Page 15 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

A fter an age, we reached the bottom of our dorm tower.

Thick stone bricks stacked high, weathered by time and scarred by claw marks and burns that hadn’t been cleaned off.

A spiral staircase led to the top, each step groaning beneath our boots with a sound like something ancient waking up.

The walls were cold and damp, breathing with the wind that funnelled through narrow cracks, carrying the scent of rain.

Vines of carved runes twined along the stone, pulsing faintly as if they were reacting to our presence. Deep somewhere below, the wind howled through the narrow gaps, echoing in bursts that sounded too much like breathing.

I kept sneaking glances at Zayden even when we took a spiral staircase up. He looked older somehow. Less boy, more blade. There was a sharpness to him, in his jawline, in the way his gaze flicked to the real shadows as if he expected them to move.

It made my chest ache a little. I remembered the softness he used to carry. I remembered how sweet he was the night after our first kiss at fifteen, when he’d fallen asleep in my lap and whispered that I made the darkness in his head quieter.

The first time we’d forgotten we were just friends.

Then went back right to pretending the morning after.

“The beds are uncomfy as fuck. But they do give us blankets, at least,” Zayden mused, just as my legs started to ache from the effort of so many stairs without my shadows helping me float. “I know you like the cold, but you can have my blanket if you need more. They’re kind of thin.”

With a mumbled thanks, I stared at the cuff embedded in my wrist instead of him. The tiny runes carved into the surface pulsed through colours: green, gold, violet, red.

Now, as I stared, I realised the cuff and my heartbeat were beating in unison. A slow, shared rhythm. Intentional enough to make me frown.

Zayden must have noticed me staring.

“The more runes they give you, the more powerful they think you are,” he said, lifting his own cuff. His had space left to add more. “I know Hightower put you in the top class, but that cuff really should be even more of an indicator of what they think of you.”

Hightower’s torture system feared me already.

Part of me was secretly pleased—another confirmation that I was a monster worth fearing.

But the rest knew it made everything harder: getting Draven out, staying under the radar, keeping myself off any lists.

It was going to be more difficult if I was a hot commodity to a bitch that needed her wings chopped off.

“I presume it was the same reason she got me to fight in her death pit?” I asked as my hand went back into my pocket.

Back to my thorns.

Zayden exhaled a soft laugh. “It’s part of your three-step initiation,” he said.

“Hightower wants to test your reaction speed, instincts. The cuffs make it possible to do it without her risking losing a good soldier too soon. It would be pointless to have a military academy that lets students die in training. They’d never have enough soldiers to fight. ”

I looked down at mine again—my personal death accessory with mood lighting. Just what every little dead girl dreamt of.

“I could kill all of my inevitable enemies without getting penalised for it?” I asked.

He snorted and flicked his wrist toward my band. “They only work in the arena. It’s a contained environment. You die, it yanks you back. Painfully. Like being slammed through your own bones. But it’s better than staying dead. So yes to killing enemies. But only in the arena.”

“Charming,” I muttered. “So it’s normal here? Murder practice?”

“Yeah. One of the five lessons we have is combat training. I’ve got a copy of the schedule you can have in the dorm.

” He gave a low hum. “It’s not just initiation or a lesson either with combat.

Every month, there are combat tournaments.

The strongest fighters face off. Voluntary mostly, but determines rank—placement in the academy.

I lead one team. The other isn’t worth mentioning. ”

I frowned, recalling the shifter’s blue fire. And the way his body looked when I pulled him apart. “And all that fighting is just to test us?”

“No,” he said, watching me. “It’s also to prepare us for war. Every six months, a team of thirteen goes through the portal. That is the real test. Everything here—classes, fights, ranks—builds toward that.”

“Thirteen again?” I wondered what the obsession was with that number.

Or why it made me feel weird, seeing as that was how many horrid men I’d killed in my quest to find my sister’s murderer.

I didn’t like coincidences. They were for the foolish.

He nodded. “Classes are sorted by skill, not age. Top classes get sent first in teams of thirteen. And usually we get sent with who we dorm with. So long as we’re all at the same standard when selection comes.

