A Shatter of Spells, page 1
A Shatter of Spells
The Resonant Arcana
Book Four
Nicole R. Taylor
A Shatter of Spells
(The Resonant Arcana - Book Four) by Nicole R. Taylor
Copyright © 2025 by Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved.
This book is written in British/AU English.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.nicolertaylorwrites.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
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About Nicole
Chapter 1
Lowenna Sandys’ boots scraped against loose stones as she traced her familiar route along the Ashworth Estate’s perimeter. The gardens turned strange as evening fell, familiar shapes becoming something else entirely. Her hand rested on the enchanted short-sword at her hip, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against its pommel.
The protective wards shimmered faintly in the dying light, and threads of magic wove through ancient stone. She’d walked these walls hundreds of times, yet tonight something felt off.
A charm-bell tinkled softly from her belt as she passed the northwestern corner. The sound usually brought comfort, but these days, even the estate’s defensive enchantments felt inadequate. Whispers of trouble within the Luminous Concordat had reached even the guard barracks, but politics and veiled meanings behind words were beyond her. Battle was cleaner—at least she knew who her enemy was.
“No use getting paranoid,” she muttered, touching the scar that ran down her face. The old wound ached, a reminder of darker days. Of creatures that lurked in the spaces between reality.
She paused at the western wall, gaze sweeping across Nightreach’s skyline. Spires pierced the purplish twilight like needles, their windows beginning to glow with magical light. The city seemed peaceful enough, but Lowenna knew better. Behind those twinkling lights, alliances shifted like quicksand. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Her fellow guards seemed oblivious to the mounting tension, but Lowenna had survived too much to ignore her instincts. The estate’s wards might keep out physical threats, but they offered no protection against the political storms brewing within the Concordat. And with an Ashworth as High Witch, that meant they could blow back on the estate at any moment.
A cool breeze stirred her close-cropped hair, carrying with it the faint scent of burnt metal—residue from the day’s spellwork. She straightened her dark blue uniform and continued her patrol.
Lowenna rounded the corner near the eastern gardens when a sudden shift in the air made her pause. The charm-bell at her belt chimed, its usual gentle tone replaced by an irregular staccato. Above, clouds materialised from nowhere, coalescing into an unnatural spiral directly over the estate. Not weather magic—this was something else entirely.
The temperature plummeted. Her breath misted in front of her face as frost crackled across the stone beneath her feet. The protective wards flickered, their steady glow wavering like candlelight in a breeze.
“Shite,” she cursed.
The pressure in the air built until her ears popped. It reminded her of that night years ago, when the Fold had torn open and—no, best not to dwell on that. Her fingers found the scar on her face, tracing its familiar path as her other hand gripped her sword hilt.
Magic thrummed through the blade, responding to her touch, but even its enchantments felt muted under the oppressive atmosphere. The swirling clouds had formed a perfect vortex now, directly above the main house. Whatever this was, it centred on the estate itself.
Lowenna scanned the grounds, the city beyond, searching for any sign of the source. The spires of Nightreach stood dark against the turbulent sky. No lights, no movement. Nothing.
The protective wards pulsed again, stronger this time. Ancient magic responding to a threat. But from where? The attack—and this was definitely an attack—wasn’t coming from Nightreach. Her gaze snapped back to the vortex. The clouds had begun to rotate faster, their edges taking on an otherworldly purple glow, but it was a spark to her left that caught her eye.
A Thread into the Fold lay just metres away in Wycbourne square. The magical pathway usually pulsed with a steady, reassuring light, but tonight, something was wrong. The Thread’s shimmer faltered, its usual smooth flow disrupted by jarring fluctuations.
Then it began writhing like a wounded snake, its form buckling and twisting in ways that defied reality. Magical energy bled from its deteriorating structure, seeping into the air in purple-tinged wisps. The sight turned her stomach. No Thread should move like that.
The attack wasn’t coming from the sky. It was coming from the Fold.
Lowenna broke into a run along the western wall, boots pounding against frost-covered stone. The guard tower ahead stood empty—Williams must have gone to check the eastern perimeter. The Thread’s convulsions grew more violent, its light pulsing in seizure-like bursts.
The charm-bell at her belt rang in constant warning, its magic resonating with the growing wrongness in the air. The protective wards around the estate flickered again, their ancient power straining against whatever force was warping the Thread.
Lowenna reached for her sword, drawing comfort from its familiar weight, but even its enchanted blade seemed to tremble in her grip. The Thread’s deterioration had progressed beyond anything she’d seen in her years of service. Its once-straight form now twisted back on itself in impossible angles, reality buckling around the distortion.
