The Shadow Princess, page 23
“What was in it for Amell?” Bastien asks. “I can’t imagine he did it out of the goodness of his heart. He’s a Dark Fae.”
“I never knew,” Heph replies. “But I know there was some favor owed. I know Selena felt that the gift of conception was worth the infidelity against Jaron.”
That word.
Infidelity.
I can’t wrap my head around my mother doing such a thing. The love she shared with my father was so pure and infinite. She’d never betray him in such a way, and part of me hates Heph for destroying my image of her.
“I need some air,” I reply, tugging my hand from Bastien’s and walking out of the cottage.
Bastien won’t follow because he knows me well. He knows there are times when my upset requires solitude, just as he knows there are times when I need something simple… like the touch of his hand on mine just moments ago.
How could this be? How could I never have had even a hint that Jaron wasn’t my father?
My biological father, I mean. He was truly my father, and it doesn’t matter if he didn’t have a hand in creating my physical form. He had a direct hand in creating everything else about me, and there is so much of him in me, I can look in the mirror every day and see him smiling back.
I walk to the pond and sit on a bench under a paper birch tree that filters the light into pink dapples on the ground at my feet.
Shadow magic.
Heph says I have shadow magic inside of me but how does he know for sure? Is it a guess, or did I show abilities at some point? Did Amell tell my mother I would have that part of him?
A horrific thought strikes deep, and I almost can’t breathe. What if Amell wanted a child to help him rule the Underworld? What if he gave me shadow magic so that he could one day drag me under to live with him?
I jump off the bench, looking around wildly. My chest heaves as fear threatens to suffocate me. I’m consumed by an overwhelming urge to run as far away as possible. Back to the First Dimension… or another dimension. Anywhere he can’t find me. I’ll live the rest of my days alone and I’ll give up everything, but I’m not about to become—
“Easy, now.” Bastien’s voice surrounds me, as do his arms. I hadn’t realized he’d come out of the cottage. “I got you. Deep breaths.”
I turn and burrow in tight and let him hold me. I don’t need long, because he’s reminded me that I’m not alone.
“What’s the play?” I finally ask as I tip my head back.
He loosens his hold so he can look at me. “We need to know about the shadow magic. Heph says that Amell told your mother you would be part fae and have abilities. He called it shadow magic because it would be inside you, hiding in the corners, ready for you to use when you needed.”
I frown. “That sounds prophetic.”
“Agreed,” he replies with a grimace. “But Heph said he was an original fallen angel, so whatever you have inside you is powerful.”
Pulling away from Bastien, I turn to look out over the pond. The water is clear with rose colored sparkles on the surface. I focus inward to evaluate the pleasant buzz of magic that pumps in my veins. I look for any shred of darkness that could be lurking, but I don’t feel anything strange at all. “How do I use it?”
“Heph says we can attempt to summon Amell and ask.”
I whirl around to Bastien, and I can tell by the look on his face he hates the idea. But I can also tell he’s not going to argue with me if I agree.
“Let’s do it,” I say without hesitation. I came here prepared to learn blood magic. To do whatever it takes to defeat Ferelith.
This is no different.
“I thought you’d say that, so I’ve got Heph gathering what he needs. He’ll be out here in a moment.”
I nod and nibble on my fingernail, a horrible habit I succumb to when I have way too much spinning in my brain. I think this is the right thing to do. Bastien would prohibit it if it wasn’t. I truly don’t see any other way, and I need to make things right.
“Your mother did the best she could,” Bastien says as he pulls my hand away from my mouth, and my eyes fly to his. “Don’t spend any energy holding this against her.”
I take stock of my feelings. “I can’t afford to think about it now, but I might need you to remind me of that later.”
“I will always remind you of what a great woman your mother was, how much she loved your father, and that she only ever wanted what was best for you and him. I also know she’s dead, and you’ll never understand her reasoning, so all I can ask is that you give her the benefit of the doubt because she has never once given you reason not to.”
