Page 1 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)

CHAPTER ONE

LYSITHEA

The cold stone beneath my knees tells me everything I need to know about our situation.

We’re screwed.

The knowledge settles over me like ice water as I push myself up from the black floor, every muscle in my body protesting from our violent arrival.

The circular pool that expelled us has sealed completely, leaving no trace of the entrance we came through.

Smooth stone stretches in all directions, broken only by the silver torches that burn without warmth.

My golden shadow snake slithers to the ground, rearing up at my feet, hissing and generally making itself known, even though its luminescence is dimmed in this oppressive atmosphere.

I feel its unease. This place is wrong in ways that go deeper than architecture or lighting.

It’s a wound in reality itself, carved out by beings who existed before humans learned to fear the dark.

Verik hauls himself upright nearby, hellfire crackling weakly around his fingers as he tries to dry his clothes. The flames sputter, fighting against whatever force permeates this chamber. His usual confidence has been replaced by something I’ve never seen before. Uncertainty.

“Well,” Dathan mutters, wringing black water from his hair, his energy sparking across his skin in erratic patterns, “this is significantly worse than I expected.”

Evren’s pale eyes scan the vast chamber with the systematic gaze of someone cataloguing threats. The Tenebris Vinculum rests against his chest, its ancient eye wide open and surveying the chamber with grim delight.

A noise to the left catches our attention. We swivel as one to see a throne, its surface rippling with trapped agonies that play across its facets like moving images.

It’s occupied.

The being might once have been human, but centuries of existence have worn away anything recognisably mortal.

Its form shifts between states—sometimes solid flesh, sometimes writhing shadow, always wrong in ways that make my brain refuse to process what I’m seeing.

When it moves, reality bends around it like heated glass.

I sense rather than hear a movement to the right, which makes me turn to look over.

Another throne sits there, this one looks like compressed starlight, its form shifting between dimensions.

The entity on the right throne is worse.

It appears to be made of living concepts—judgement given form, power made manifest, endings that never quite arrive.

Looking at it causes physical pain, so I focus on the space slightly to one side and let my peripheral vision provide glimpses of its impossible geometry.

“Welcome to the Blood Court,” the left entity speaks, forcing my attention to return to it, its voice carrying perfectly across the vast distance.

The words bypass my ears entirely, speaking directly to my soul in syllables that predate human language.

“I am the Arbiter of Bonds. My companion is the Keeper of Trials.”

The Tenebris Vinculum wiggles against Evren’s chest.

“You seek to complete the Tenebris Vinculum,” the Keeper of Trials speaks, its voice like the death of stars. “To bind your powers into something greater than the sum of its parts. But such completion requires... verification.”

“What is required?” Verik asks.

The Keeper of Trials rises from its throne, and reality warps around its impossible form. “Four trials. Three sacrifices. A binding that will either complete your grimoire or destroy you all.”

My blood runs cold. “Four trials?”

“Unity through adversity,” the Arbiter explains, its form shifting between states as it speaks. “Trust through betrayal. Strength through loss. Wisdom through sacrifice.”

The water Sirens I heard in the tunnel emerge from alcoves carved into the chamber walls, their forms more shadow than substance. Silver chains bind their vocal cords, forcing them to maintain their eternal song, but I can see they were once independent, powerful, certain of their own agency.

Now they’re instruments, playing melodies their captors desire.

“What happened to them?” Dathan asks.

“They failed their trials,” the Keeper says simply. “Their essence now serves a different purpose.”

The implication hangs in the air like a blade. Fail, and we become part of this place’s eternal machinery.

“When do these trials begin?” Verik growls, hellfire flaring despite the chamber’s oppressive atmosphere.

Both entities turn their cosmic attention toward him.

He doesn’t falter. He lifts his chin higher.

A prince amongst kings. “They have already begun,” the Arbiter says.

“The moment you accepted the Tenebris Vinculum’s first offering, you entered our jurisdiction.

But the trials to progress... those will come when we deem you ready. ”

“What does that mean?” I demand.

“You will return to your surface lives,” The Keeper of Trials explains. “Continue your studies, maintain your relationships, pretend nothing has occurred. But you are marked now. When each trial is ready to begin, you will know. There will be no warning, no preparation time, only the test itself.”