Suddenly, the Thread tore open with a sound like shattering glass amplified a thousandfold. Lowenna threw her arm across her face as raw magical energy exploded outward, the force of it nearly knocking her off her feet. Purple-white light blazed through her closed eyelids, and her charm-bell shrieked in protest.
The wave of power rolled across the estate grounds, withering grass and flowers in its wake. The estate’s wards flared bright enough to blind, ancient magic struggling against this intrusion. When the initial burst subsided, Lowenna lowered her arm.
A figure emerged from the jagged tear in reality. Her blood ran cold as she recognised the pale blonde hair, the roil of shadow magic, the chilling waves of corruption and rot following his every step… Lucian D’Arco.
The stories didn’t do him justice. He stepped through the rift with inhuman grace, each movement predatory and lethal. His eyes—gods, his eyes were pure white, empty of iris or pupil. Dark veins spread across his face as he crackled with palpable darkness.
Where his feet touched the ground, frost-covered grass blackened and crumbled to ash. The air seemed to dim around him, as if light itself recoiled from his presence.
“Sound the alarm,” she whispered to her charm-bell. The magical device chimed once in acknowledgment before sending its warning through the estate’s defensive network. But even as magical klaxons began to wail, she knew help wouldn’t arrive in time.
D’Arco’s head turned toward her…and he unleashed.
The wave of darkness rolled from his hands like oil through water. Lowenna’s heart stopped as it slammed into the estate’s ancient wards. The wards that stood between her and certain death.
For a heartbeat, the protective barrier held—centuries of layered enchantments struggling against raw power.
Then the wards shattered.
The sound knocked her back a step. It wasn’t just the thunderous crack of breaking magic, but a deeper, soul-wrenching screech of protective spells being torn apart. The charm-bell at her hip went silent, its magic snuffed out.
Another second passed, then the shockwave knocked her off her feet. She slammed into the frozen ground as chunks of stone rained down around her. Through the dust and magical residue, she watched in horror as the western wall crumbled. Generations of defensive enchantments, gone in an instant.
Her ears rang, the world muffled and distant. Blood trickled from her nose—aftermath of being too close to such powerful magic. She pushed herself to her knees, sword still clutched in trembling fingers. The blade’s enchantments flickered weakly, struggling against the lingering corruption in the air.
Where the estate’s wall had stood moments before, a jagged hole gaped like an open wound. Broken stone littered the ground, each piece trailing wisps of dying magic. The destruction spread beyond the initial breach, cracks spider-webbing through the remaining stonework.
Lowenna staggered to her feet, legs unsteady. The p rotective magic she’d relied on her entire life lay in ruins. Without the wards, the estate was exposed—and D’Arco stood in the breach, white eyes fixed on the main house beyond.
Lowenna’s throat burned as she shouted over the magical chaos. “Breach at the western wall! All guards to position!”
Her voice carried across the grounds, amplified by the emergency enchantments woven through her uniform. The estate’s warning bells tolled—deep, resonant sounds that pierced the night air. Blue-uniformed figures emerged from guard posts and doorways, weapons gleaming with protective magic.
Captain Reed materialised from the shadows near the conservatory, his face grim as he barked orders. Guards fell into practised formations, spreading out in a defensive arc around the breach. Spells crackled between their raised hands, ready to launch at his command.
Lowenna’s boots scraped against broken stone as she took her place in the line. Her sword’s enchantments stabilised, pushing back against D’Arco’s corrupting presence. To her left, Williams readied a barrier spell, his hands weaving complex patterns in the air. Thompson stood to her right, crystal-tipped staff humming with contained power.
More guards poured from the estate’s inner chambers. The night air filled with the sharp scent of defensive magic as they layered protection spells, creating a web of energy between them. Light bloomed from dozens of raised weapons—swords, staves, and spellfire forming a barrier of their own.
Through it all, D’Arco hadn’t moved. He stood in the ruined breach, pale hair stirring in a wind that touched nothing else. The dark veins across his face pulsed with each heartbeat, and that damned ring on his finger seemed to drink in the light from their spells.
The estate’s entire security force assembled in minutes, just as they’d drilled countless times. But Lowenna’s scar burned with remembered pain. She’d seen what this man could do. What lived in those white eyes?
They weren’t ready. Not for this.
“Bind and contain!” Captain Reed’s voice cut through the night.
Lowenna’s fingers wove through practised motions as golden chains of light burst from her hands, joining dozens of similar spells arcing toward D’Arco. The combined binding magic lit up the estate grounds like daybreak. Williams’ barrier spell shimmered ahead of them, reinforcing their assault.
D’Arco didn’t move. His ring pulsed once, and darkness bloomed around him like spilled ink in water. The binding spells struck his shadow barrier and…vanished. No resistance, no magical backlash. The spells simply ceased to exist.
