alternatives? I've read every text, consulted every expert, pursued every lead no matter how impossible?”
"What exactly would he have to do?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"The ritual requires him to open himself completely to the shadow realm," she explained, her words careful and measured. "To become a conduit for all the darkness that plagues our people. He would have to draw it into himself—not just his own curse, but that of every shadow mage still alive. All of it—every whisper, every fragment of madness, every piece of corruption. He becomes a vessel for centuries of accumulated shadow magic."
The scope of it was staggering. "All of them?"
"Every single one. Dozens of men and women, all carrying the same burden he does. All that concentrated darkness would flow through him, and then he'd have to find a way to destroy it from within." Her voice broke slightly. "The power required... it would burn him out completely. How can I ask him to do that? How can I tell the man I raised as my own son that our only hope is a ritual that might drive him mad or kill him? I don’t want to lose my son, Livia."
I thought back to the man in my room, the bruises on my arms, the sheer look of hate and glee in his eyes as he came towards me. That alien feeling of something polluting our sacred bond. Taveth had been forced out, replaced by something evil, and the pain that had followed, when he’d realised what he’d done, it had torn me apart.
"He's already lost," I said quietly.
20
Isat curled up between Tarshi and Sirrax and told them about my conversation with Aytara. The words felt like poison leaving my mouth as I told them what she had revealed. Each detail—the cure, the sacrifice, the certainty that Taveth wouldn't survive. By the time I finished, the silence in Marcus and Antonius's chambers was heavy with grim understanding.
Tarshi was the first to speak, his jaw set with quiet determination despite the pain I could see flickering in his eyes. "She needs to tell him," he said simply. "He deserves to know there's an option, even if it's..." He swallowed hard, but his voice remained steady. "Even if it costs him everything."
"Don't know would work," Sirrax pointed out, though I could see the conflict in his expression—concern for me warring with sympathy for a situation none of them could truly understand. Other than Tarshi, he was the only other one who could feel the darkness tainting the bond between us all.
"And we don't know that it wouldn't," Jalend said quietly, ever the scholar weighing possibilities. "But either way, keeping it from him isn't fair. Not when he's suffering like this."
Septimus was pacing like a caged wolf, his protective instincts clearly at war with the reality of our situation. "I don't like any of this. The idea of you being anywhere near him if he attempts something like that..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from every line of his body.
“I should go and be with him,” I said quietly, feeling utterly drained, and not quite wanting to leave the warmth of the two men on either side of me.
"The healers gave him something to help him sleep," Septimus said, moving to stand behind Tarshi's chair. His hands settled on his lover's shoulders, offering silent support. "He should rest through the night. Tomorrow, when Aytara tells him..." He shook his head. "Well, we'll deal with whatever comes next."
I watched as Tarshi leaned back slightly into Septimus's touch, drawing strength from the contact. The gesture was small, but it spoke volumes about how much he was struggling with this—knowing his twin brother might choose death over the slow consumption of madness.
"You're staying here tonight," Marcus said suddenly, his tone making it clear this wasn't a request. "Not in your chambers, not near Taveth. Here, where we know you're safe."
I wanted to protest, wanted to insist that I should be with Taveth in case he woke and needed me. But the memory of his hands on me, of the violence in his eyes when the darkness took hold, made the words die in my throat. As much as I loved him, I couldn't pretend he wasn't dangerous right now.
"I don't want to be alone," I whispered, the admission making me feel small and frightened. "I can't... I can't stop seeing his face when he almost..."