They’re sending us back to live in constant fear, never knowing when the next trial will arrive.

“How will we know?” I ask.

The Arbiter of Bonds raises one impossible hand, and pain lances through the Soul Scar constellation on my back.

“The mark will burn,” it says simply.

“The mark always burns,” I grit out, only to gasp and be brought to my knees as it flares white hot and brings me to my knees.

“You require a further demonstration?”

“Fuck you,” Verik growls and helps me up as the mark is turned down to a simmer.

“What if we refuse?” Dathan asks.

Both entities turn their attention toward him, and the temperature in the chamber drops several degrees. The shadows deepen, the silver flames burn brighter, and even the chained Sirens’ song takes on a more menacing quality.

“Refusal is not among your available options,” the Keeper says.

The left entity gestures again, and suddenly the chamber around us shifts. The walls slide into new configurations, the tiers of seats folding back into the stone like closing flowers. A new passage opens behind us. It’s a tunnel that slopes upward toward distant light.

“Return to your lives,” the Arbiter commands. “Learn to work together not just in crisis, but in the quiet moments between. The trials ahead will test more than your magical abilities, they will test your willingness to sacrifice everything for each other.”

The Tenebris Vinculum settles back against Evren’s chest, its ancient eye closing as if satisfied with the arrangements made. We’ve become its delivery system, and now that it’s reached its destination, we’re being sent back to await further instructions.

“Go,” the Keeper of Trials says, and there’s finality in its voice. “Live your borrowed time well. It may be all you have.”

We have no choice but to walk toward the tunnel, our footsteps echoing in the vast chamber.

As we reach the passage entrance, I turn back for one last look at the Blood Court.

The two entities remain on their thrones, watching our departure with the patience of beings who have waited centuries for this moment.

The chained Sirens’ song follows us into the tunnel, a haunting melody that speaks of hope lost and freedom forgotten.

The tunnel slopes upward for what feels like hours, carved from the same black stone but gradually warming as we climb.

My shadow snake provides the only light, its golden glow reflecting off walls that gradually shift from otherworldly smoothness to familiar academy stonework.

The way back is far less perilous than the way down.

It makes me wonder if we will get this tunnel back when we are called for the trials, or the pass or failure. The judgement.

We emerge from a maintenance tunnel in the academy’s grounds.

The air of the upper world feels thin and meaningless after the crushing weight of the Blood Court.

I look at the familiar gothic spires of DarkHallow, bathed in their perpetual moonlight, and see a cage disguised as a sanctuary.

We stand in a tense silence, the four of us, the echo of the chained Sirens’ song a phantom wound in my mind.

Nothing has changed, yet everything is broken.

Dathan kicks a loose flagstone, the sharp crack of it splitting the quiet. “They’re playing with us. Sending us back to wait for the axe to fall.”

“It’s a design,” Verik says. He runs a hand over the rough stone of a nearby statue, assessing it, judging it. “They want to see where the stress points are. They’ll apply pressure until one of us breaks.”

Evren’s gaze is fixed on me. The Tenebris Vinculum is dormant against his chest, a sleeping god that has delivered us to our executioners.

In his eyes, I see the reflection of my own grim resolve.

We have sworn no one will die, but we are now pawns in a game where sacrifice is the currency.

I wrap my arms around myself, a futile gesture against a chill that comes from within.

The brand on my back is a quiet, simmering thing.

A timer. We are no longer students bound by a curse.

We are acolytes waiting for a summons. The waiting is the first trial, a test of patience and grit.

We can do this. We have to, or all of us will die.

“Returned, I see.” Blackgrove’s voice makes me spin around to see him leaning casually against a statue made from onyx into the shape of a devil three times his size.

“No thanks to you,” I say with a cold smile.

“I did warn you not to pursue this.”

“No, you turned these three into statues and locked me in my room. Not good enough… Sir .”

His smile is a thin, bloodless line. It doesn’t reach his eyes, which are chips of ancient ice. “And yet, you are all here, out in the open. My methods may be distasteful, but they are effective. You were safe.”