Page 5 of Of Shadows & Ash (Land of Shadows #1)

Chapter Four

NIALL O’LEARY

“A choice awaits in twilight’s embrace, light to mend, dark to separate.”

Aisling Talamhain, Revered Seer

I grind my jaw, a bad habit I picked up from the old man. My father’s decree hangs in the air like a guillotine, daring me to flinch. I’ll tear that contraption apart. Reason, wrapped in logic, is the smart play, but everything inside me demands I go in for the kill. That I fight to the death. If he’s as immovable as the stones, I’m the sledgehammer that shatters his command to pieces.

Tradition isn’t something I can break without bleeding for it. And I’m willing to slice us both. Repeatedly.

Shit. That mental image is a little too satisfying. I have to dial it back.

Where’s my beast? He never fails to chime in with a witty retort or calming words to talk me off the ledge. Silence isn’t his forte. Either he can’t be bothered to comment on this latest development or he’s waiting to see how badly I fuck up this conversation.

Bastard. I inhale, trying to force my red markings to dim.

“Sire.” My gritted teeth barely allow the feigned subservience through. “Surely my duty lies in guarding the Veil. Isn’t it wiser to wait until we find out why it’s thinned?” It comes out more a statement than a question. Sorry, not sorry.

He stands, every movement slow and deliberate, his shadow stretching like a noose. Fuck. This might come down to an actual brawl.

“Aye, we protect the Veil, but our survival can’t wait.” His iron tone has no give in it. “ This season, Niall, you will choose a ceangal .”

Like hell . My mind conjures a set of prison bars slamming shut on me before bursting apart with a stream of terrifying creatures breaking free thanks to the godsdammed curse if I go through with this.

Fuck. That. “Why?” I snarl.

His lips thin. “Only two crepuscairs were born this spring. One didn’t survive.” His brows lower. “You want it spelled out? Fine. Either you bond, or your sister completes her bond to Madden. The Crimson Court is through with being patient.”

Maelíosa’s scream rips through the hall.

A growl erupts from deep in my chest. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Alliances have inescapable, ironclad oaths and blood magic. Madden is a nasty piece of shit who’d destroy my loving-yet-willful sister. The idea of him becoming family? I’d rather swallow glass.

Her bloodline wards flare, sigils burning so bright they look ready to brand her from the inside out. The tattoos twist across her skin like they’re alive—like they’re fighting as hard as she is.

“Noooo,” she howls. “You can’t make me!”

But our fucking father can. He doesn’t care about her feelings. He’s ruthless enough to break her, to break all of us. My nails dig into my palms, sharp enough to draw blood.

And now, dear old Father thinks he’s got it all figured out. If I ceangal , she won’t have to finish the bond. The mark will fade, and she’ll be free. That’s the deal he’s offering. My sacrifice for her salvation. A clean trade. Except nothing about this is clean.

I drag in a slow, shaky breath, trying to ignore the hammering in my chest. Madden will never let her go. The Crimson Court doesn’t forgive debts. They hoard them like predators scenting blood. And Madden? He thrives on the twisted link chaining my sister to him. Father’s plan? Yeah, it’s total shite.

If Madden’s obsession with her spirals out of control, I might twist that desperation to force him to break the bond on his own. Gods know that’s a risky play. One wrong move, and I’ll be handing Madden the knife he’ll use to bleed us both dry.

There’s another way, though it’s no better. Transfer the mark to some other unfortunate mortal—willing or not—to take her place. The thought makes me want to hurl, but every Gloaming is a bargain, and every bargain has terms. If there’s a loophole in the original deal or some obscure clause we can exploit, we might break the bond without tearing her apart. Let Father and the rest believe I’m in on his game. Sometimes, the only way to win is to play along…at least for a while.

-I was a child!- Her voice blasts through my head, impossible to ignore. -I didn’t know what it meant. Don’t make me do this.-

The plea hits like a punch, so intense even my father flinches. She must be in his head, too.

Tomas pulls Maelíosa into his arms. He’s always been like a second brother to her, and the look he gives me over her head says more than I can I heed. He doesn’t understand the far reaching consequences if I give into to his silent demand.

She leans into him, broken and beaten. Fear, raw fear, laces her mental plea to me. -Don’t let him do this. I can’t bond with Madden. I can’t-

It takes me two tries to unlock my jaw. “When did we start trading our own like cattle?”

My father straightens, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“Madden is a sadistic bastard.” My tattoos are flaring with so much red. “He has a grim list of casualties. Bodies he’s buried with no remorse.” My voice is steadily rising. “Last spring, a young girl and his own offspring died because he couldn’t rein himself in.”

“Rumors.” My father swipes a hand.

“Bullshite.” It echoes off the wall. “You’re willing to sentence your daughter to that same fate because of some fucking promise two kings made years ago?”

He leans forward. “We do what’s necessary for the court, Niall. It’s about survival.”

Snuffing out Maelíosa’s rebellious spark, the thing that makes her her is necessary for the court ? Vines rip across the stone walls, spreading to encase everything they cross. Father’s lucky I’m not burning this palace down.

“Survival?” The question sounds like I chewed gravel. “You mean keeping up appearances. Last I checked, survival didn’t mean chaining your daughter to a monster.”

“Watch your tone, boy .” He grips the saber’s handle strapped to his waist.

Vines full of lush leaves expand across the ceiling. “My tone?” He’s lecturing me about my tone? I’m fighting for family and he’s concentrating on my lack of decorum?

“Stop acting like a spoiled brat,” Father thunders.

