The dungeon door groaned open the next night, spilling torchlight into the gloom. The rattling of my chains was the only sound I made as Kaylan dragged me out like a hound on a leash. Her grip was iron around the chain attached to my collar, jerking me forward until the skin at my throat burned raw.
The shadows inside my chest shifted restlessly, but I forced them still. Not yet. If I unleashed them here, with my ribs still cracked and my wrists bleeding silver, they would consume me as surely as any blade.
We ascended the long staircase toward the chamber above. The air grew hotter, charged, filled with the copper sting of blood and the scent of sweat. A crowd was waiting.
The Court loved its spectacles.
Kaylan shoved me through the archway into the training hall, a cavern of stone and torchlight. Bloodstains painted the sand-packed floor. Iron cages lined the walls, some still housing half-starved thralls, their eyes hollow, their fingers curling against the bars as though praying for the show to be swift.
The rest of the Court was gathered high on the balcony. Marcus sat enthroned at the center, calm as a statue, shadows trailing lazily at his boots. Lucian leaned forward on the rail, grinning as though he'd paid coin for the entertainment. Dorian scribbled furiously in his tome even as he adjusted his spectacles. Selene stood apart, veil fluttering faintly though no wind stirred.
And Kaylan's chosen hunters waited for me in the pit.
There were four of them.
Not like Eryx, who had come at me alone with arrogance dripping from his blade. These were different. Silent. Methodical. They moved as one body, their armor dark leather reinforced with silver filigree, their weapons gleaming with poison-tipped edges. One carried twin curved daggers. Another a long spear. A third, heavy with muscle, swung a war-axe, while the fourth hung back with a bow strung and ready.
A unit. Designed to kill.
My stomach knotted.
Kaylan unclasped the collar and shoved me forward. "Prove yourself, little stray. Show the Court you deserve the mercy Marcus wasted on you."
She looked down at me with her storm-gray eyes full of hate. This wasn't about obedience. This wasn't about loyalty. This was personal.
She wanted me dead.
The hunters spread out in a half-circle, boots whispering against the sand. My shadows stirred again, eager, but the silver cuffs still gnawed into my wrists. They dulled me, dragged at my limbs like weights, making every step heavy.
The first arrow whistled through the air.
I ducked—too slow. The silver tip sliced across my shoulder, hot pain searing as blood poured down my arm. My knees buckled, but instinct drove me into a roll. The spear lunged next, a streak of metal aimed at my chest.
I twisted sideways, the point grazing my ribs instead of impaling them. Agony shot up my side. My vision blurred.
The axeman charged. His shadow fell over me as the weapon came down like a thunderclap. I threw myself backward, the blade slamming into the sand where I'd been kneeling a heartbeat before. Dust erupted, choking the air.
They didn't speak. No taunts, no gloating—just the ruthless precision of predators.
I staggered to my feet, breath ragged. My body screamed at me to stay down, but I forced myself forward. I had survived worse. I had survived Marcus.
I could survive this.
The dagger-wielder closed in. Quick, relentless, blades flashing like fangs. I parried one strike with my bound wrists, the silver burning my skin, then slammed my elbow into his jaw. He grunted but recovered instantly, driving the second dagger deep into my thigh.
I screamed as fire tore through the muscle. My leg nearly gave, blood running hot down to my knee.
The spear came again. I stumbled, dragging the dagger still buried in my thigh, and the shaft struck across my back with brutal force. I hit the ground face-first, the taste of iron filling my mouth.
Above, Lucian laughed. "She bleeds beautifully."
Marcus said nothing.
I tried to rise, but the axeman's boot crashed into my ribs, pinning me. Something cracked inside me, white pain shattering through my chest.
I couldn't breathe.
The archer loosed another arrow. It buried itself into my arm this time, the silver hissing against my skin. My scream echoed through the chamber.
The hunters didn't hesitate. They weren't here to test me. They were here to break me.
Sand stuck to my cheek, wet with my own blood. My vision tunneled, darkness clawing at the edges. For a moment, I thought this was it—that Marcus's mercy had been nothing but a prelude to this execution.
And then the shadows stirred.
Not the faint whispers I'd been nursing in the dungeon. Not the restless wings at my back. This was deeper. Older. A void uncoiling inside me, wrapping its claws around my soul.
Shadowstep.
I didn't understand how I knew the word, but it pulsed in my blood, in my bones, in the screaming agony of my body.
The ax came down again, and I let go.
The world shattered.
Sound warped, silence exploding in my ears. The torchlight dimmed, replaced by a yawning abyss where color bled away. The hunters froze mid-strike, their bodies pale silhouettes outlined in threads of silver. My own heartbeat thundered like a war drum, every pulse dragging me deeper into the dark.
I stepped sideways—no, through. The air split like thin ice, and I slipped beneath it, swallowed whole.
The next moment, I was behind the axeman.
The sand still bore the imprint where I had lain, but I wasn't there anymore. He blinked, confused, as my shadow lashed upward, wrapping around his throat.
I pulled.
He gargled as darkness tore into him, suffocating, devouring. His massive body collapsed to the ground, twitching once before going still.
The others faltered. Just for a breath—but it was enough.
The archer loosed another arrow, but I was already gone, slipping through the shadows again. The world cracked and bent, and I emerged behind him. My hand wrenched the bowstring backward until it snapped, slicing his fingers to bone. His scream was shrill, broken, before I drove his own arrow into his eye.
Blood sprayed hot across my face.
The spear lunged, but I vanished. Reappeared at his flank. My shadows writhed, taking form, claws dragging across his armor, shredding leather and flesh alike. He dropped the spear, clutching at his stomach as his insides spilled into the sand.
Only the dagger-wielder remained.
He backed away, eyes wide now, fear breaking his mask. I was bleeding, broken, arrows still jutting from my body—but the shadows held me upright, whispering, promising more if I only let them.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. Shadowstep took me again, tearing me through the veil, and I came out at his throat. My hand wrapped around his skull, shadows spearing through his eyes, his mouth, his ears.
When I dropped him, he was nothing but a husk.
The pit was silent.
I stood in the center, chest heaving, every wound screaming—but I was alive. The shadows curled around me, licking at my skin like fire, begging for more.
Above, Lucian clapped slowly, laughter bubbling from his throat. "Delicious. Absolutely delicious."
Dorian's quill scratched madly, his muttering frantic."Impossible… impossible… the strain is not extinct, the strain lives—"
Selene's veiled head tilted, voice soft but clear."The pattern changes after all."
And Marcus?
He leaned forward, eyes burning, his smile slow and sharp."Exquisite."
Marcus finally rose from his seat. His eyes glowed faintly, unreadable.
But Kaylan—Kaylan's face was a storm. Fury, disbelief, and something rawer. Jealousy.
Because I hadn't broken. Because Marcus's gaze lingered on me, not her.
And she hated me for it.
I collapsed to my knees, the shadows receding, leaving only the unbearable weight of my broken body. The sand was wet with blood—mine and theirs. My chest rattled with every breath.
But I had survived.
I looked up at Kaylan, forcing my lips into a smile even through the blood and agony.
"Guess you'll have to try harder tomorrow."