Page 37 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)

The forbidden alcoves are darker than usual, the floating lights dimmed to barely more than candle flames.

I head deep into the library and pick an alcove that looks the darkest. I run my fingers along the spines, searching for anything that might tell me about the Warden.

Most of the titles are in languages that make my eyes water just looking at them.

“Come on,” I mutter to the shadows. “Show me what I need to know.”

A book practically leaps off the shelf into my hands. It’s bound in scales that shimmer between green and black, and the title burns itself onto the cover as I watch: “Guardians of the Gate: Wardens of Deception.”

I crack it open.

“Okay, Warden. How do we find you and kill you?”

The pages flutter to a section filled with diagrams that make my head hurt. The text bleeds across the page.

The Warden of the Sovereign Gate exists as both guardian and prison. It cannot be approached by conventional means, for it dwells in the realm of absolute falsehood. Only lies can summon it. Only lies can sustain it.

“Brilliant,” I mutter. “Guess we’d better work on the lies we tell ourselves.”

I flip through more pages, searching for something practical.

The pages reveal more disturbing truths. The Warden feeds on deception, growing stronger with every lie told in its presence. It’s a living embodiment of falsehood itself.

The Warden cannot be destroyed through conventional battle. It must be confronted with absolute truth, a force so pure it burns away the lies that give it form.

“Absolute truth,” I whisper. “That’s what the grimoire is all about.”

I keep reading, my heart sinking with each revelation. The Warden guards the Sovereign Forge, and it feeds on the lies that keep this entire realm trapped in its current state. The opposition has been feeding it for centuries, strengthening it with every deception they spread.

A soft footstep echoes in the alcove behind me. I spin around, expecting to see one of the guys, but the shadows are empty. The floating lights flicker, casting dancing patterns on the stone walls.

“Hello?” I call softly.

Nothing.

I grip the book tighter, my knuckles white against the scaled binding. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive. Every instinct I have screams that I’m not alone, but the shadows reveal nothing.

Another footstep. Closer this time.

I back deeper into the alcove, my shoulders hitting the cold stone wall. The floating lights dim further, as if something is draining their energy. The temperature drops, my breath forming small puffs of mist in the suddenly frigid air.

A vision swims into view at the entrance to the alcove, shrouded in shadows and magic. It’s a woman, not the same woman who attacked me the other day, the ancestor, but someone else. Pretty, white hair, violet eyes…

“Who are you?”

“Aeliana.”

I frown as the name registers with me. “The Nox Siren from the first group.”

She nods.

“What do you want?” The menace coming from this creature is capturing the breath from my lungs. It feels like the shelves are closing in around me.

“Do not fail us,” she says.

“I’m going to try and not fail. But shit happens.”

Her violet eyes narrow to slits. “Shit does not happen to us. We make shit happen. You are the final one. You will complete what we started.”

“What happens when we do? Apart from completing the grimoire? What happens to this realm?”

She smiles. It’s cold and sinister. “The realm returns to its natural state.”

“Which is?”

“A place of pure darkness.”

I blink. “What?”

“You think the god of Absolute Truth rules over a kingdom of light and love?” she barks out harshly.

“This will be a utopia of veracity and unimpeachable justice. That is what you are creating. A realm where lies cannot exist, where deception withers and dies, where truth reigns supreme, no matter how brutal or ugly it might be.”

My blood turns to ice. “That doesn’t sound like a utopia. That sounds like hell.”

“Hell for liars,” she corrects, stepping closer. Her form flickers like a candle flame in the wind. “Paradise for those who embrace truth in all its forms.”

“And what about choice? What about mercy?”

Aeliana’s laugh is like breaking glass. “Mercy is a lie we tell ourselves to avoid harsh realities. Choice is an illusion when truth dictates all outcomes.”

I clutch the book tighter, my knuckles aching. “And what about the small white lies we tell to stop people from hurting?”

“They will have no choice,” she says, her violet eyes burning brighter. “Once the grimoire is complete, once the Crown is forged, that is what you will bring forth.”

“No.” The word rips from my throat, raw and desperate. “I won’t let that happen.”

She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting insect. “You think you have control? You think this is your choice to make?” Her form solidifies, becoming more real, more threatening. “You are a tool forged by a god for a specific purpose. You have no say.”

“Watch me.” I stand straighter, my shadows responding to my will despite the oppressive atmosphere.

“I’ve been everyone’s tool my whole life.

Clara’s. The orphanage’s. Even Blackgrove’s, apparently.

But not anymore. No fucker tells me what to do.

” Okay, well, there’s a lie right there.

I’m still being told what to do by the book, by the guys, by Blackgrove, by this creature.

Aeliana’s form wavers, her confident expression flickering with something that might be surprise. “You cannot fight your nature. You cannot fight what you were created to be.”

“My nature?” I laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “My nature is to survive. To choose my own fucking path.” The book in my hands grows warm, responding to the truth in my words. “The grimoire created me, but I choose how I use its power.”

“Foolish child.” Her voice turns sharp, cutting.

“You know not what you come against.” The temperature in the alcove plummets.

Ice crystals form on the stone walls, and my breath comes out in harsh puffs.

Aeliana’s form solidifies completely, no longer a flickering vision but something real and dangerous.

“You will complete the grimoire,” she hisses, her voice echoing strangely in the confined space. “You will forge the Crown. You will bring forth utopia.”

“And who’s going to make me? You?”