My magic answers my rage. Vines slither across the stone floor, razor-sharp leaves shooting towards his feet. Thorny, feral, and ready to draw blood. The green scent of rising power fills my lungs. For one wild second, I want the vines to do more than reach him. I want them to wrap around his feet, crawl up his legs, and make him choke on my power.

Let him see I’m not some fucking child to scold.

He doesn’t even blink.

He raises a hand—slow, deliberate, condescending as hell. The temperature drops. Lantern lights flicker. Mist-laden air twists around him. Wraithwind draíocht. It moves like it has a mind of its own, curling and coiling as if it’s waiting for a command.

And then he gives it.

With a single motion, he sweeps his hand in a tight arc. Air explodes forward, slicing through my vines like invisible blades. My magic screams in protest, cut off in a heartbeat. Vines crumble to ash at his feet, blackened and lifeless.

His cold eyes lock on mine. “Don’t confuse power with control,” he seethes, his voice quieter now but no less lethal. It’s the kind of calm that cuts deeper than a shout ever could. “If you can’t master what you create, I’ll destroy it for you.”

Adrenaline still pounds in my veins. The wraithwind hovers near him, twisting in lazy arcs like a loyal beast waiting for another order. The throne room feels drained, emptied of everything but his command. The vine remnants turn to dust against his boots, and a bitter taste fills my mouth.

I hate him. Gods, I hate him—for making it look so fucking easy, for reminding me how far I still have to go. Worse than that, I hate the part of me that still wants his approval. The part that wants him to see I’ll learn, that I’ll make him regret every time he’s ever looked at me like this.

I bury that part deep, shove it where it can’t escape, and force myself to meet his gaze. Because right now, he’s the king. I’m the heir who doesn’t want to sit on the throne and just lost control of his magic.

And that pisses me off more than anything else in this damn world.

Boots pound into the stone as Father marches down the steps. “You stand there full of piss and ideals but you don’t understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” I retort, doing my best to keep my draiocht from lashing free again. “I understand that you’re sacrificing Maelíosa’s life for political convenience.”

He stops a meter from me. “Politics are the lifeblood of our world. Without them, we crumble.”

“Then let it!” I step closer, though I’ve no idea what I’ll actually do. I can barely see through the rage but I don’t want to actually fight him. “If our legacy is built on my sister’s tears, it’s not one I want any part of.”

“Idealism has no part in ruling a kingdom.”

“Neither does cruelty.” My heart is slamming against my ribcage. “You’re so wrapped up in duty and tradition you’ve forgotten what it means to fight for family.”

The silence is a battlefield strewn with history and unhealed wounds. My father cuts through it like ice. “Some debts don’t end with death.”

Niall frowns. “Meaning?”

“Meaning if someone owes the wrong kind of being a favour, it doesn’t matter what lifetime they live. It finds them. You will do your part, Niall.”

My hollow laugh echoes off the walls with a defiance that’s bone-deep. “Of course.” I fling a hand out. “The final word from our beloved king. But so you know, Father , chains are still chains, no matter how shiny they are. And I will not stand by while my sister is bound by them.”

My father loses part of his rigid stance, looking worn down by his choices, but that doesn’t make any of it easier to swallow.

I’m not taking the prophecy lightly. I can’t. The whole thing scares me half to death, but there’s one thing that trumps the terror and it’s my twin. Fuuuuck . The rage tamps into a simmering anger.

She peers at me still curled into Tomas’s chest.

Double fuck . If keeping her safe means setting the prophecy in motion? Fine. Let the world fall apart. I’d walk into any storm if it kept her out of Madden’s reach. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I’ll find a mortal, drag her back, and dump my sister’s Gloaming mark on her. Problem solved. Aisling will figure out the rest—she always does.

And if I can’t keep my sister from being crushed by Madden, then what good is any of it? For her, I’d dare the foretold destruction and all its shadows. I’d do it with a smirk on my lips and rage in my heart.

I glare back at my father, jaw tight. “I’ll go along with it, but not for you. If you’re dead set on forcing this on Maelíosa, that’s on you. I’m doing this for her, never you.”

Maelíosa’s bloodline wards dim, settling into a dull ember glow. My father clings to his throne like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. It’s hard to look at him and see anything other than a man who’s already given up.

He’s hoarding grudges older than dirt, the kind that’s passed down like ugly family heirlooms nobody wants but can’t throw out. He’s too busy looking back at the Ironlands, clinging to who we used to be, instead of facing who we are now or who we could be if he’d let go of the past.

My father exhales, but his eyes are still like stone. “Bonding might not be the curse you think it is. You might even find some joy in it.”

“Sure,” I snort. “Joy. Like watching your own burial from a seat at the back. Sit there, hands folded, while someone shovels dirt over your head. Very uplifting.”

With that, I turn on my heel and march away before I say anything else I can’t take back. Our family is the sort where sarcasm and yelling are how we say good morning, but once we’ve said our piece—once we walk away—that’s when you should really worry. Because that’s when the real violence begins. The kind that pulls roots from the ground and leaves the air crackling with a rage so sharp it could cut through iron.

When we’re silent, we’re dangerous. When we walk away, we’re plotting. We can hold grudges so long that even the fae forget what started them. It’s all gaslighting and re-writing history. It might be a hundred years before you hear from us again, and by then, you’ll be lucky if we’ve forgiven the first offence. But when we come back? Gods help anyone standing in our path.

If my defiance triggers the curse, so be it. Let the world burn. Those creatures beyond the Obsidian Sea won’t stay quiet. Dark forces will rise to claim Tír na Scáil if our hold slips. Not even Queen Niamh could keep them at bay. No one could.