Page 22 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY
LYSITHEA
The usual, clawing panic of being touched, of being trapped, is gone.
In its place is a strange, quiet hum. The Soul Scar on my back is a warm, steady presence, not a brand of pain but a conduit.
My body aches, a dull, satisfying throb that reminds me of every choice I made last night.
Every claim I accepted. Every piece of myself I gave to them.
I slide from the bed, my movements slow and deliberate. Dathan stirs but doesn’t wake. I pull on my dressing gown and glare at the grimoire. It sits on my desk, its single eye fixed on me. It thinks it won. It thinks it broke me down and remade me into its perfect tool.
I meet its unblinking stare.
It flips open, and writing appears on the page. Not a command or a cryptic comment, but writing that used to be invisible, that is now returning, like the spell Verik could read.
I move closer, intrigued by what is being rewritten, what old spell is making its reappearance in the world. I lean over the heavy parchment. I can read every word in it, and it chills me.
In a good way.
In a very, very good way.
It’s a Song of Dominion. A controlled, melodic rewriting of magical law. A spell to unravel enchantments, to silence false gods, to command truth from the very fabric of reality.
My entire species, created by this god-book, was made to be the ultimate failsafe. The final argument against a lie.
The Absolute Truth.
The words on the page are a melody humming in my blood. A Song of Dominion.
This is my birthright. My purpose.
A single note builds in my chest, a low, resonant thrum of pure potential. I don’t release it. Not yet. But the air in the room crackles, tasting of magic and ancient endings.
The knowledge comes to me as clear as the song in my mind. The book is not my enemy. The Tenebris Vinculum is the only thing standing between us and those who wish to harm us. The opposition. My fingers trace the script. This isn’t a spell. It’s my fucking source code.
“Thea?” Dathan’s voice is a low rumble from the bed.
I turn. He’s propped up on one elbow, silver eyes sharp and focused, scanning me for a threat. He sees the open book, the humming energy in the air. Verik and Evren are awake too, a silent trinity of monsters watching their queen.
“It’s not our enemy,” I say, the words tasting of blood and truth. “It’s my inheritance.”
I place my palm flat on the page. The melody in my blood surges, a current of pure, raw power flowing from the book into me. It’s a homecoming. The Soul Scar on my back burns with a clean, white light that mirrors the glow from the grimoire.
“What the fuck is happening?” Verik asks, already on his feet.
“An upgrade,” I whisper.
The grimoire isn’t trying to break me. It’s trying to finish me. The opposition didn’t just erase a god. They erased a truth. They silenced a song. I am its echo, becoming a scream they can’t ignore. But it knows I can’t do it alone. It knows the burden is too great.
These trials are arming us. Preparing us. Stripping us back to our bare components to trust each other with everything we’ve got because we are going to need it. The opposition will not rest until we are either dead, or they are.
The book slams shut. The energy recedes, settling deep inside me, a coiled serpent of potential.
“So, what now?” Dathan asks, his voice tight.
I look at them, my monsters, my architects, my nightmares. My truth. I smile. None of them refute me. None of them denies what I know is the truth. They trust me, and that is the test the book was waiting for. Where I lead, they will follow, and I’m about to lead us all into hell.
“We wait. We run their gauntlet. The trials will increase their demands. We have to rise to it. If we fail, this academy, this realm will fall, and I will not let that happen. DarkHallow, Blackgrove, as fucked up as it is, they are my saviours. Without them, I would still be under Clara’s control, silenced, tormented, going mad.
I owe them this, I owe it to myself, to everyone here, to you, to the Nox Sirens who fell before me. ”
Dathan lets out a whoop that makes me laugh.
“Way to walk all over my declaration,” I chide him with a smile.
“Hey, you’re getting us fired up for a fucking fight. It’s about time we had something real to kick.”
I laugh, a real, genuine sound that feels foreign in my own chest. The tension in the room fractures, replaced by a raw, restless energy. Verik claps Dathan on the shoulder, a brutal show of camaraderie. “Good. I’m itching to burn something that isn’t an illusion.”
Even Evren cracks a smile. A tiny, fleeting thing, but it’s there. It’s like seeing a glacier give way. A world-altering event.
“The Warden,” I say, the name a cold stone in the warmth of the moment. “The book said the Warden awaits. It will be expecting a storm. We will give it a fucking hurricane.”
The mood shifts instantly. The playful energy evaporates, replaced by a grim, shared purpose. We don’t know what it is. Or where. But it’s our next gate.
Dathan’s hand finds mine. His grip is tight, possessive. A promise. I don’t pull away. I squeeze back. The last traces of my fear of being touched by them are ash in the wind, burned away by the trials.
“We go to classes,” I say, the decision feeling solid, right. “We sleep, we eat. We wait for the next trial to make its move. But we stay ready.”
“Ready to kill whatever fucker stands in our way,” Verik finishes, his hellfire eyes burning with a beautiful, destructive light.
My monsters. My army. My truth. The opposition wanted a puppet. They’re about to get a fucking queen with a wrecking crew. The Warden can wait. But we know we’re coming for it.