“Again!” Reed commanded, but his voice wavered.
A second volley launched. This time, D’Arco raised his scarred left hand. The darkness surrounding him writhed, and Lowenna’s stomach lurched as their spells twisted in mid-air. Golden light corrupted to purple-black energy, turning back on its casters.
“Shields up—” Thompson’s warning was cut short as the wave of shadow magic slammed into their line.
Lowenna’s world exploded into pain and screams. The darkness felt alive, tearing through protective barriers like they didn’t exist. She stumbled backwards and watched in horror as the shadow magic ripped through her fellow guards.
Williams disappeared first, his barrier spell shattering as darkness consumed him. Thompson’s staff exploded in her hands, crystal shards flying as shadow magic shredded her uniform—and her with it. Their screams mixed with dozens of others as the front line dissolved into chaos.
Blood sprayed across Lowenna’s face as Marshall, who’d stood guard with her for three years, simply came apart. The wave of darkness rolled on, leaving nothing but scattered equipment and crimson-stained uniforms in its wake.
The elite guard of the Ashworth Estate, obliterated in seconds.
Lowenna scrambled backwards, boots slipping in the blood-slicked grass. Her sword’s enchantments flickered weakly against the crushing waves of dark magic. The surviving guards—less than a dozen now—regrouped near the conservatory steps.
Captain Reed’s face was grey as he pressed his hand against a deep gash in his side. “Form up! Defensive formation!”
The remaining guards moved, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed. Lowenna took position on Reed’s left flank, raising her blade in trembling hands. The sword’s runes blazed to life, pushing back against the corruption that saturated the air.
“Battle mages, centre formation!” Reed’s voice cracked. “Barriers on the flanks!”
Thompson’s apprentice, Greta, stepped forward. Her crystal staff pulsed with concentrated light. Two other guards raised overlapping barriers of shimmering energy, weaving protective enchantments into a last desperate defence.
“On my mark!” Reed straightened despite his wound. “Strike as one!”
Lowenna poured every scrap of power she had into her blade. The runes burned white-hot, singing her palms through her gloves. Greta’s staff blazed like a miniature sun. Barrier spells hummed with barely contained energy.
D’Arco kept walking.
“Now!”
They attacked simultaneously—blades of pure light, concentrated beams of power, and cascading waves of protective magic all converging on a single point. The combined assault lit up the night sky, briefly overwhelming even the darkness that clung to D’Arco’s form.
For a heartbeat, Lowenna dared to hope.
Then his ring pulsed once, and shadow magic erupted outward. It moved like a living thing, weaving between their attacks, corrupting and consuming everything it touched. The barriers dissolved. Greta’s beam of light twisted in on itself, shattering her staff and sending her flying backwards.
Lowenna’s enchanted blade held for precisely three seconds before the runes cracked and went dark. The metal turned brittle, ancient steel corrupted by something far older and darker than mere magic.
The sword shattered in her hands.
Shadow magic crackled through the air as D’Arco raised his hand. The guard to Lowenna’s right dissolved into darkness with a strangled cry. His uniform crumpled to the ground, empty save for ash.
“Fall back!” Reed’s voice carried across the chaos, but there was nowhere left to retreat to.
D’Arco’s movements were precise, almost lazy. Each gesture brought fresh horrors. Greta tried to strike from behind—her spell never reached him. Darkness coiled around her throat, lifted her into the air. Her body twisted at impossible angles before dropping lifelessly to the frost-covered ground.
Lowenna’s muscles screamed as she rolled away from another wave of corruption. The air reeked of burnt metal and something worse—the sickly sweet stench of decay. Whatever power D’Arco wielded, it didn’t just kill. It unmade.
Her remaining dagger felt pathetically inadequate. The blade’s protective runes flickered weakly against the oppressive darkness. Still, she lunged forward, hoping to catch him off guard while he dealt with Reed’s desperate assault.
D’Arco didn’t even look at her. His ring pulsed once, and shadow magic slammed into her side. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Pain exploded through her ribs as she flew backwards, crashing through the remains of the estate wall.
Stone fragments cut into her back. Her head struck something hard, vision blurring. The dagger skittered away across broken flagstones. Each breath sent fresh agony through her chest—broken ribs, maybe worse.
She tried to push herself up, but her arms wouldn’t cooperate. Blood trickled down her face, mixing with frost and pulverised stone. Through dimming vision, she watched D’Arco continue his advance. Reed’s final spell flared brilliant blue before shadow magic snuffed it out.
The rubble felt ice cold against her cheek. Darkness crept at the edges of her consciousness as D’Arco stepped over what remained of her fellow guards, heading for the main house. His purpose, whatever it might be, was clearly inside.
