Page 51 of Storm of Shadows

“I am a Void Prince of the Abyss,” Natharius growls. I run my hand down my face and hope he doesn’t start spewing out a mouthful of terrible insults. One threatening word out of him and I’ll have no choice but to silence him. “I do not require mortal sustenance.”

Taria pauses and glances back. I wonder how insulted she will be by his sharp tone and whether I should opt to issue a command of silence. Thankfully, when I peer at Taria more closely, I notice her golden eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know exactly who you are, Natharius Thalanor, Void Prince of Pride, Former Prince of Ithyr, High Enchanter of Lumaria, and third son of King Vastiros the Second.”

Crimson flames simmer in Natharius’s eyes. “You know not what you speak of, priestess.”

Taria returns his burning glare with a smile. “Oh, but I do. The Mother has ensured I know every detail of your past and precisely why it makes you so instrumental to Imyria’s fate. I’m sure you’re aware there are very few others of your kind the Mother smiles upon.”

“Lies,” he hisses. “You cannot know my past.”

“Do you not believe me? If you prefer, I can announce to all of Esterra City why Prince Natharius of Ithyr, High Enchanter of Lumaria, sacrificed his kingdom?”

“I will carve the flesh from your bones, priestess,” he spits. “Do not threaten me again.”

“That’s enough, Natharius,” I say, though I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking Taria what she knows of the Void Prince’s past and why his temper is even more volatile than usual at the mention of it.

Natharius’s wrath doesn’t diminish as he turns to me. It only intensifies. “And you,” he snarls. “For this humiliation you have forced me to endure, you will suffer an eternity of the most excruciating torment the Abyss has to offer.”

“I thought that was already on the table, Natharius. You need to think of some new threats because I’m growing tired of hearing the same ones.”

The demon glowers.

“Now, let’s return to the temple,” I say. “Even if you don’t require food or drink like us mortals, you can do with freshening yourself up.” I give his dark tunic a pointed look, as it’s as covered in rotten tomatoes as my robes, though the darker shade helps to disguise the stains.

He inhales sharply and shadows swarm in his hands. Panic seizes me, and I desperately run back over the command I issued him. I’m certain I gave explicit orders for him not to harm anyone here in Esterra City. But what if he’s found a loophole in my words and is preparing an attack to murder these innocent people in the square—even if they were jeering at me minutes ago?

I open my mouth to stop him, but then darkness washes over him and I realize the intention of his spell. When the shadows fade, his clothes are clear of all stains.

I’m not the only one who appears to have assumed the worst about Natharius’s spell. The crowd around us has shrunk back, and people are cowering in fear. Both of Taria’s guards have drawn their swords, the golden runes engraved into the blade shining brightly. Only the priestess herself seems to be the only one who isn’t unsettled by Natharius’s use of magic.

He arches a silvery brow. “What? You would all be long dead by now if I were able to kill you.”

“Natharius,” I snap. “I order you to keep your mouth shut and follow us back to the temple.”

The Void Prince snarls at me and is no doubt considering all the wonderful ways he longs to torture me, but he has no choice but to remain silent and follow me to the temple with Taria and her two guards.

The crowd parts for us as we pass through the city square, and many of the citizens drop to a low bow at Taria. While many gazed upon me with hatred when we entered the square, now I seem to be invisible. Natharius receives plenty of fearful glances, though.

The priestess exudes grace as she smiles upon the people of Esterra, and she blesses the forehead of more than one baby. Her two guards do their best to usher people away, but they aren’t able to stop the hands grasping for Taria’s flowing silk robes. Natharius rolls his eyes at every interruption, but he says nothing thanks to my command. Though I’d be lying if I said I’m also not growing impatient with how long it takes us to leave the city’s square. I’m desperate to return to the temple and sit down and discuss with Taria everything she knows about me and why she saved me and a demon from execution.

Once we’re out of the city’s square, there are fewer people to obstruct our path. The crowd trails after us, but the entourage of priestesses behind stops them from reaching us. A few streets away from the temple, Taria takes an odd turn which I’m certain will lead us farther away from our destination. My suspicions are confirmed when her two guards glance at each other, but they don’t question her change in direction and hurry after her. I do the same, curious where she’s heading.

Taria’s path takes us through a tangle of narrow streets, and we venture farther from the temple. The flock of priestesses doesn’t follow us, and the crowd from the city’s square seems to have lost sight of us. I wonder whether that’s Taria’s intention, as I can think of no other reason that one of the most deified priestesses in all of Selynis would want to wander down such run-down streets. A few shady looking men eye us with interest, but it only takes one glance at Caya and Juron’s shining swords and Taria’s bright eyes for them to scarper down the street.

I find the answer to why Taria has come here in a shadowed corner. A young girl is slumped against the wall, her arms so thin she looks like a bag of bones. Taria stops before her and crouches to inspect her. The girl doesn’t look up. Her eyes remain shut.

“She’s barely breathing,” Juron says, peering at the girl from over Taria’s shoulder. He isn’t wrong. I have to stare at the girl for several moments before I notice the slight rise of her chest.

“It’s a wonder no one has tried selling her,” Caya says, shaking her head. “Though perhaps for her luck, I doubt she’d be any use to anyone. She looks like she won’t last another morning.”

Taria draws her lips into a thin line and presses her hand to the back of the girl’s forehead. Her white brows knit together. “She has a fever.” Taria presses her palms together in a silent prayer, but Juron grips her shoulder.

“Taria,” he says softly. “Death will soon claim her. Healing her will cost you too much strength.”

Taria lifts his hand from her shoulder. “The Mother guided me to this girl because she knows I alone possess the strength to heal her. It would be sinful of me not to carry out the Mother’s will.”

Juron’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing more. Caya doesn’t object either, but the frown she wears is indication enough of her concern.

I watch as golden light radiates from Taria’s hands. While we Magi of Nolderan are far from religious, we acknowledge the existence of the gods. They are, after all, the counterpart of the Void King and his demonic lieutenants. I’ve always been convinced that the gods care nothing for us mortals, and I’m not alone in that belief. Yet here I stand, watching this strange priestess use her powers to heal a peasant girl by the Goddess Zolane’s instruction. And there is also the fact Taria interrupted my execution. Does the Mother Goddess care also for my plight? Or perhaps she isn’t as concerned by my pursuit of justice as she is by the threat Arluin and his necromancers pose to the world.

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