I frown at him. “When did you get so wise?”
“When I was forced to make the hardest decision in the world where you’re concerned,” he says, and the reminder is like a slap to the face. The source of the demise of our happiness.
I’m prevented from responding when the door to the little house opens and Heph comes out carrying a bowl, a corked brown pottery jug, and a wickedly sharp-looking knife.
I watch silently as Heph sets the bowl and knife on the ground and then uncorks the jug. From it he pours black salt—an ingredient often used in protection spells, potions, and amulets—in a large circle around the bowl.
When he corks the jug and sets it aside, I ask, “Now what do you do?”
“Not what I do,” Heph says, nodding at the bowl and knife. “It’s your blood that needs to be spilled to call Amell because it’s his blood you’ll be spilling too. You need to get in that circle, pick up the knife, and call your father to you.”
CHAPTER 25
Thalia
My gaze moves to Bastien, once again seeking his reassurance. He hates this. I can see it all over his face, in the stiffness of his posture, the way his hands clench.
When Bastien loved me once, he’d never let me spill a precious drop of blood. But that’s not how he feels anymore, and he’s going to remind me of my duty to my people.
He’ll keep me on track.
He gives the smallest of nods, and I swallow hard before nodding back.
Stepping into the circle, I sit cross-legged and pick up the bowl. Placing it on my lap, I look up to Heph. “How much blood does it require?”
“Enough to get his attention,” he replies with a grimace.
I take the knife, and Bastien steps forward to the circle’s edge, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Start slow,” he advises.
I manage a smile and look back to Heph. “What do I say?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say, only that you ask him to come. Pull on the nearest ley line to amp your power, spill the blood in the bowl, and make your request.”
“Okay.” I breathe out, willing calm into my body. My heart thuds painfully against my rib cage. I take the knife, intent on cutting into the fleshy part of my palm when a thought occurs. “Wait—I’m in a circle of protection. You two should be in here with me.”
“There’s no room,” Bastien says, which isn’t exactly true. It would fit three adults if we all stood.
“We can redraw the circle,” I say, my attention focused on Heph.
“The protection isn’t to keep Amell from us, but to keep Amell from the rest of Vyronas.”
Bastien rounds on Heph with a growl, grabbing his shirt. “You’re going to let him in there with her?”
“Wait!” I exclaim. “Let him go. He’s right. We can’t afford to give Amell free rein here. Summonings aren’t permanent, and we can send him back when we want, but we don’t want him wreaking any havoc while he’s here.”
My reasoning has no effect on Bastien as he still looks angry enough to throttle Heph. I take the opportunity to move forward with the magic and place the tip of the knife to my palm, just below my thumb. With the pointed end, I puncture my skin, deep enough that a stream of bright red blood wells. I turn my hand over the bowl, and the blood drips inside.
Closing my eyes, I silently call out. Amell… it is your daughter Thalia, calling to you from the dimension of Vyronas. I demand an audience with you.
I have no clue if those are the right words, but I do know they’re the simple truth.
Nothing happens, though, and I can’t imagine I had to say please or beg him to come. I don’t want to take any chances, though, so I add, Please. I beg you to come talk to me. I need your guidance.
Still nothing happens, and I open my eyes to find both Bastien and Heph watching me with concern.
“The blood offering may not be enough,” Heph suggests.
Sighing, I put the knife back to my palm and score a long line. Bastien growls as I wince from the pain, but significantly more blood pours into the bowl, creating a red puddle in the bottom as I squeeze my fist over it. Come on, you greedy bastard. Accept this amount I’m giving and at least have the guts to come talk to me face-to-face.
A huge boom rends the air around me, a light flashes so bright I’m momentarily blinded, and static electricity crackles so thickly that my hair lifts from my shoulders.
Standing before me is a creature—presumably my father—and he towers over me as he glowers down.