” He paused. “The last class left five months ago. My friend Dorian was in the group. I’m hoping I get to see him again soon. ”

A cold knot formed in my stomach. “What classes are you in?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flickered. “Top. For everything.But don’t worry,” he added softly, “you’re in the top classes now, too. Guess we die together. Beautifully tragic, right? Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“They killed themselves,” I rolled my eyes at his mention of the stupid human book we’d been forced to read one summer at camp.

“That is not love. That was an inappropriate age gap and miscommunication to the extreme.” We came to a stop on the landing.

I added,“I’m not dying with you, I’m dying better than you.

Something unforgettable, so people forget you existed. ”

He laughed, and the ache in my chest eased—just a little.

An iron-wrought door stood before us, its surface etched with a moon rune that pulsed faintly. It looked newly reinforced, as if they’d only just bothered to seal it for whatever was waiting inside.

They also hadn’t managed to scratch out the words Dorian’s Room; keep out unless you’ve got terrible taste in men .

Zayden hesitated with his hand on the door. Eyes darkening as he leant close. “Hightower’s watching you more than anyone—not just because you’re a shadebound.”

I raised a dark eyebrow. “My winning personality?”

“No,” he chuckled. “Another shadebound was in a group about two years ago—a legendary fighter. He’s still off fighting now.

But Hightower thinks you could be his equal—maybe partner someday.

If he ever returns, or is still living when you get to Mortavia.

But I also know she’s heard a bullshit prophecy from a seer.

One that mentioned two shadebounds and the war. I think she thinks you’re important.”

I swallowed. Of course.

I’d heard seers’ visions were potent—snippets of futures untold—but they were riddles dressed in smoke. I didn’t trust prophecies that named two shadebounds or warned of wars I’d never chosen. Interpretations shifted with every wind; I refused to let someone else’s sight bind me.

Or be paired up with a stranger just because we were gothic little freaks who loved Death and despair.

I shoved the thought aside as I lied. “Sounds exciting. I’ll be sure to win Hightower over to thinking I’m not evil. I’m charming.”

Zayden laughed. “Terrifying. But close enough.”

His laughter suddenly died as his voice lowered. “I’m going to grab your uniforms and some stuff whilst you settle in. But before I leave you to it, I just wanted to say sorry.”

I blinked, surprised. I cocked my head, narrowing my eyes. “For what? The whole ‘surprise, you’re in hell now’ tour?”

Death whispered in my mind suddenly, Hell looks better than this. My home would never be so dull and I have WiFi. I almost laughed at the thought—then locked my mouth shut, oddly grateful that even with my magic dampened, I could still hear him.

“For that night,” Zayden’s cheeks reddened. “After I... after my dad. I came to you. I shouldn’t have. We’re best friends, and I almost ruined it entirely because I was selfish.”

My heart did that thing where it curled and unfolded at once. I crossed my arms, not to be defensive, just to hold something solid. But the corridor was too quiet suddenly, like the shadows had leant in to eavesdrop.

Like my emotions were swirling to the surface and doing their best to choke me or make me do something disgusting. Like cry.

“You killed your father because he was hurting you,” I breathed. “Hurting your mother. That wasn’t a mistake.”

He nodded. “But using you to feel okay for one night was.”

“It wasn’t,” I said, voice tighter than intended. “Zayden, I wanted you there. I wanted you . What pissed me off wasn’t that night—it was waking up alone. It was losing you again.”

His jaw twitched as he rubbed the inside of his wrist, like his cuff was hiding something else entirely. “They arrested me at sunrise. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know that now.” My voice almost cracked. “But I also know you could have left me a note. Even just a quick thing to say hey, I’ve been arrested. I’m not abandoning you.”

There was no point in mentioning the last eight months I’d spent plotting his death and fantasising about how I’d torture him for hurting my feelings.

I’d spent the entire time he was gone planning how I’d kill him, down to the minute.

I’d imagined dragging him to hell with my bare hands.

But here he was. Warm. Laughing. Offering me a blanket.

Best not to complicate things further. Not when it seemed we were going to go back to being.

.. besties, as my sister would have said.

A horrid word. Sickening, really. But true in this instance.

“I realised that as soon as I got here.” He ran a hand over his face. “But I swear I was thinking about... about other things. I wasn’t actively trying to hurt you. I just lost track of the time, and my mind was fucked.”