Page 4 of Infernal Crown (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

EVREN

The question hangs in the air, a problem with no easy answer.

They all look at Verik, the architect, the one who builds paths where there are none.

“Three options,” I say, it still feeling weird to be talking again.

“Either you call it to you, we go to get it, or Verik builds a pathway that is still connected to DarkHallow.”

“That would take me months to figure out,” Verik says, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, not to mention DarkHallow probably wouldn’t even allow me to.”

“That’s a point,” Dathan says.

“So that leaves us with two options,” Lysithea says. “You go without me, or somehow I call it to me.”

“Try calling it,” I say. I’m not hopeful.

The grimoire is exactly where it wants to be, needs , to be.

It’s not going to budge for anything, even Lysithea.

Even if it knows Lysithea can’t get to it.

We are wasting time, but I understand Lysithea’s need to be included.

She doesn’t want us going off alone to retrieve it without her.

It’s understandable. I wouldn’t want it either if the shoe were on the other foot.

Unfortunately, we don’t have much choice.

Lysithea closes her eyes, her expression a frown of concentration.

Her jaw is tight, a muscle ticking under her skin.

She’s reaching for the grimoire with a connection forged in blood and near-death, and the book is giving her nothing.

The air in the tower room is still. The only sound is the faint, arrogant shimmer of Verik’s portal.

The silence stretches, thick with failure.

“It’s not working,” I say. The words feel like a betrayal, but they’re the truth.

Lysithea’s eyes snap open, violet pools of pure frustration. “I can feel it,” she insists, her voice a raw whisper. “It knows I’m trying. It’s just ignoring me.”

“Because it’s where it needs to be,” I say, stepping towards her. “And we have to go to it.”

“No.” The word is a raw wound. A denial of the cage she’s in.

“Thea,” Dathan says, his voice rough with a gentleness he rarely shows. “We’ll be fast.”

The fury in her eyes wars with the cold, hard logic of the situation. I can see the exact moment she accepts it. Her shoulders slump, a tiny, almost imperceptible surrender.

“Go,” she says, the word costing her everything.

We don’t say anything. We simply nod and move towards the portal.

But just as Lysithea was thrown back, so are we.

The force slams into me, a solid wall of absolute refusal. I hit the stone floor, the impact echoing the one that threw Lysithea back. It’s a magical feedback. It’s a judgement. A verdict.

Verik lets out a string of curses. Dathan is on his feet, his eyes blazing with fury at the shimmering, impassive doorway.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarls.

It’s obvious. So brutally, horribly obvious.

I look from the portal to Lysithea and hold up my wrist. The Soul Scar, our brand of shared power.

“The binding.”

Her cage is our cage.

The truth settles in the room, cold and heavy. We’re her fellow prisoners.

Her eyes flash with something like vindication before she squashes it. But the smile tugging at her lips is harder to refuse.

She bursts out laughing, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she stammers. “It’s not funny… but it is…”

Her laughter is a wildfire in the dead of winter.

It’s manic, unhinged, and the most alive sound I’ve ever heard.

It cuts through the thick blanket of our failure, a bright, beautiful blade of pure chaos.

A part of me wants to join her. The other part knows this is the sound of a woman who has finally, completely snapped.

Dathan huffs out an annoyed breath. “Glad you’re enjoying our collective imprisonment.”

Verik just shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “It is fucking hilarious, and very… us.”

The laughter subsides, leaving her breathless, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Okay,” she gasps, wiping her eyes. “Okay. We’re all trapped. Now what?”

The shimmering portal mocks us. A doorway we built but cannot use.

Verik closes the doorway with a sharp gesture. The shimmer of folded space snaps out of existence. “Now what? We’re back to square one.”

“That leaves calling it,” Lysithea says before I can.

“Together,” I add, taking her hand.

She nods and gives it a squeeze. Verik takes her other hand, and Dathan places his hand on the back of her neck. “Close your eyes,” she murmurs. “And call it to us.”

I close my eyes. Our combined power is a maelstrom.

Verik’s hellfire is a contained inferno, Dathan’s nightmare magic a freezing burn, and Lysithea’s song a current of raw, violent life.

My own death magic is the quiet void that holds it all together.

A silent, unified demand shoots out from our circle, a psychic harpoon aimed at the heart of the Midnight Spire.

Nothing.

We push harder. The call becomes a command, an absolute insistence that ripples through the foundations of the academy. I feel the pushback instantly. A wave of ancient, arrogant refusal slams against our will. The grimoire is a stubborn bastard. It’s not coming.

Lysithea makes a frustrated sound in her throat. Her power surges, a tidal wave of shadow and sound that we amplify, funnelling our own strength into her call. The demand becomes a psychic roar that shakes the very bones of the tower.

The air splinters around us, forcing us apart as we are ripped from each other’s grips. I hit the left wall as Lysithea smashes into the right. Verik and Dathan end up somewhere on opposite sides.

“Oww,” I mutter.

“I guess that’s a no then,” Dathan says, getting up and rubbing the back of his head.

“We need to figure this out,” Verik says.

“Or,” Lysithea says, forcing herself to her feet. “We fucking leave it to rot down there and fuck it, the Crown, the academy, the realm, everything! Fuck. Everything! And fuck you three as well!”

She storms off, leaving a trail of violet sparks in her wake, our ears ringing from her violent outburst.

“Anyone else think we fucked up?” Dathan asks into the damning silence.

I exhale sharply, giving him a death glare. “You think?” I rasp.

Verik scrubs a hand over his face. “Right. That’s helpful.”

“I’m going after her,” Dathan growls, already moving towards the staircase.

“No.” I put a hand on his chest, stopping him. He glares at me. “She needs to break something. Let her.”

He shoves my hand away but doesn’t move. He knows I’m right. We all heard the cracks in her voice. The ragged edge of a soul that has been pushed too far.

“So, we just stand here?” he demands.

“We think,” Verik says, his gaze distant, already turning the problem over in his mind. “The binding is tied to the academy’s perimeter. What if Evren is right? We don’t break it, we stretch it?”

“You want to try and extend DarkHallow’s magical footprint all the way to the fucking Spire?” Dathan scoffs. “You said you couldn’t do it, that DarkHallow might not even let you.”

“Blackgrove will know how,” I say quietly. “Or at least point us in the right direction.”

“You go,” Dathan says.

Gee thanks. I glare at him again, and he gives me a coy smile.

“Fine,” I grit out and leave without another word.