Taller than any man I’ve ever seen, he tops Bastien by a good four inches and is massively built, all brawn and muscles. He’s wearing black leather from head to toe—a tunic with criss-crossed leather straps over his torso, pants, and heavy boots. If I weren’t so scared, I’d readily admit he’s incredibly handsome, but I don’t resemble him at all. His dark blond hair is short and messy, like he just walked through a windstorm, and he has a perfect layer of facial hair, but it doesn’t hide his angular cheekbones. His eyes are blue but so dark they look like the midnight sky next to a full moon.
When two huge wings of inky-black feathers erupt outward, I scramble to stand and move away from him. The tips of his wings push past the barrier the salt provides, and another large boom fills the air. It feels like the oxygen is sucked from my lungs and I’m relieved when I suck in air to fill them back up again.
I know he’s destroyed the protection placed around us with just a brush of his wings and is free to roam at will if he wanted. We sorely underestimated his power.
Bastien pulls his sword once he realizes the creature isn’t contained and moves around the circle to stand near me.
I brandish my knife and try to steady my voice. “Are you Amell?”
The winged man cocks an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “I am Amell. And I’m wondering why you would summon me only to threaten me with that knife?”
“You startled me,” I admit, refusing to lower my weapon.
Amell smirks. “Why would that be? You summoned me. Surely you expected me to come.”
“But you didn’t come right away,” I point out.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “You hadn’t spilled enough blood to interest me.”
Bastien steps forward, sword held at an angle over his shoulder, prepared to swipe if he needs to. Amell watches him with interest and, if the curl of his lip is any indication, amusement.
His regard comes back to me. “You are Thalia… daughter of Selena.”
“Are you my father?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t have come if I weren’t. The price I require to leave my domain is way steeper than a tiny cut to your palm.”
“And what did you demand of my mother?” I sneer. “Was her blood not enough?”
Amell drops his arms and spreads them. “Your mother got exactly what she wanted from me, and I got exactly what I wanted from her. Neither of us was disappointed in the end.”
I screech in anger at the implication, and before I know it, I’m launching myself at the Dark Fae in an attempt to drive the knife into his heart. Just as I bring it down, he disappears and I stumble forward. I turn around quickly to find Bastien swinging at Amell’s head, but with a snap of his fingers, the sword disappears.
Amell smirks at the easy defeat.
Bastien doesn’t return the smile and instead lobs a fast uppercut that catches Amell right under the jaw. His head snaps back and rocks him off balance a few feet.
“Watch your tone with Thalia,” Bastien warns.
Amell swivels his jaw back and forth, rubbing it gingerly, but doesn’t appear perturbed.
His gaze comes back to me, and he says, “Let’s take that knife off your hands.” It disappears into thin air. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.”
So fast I barely have time to blink, Amell appears right in front of me to grab my wrist.
Bastien charges but with a flick of his free hand, Amell sends him flying backward. “Stay down, warrior. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Pulling my palm up, he inspects the cut, smeared with blood. Bastien is back on his feet and releases a war cry as he charges again.
Amell doesn’t even spare him a glance but enacts some sort of magical wall around us. Bastien slams into it with such force, the ground shakes. Ignoring him completely as Bastien pounds his fists in anger, I watch, mesmerized as Amell rubs a thumb over my palm, and my cuts instantly heal.
He drops my hand and turns to Bastien who has gone still as he takes in Amell’s ministration to my wounds. “I’m going to release this shield, but if you try to attack again, I will drop you in another realm. I mean her no harm.”
“Bastien,” I say in a pleading voice, “back off.”
It is with a fierce glare at Amell that Bastien takes a few steps back to give us space. The Dark Fae waves his hand, presumably to make the shield disappear, and fortunately, Bastien stays put.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Amell turns his attention to me. “Why did you summon me, child?”
It’s weird to have him call me child. He doesn’t look much older than me, but he’s Dark Fae and therefore doesn’t age. He’ll always look the way he does right now. Moreover, I’m not his child. He’s never done a single thing for me in my life.
But I don’t have time for petty grievances, so I explain my summons. “A sorceress has taken over my land using blood magic.”
Amell nods with a slight smile. “Ferelith. Big fan.”
My jaw drops and I glare at him. “You’re a big fan of hers?”
The Dark Fae snorts. “More like she’s a big fan of mine. She summons a great many demons from my realm and sends me plenty of souls in return.”
I shake my head, trying to get my bearings where this man—rather, fallen angel—is concerned. “Do you support her?”
“When it furthers my cause,” he drawls.
Too vague. “Does it further your cause?”
“It doesn’t hurt it,” he says blandly.
I curse in frustration and make my request. “I need to know how to defeat her. If I use blood magic, it won’t be strong enough. I don’t know enough about it. I’ve been led to believe that you may have passed on other magic that I could use. Is this true, and if yes, how do I tap into it?”
Amell doesn’t answer right away but rather studies me for a long moment. He circles me, his long wings tucked away, the tips dragging through the grass, but I don’t turn my back on him.
Bastien moves closer, despite Amell’s earlier warning.
Amell stops and his gaze slides to Bastien, mouth curving in amusement. “You’re very protective of my daughter, aren’t you, warrior?”
“She’s my sovereign,” Bastien growls. “Of course, I’m protective.”
Amell tips his head back and laughs from deep in his belly. “You’re only being dishonest to yourself.” His attention comes back to me. “To answer your question, you are half Dark Fae. You have the ability to wield dark magic.”
“Shadow magic?”
“Shadow magic, if it pleases you to call it that. But it comes from a dark place. Some consider it evil.”
“Evil?” I exclaim, then resoundingly add, “I am not evil.”
Another careless shrug. “That’s relative, isn’t it? I’ve often been told your actions determine your morality, not what’s inside you. However, you have my blood, and I can grant you the gift of my magic if you so desire to use it to regain your kingdom.”
“It’s not in me already?” I ask.
“It is,” he says with a slight smile. “But I need to awaken it, so to speak.”
“You’d do that for me?” I ask with immense suspicion in my tone.
“I would,” he replies.
“And what will it do to me? Will it… change me?”
Amell’s eyes flash with mischief, but I can’t tell if it’s sinister in its intent. “Of course, you’ll change. You’ll become more. What I would give you would kill a mere mortal, but because you have my blood, you can accept it, harness it, and wield it. You can combine it with your own powers, or you can add blood magic to create spells that Ferelith wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d be giving you the weapon you need to defeat her.”
I chew on my lip, considering. It’s the answer I’ve been looking for. The way has been shown for me to save Vyronas.
But still, I’m hesitant.
Scared to change, and there’s no doubt I will change once he awakens the shadow magic within me.
“Tell me what you are. I need to know more about this part of me that comes from you.”
Amell looks slightly irritated I’d question his gift but sighs and says, “Very well.”
With another flick of his wrist, he conjures a massive throne made of craggy obsidian. His wings spread and lift, enabling him to drop into the seat so they rest over the back. He sits imperiously with feet planted on the ground and hands resting on carved chunks of shiny black rock.
“I’m one of the original fallen angels expelled from Heaven when Kymaris tried to lead a rebellion against God.” I know this story, but it’s taught as more myth than actual history. Same as the gods we worship. “We were banished to the Underworld and sealed within, known to all as Dark Fae. Most of our powers were stripped, but over time, pieces of the meteor came into our possession, and we evolved. Witches, priests, and such from the First Dimension often summoned Dark Fae to perform services, so some were able to come and go. Some never returned to the Underworld, settling into lives above. As you should be aware of your history here in Vyronas, Light and Dark Fae mated and produced daemons. Your people here are descended from druid daemons, although much of their original characteristics have been bred out over the millennia.”
