Page 7 of Shaedes of Power (Soul Magic #1)

CHAPTER 7

W hen I was a child, I hated storms. It didn’t matter that I knew where they came from or that the Corewood trees could sense a storm brewing miles away and would quickly weave together their great branches to provide an impassable canopy from the wind and rain. As soon as the thunder rolled throughout the halls of the palace bedchambers, I was out of bed and running quickly down the hall to my parents’ room. When I was very young, I would be whimpering. They would hear me, throw back the covers, and allow me a safe, warm haven between them. My own little nest of comfort, while the winds howled and the rains pounded out a spirited symphony against the protection of the Corewood leaves. My mother would smooth my long hair back while my father would say, “You know, Opal, it’s just the blue faeries doing their job,” or “Did you hear that thunder? Someone must have made Betta extra grouchy tonight.”

As a slightly older child, sometimes when it stormed, I would still find myself at the side of my parents’ bed. I didn’t really need them to hold me; I was no longer pushed to tears so I could enter undetected. Sometimes it was only the sight of them there, lying wrapped up together, breathing steadily and calmly, that was enough to give me courage. If they were lying there that peacefully, then I could rest too. But now they were gone. Violently stripped away from me. And I feared I would never find rest again.

So many images railed through me in the few minutes just after the portal closed. Meridee’s final stunned expression as Ciaran hijacked her into the Shadowlands; several older fae quickly moving to spell the castle against anyone portaling in or out of the court; Leyanna’s tear-stained face after finally releasing the death grip she’d had on Dru, who flew to her father’s body in a green blur, screaming his name and cursing the Night Court with such raw rage I could almost feel it in the air; her mother quickly coming to her side and silently weeping next to her inconsolable daughter.

I could feel the dust and dirt that the winds had kicked up clinging to my skin. Many of the court had also lowered themselves or cowered away from the battle magic that had been waged, and now everyone was kind of emerging from some sort of nightmare, unsure if they were truly awake yet.

I slowly pushed my body up and stood up, sore from inadvertently keeping muscles tensed for the majority of Ciaran’s visit. Now I felt like every bit of fight had been knocked out of me. It was everything I could do not to collapse again to the floor. My stomach groaned in hunger, which seemed almost comical. What strange creatures we are that even in the midst of death, destruction, and sorrow, our basic needs remained oblivious.

I glanced at my parents, at their bodies crumpled in unusual poses. I had much larger fears now than a thunderstorm, but the sight of them brought no comfort. Only sadness. Regret. And anger.

Amira was to blame for this. It was hard to wrap my head around it at first, but in the aftermath of it all, her betrayal was the catalyst for all this waste of magic and life. And I committed right then and there to pledge whatever magic I had to the Balance and to serve whoever the next High Shaedes would be, with fervent allegiance in an effort to avenge my sister for what she had done—it was all I could do in the face of such loss.

A small faerie with blond curls mounted the dais. It was Brilan’s head manservant, Alisand. He was clearly in mourning but moved with purpose to get to a position where everyone in the room might hear his words.

“This is a grave night for the Shaede Court,” he began. Everyone shifted their gaze in his direction, trying to focus on something other than their heartache. “I think that I speak for all of us in saying that what happened here was an abomination. The Balance will not have it; of that, I am certain. That said, Jupiter’s Opposition is still tomorrow night. There will be enough ambient magic to summon the Balance for the renewal ceremony, which is now even more of a necessity than it was before. Let us mourn and let us recover, but then let us reconvene tomorrow night under a very powerful night sky, and pray that the Balance delivers us leaders that will mark out a path for us in this wilderness. A path that ultimately will lead to the destruction of the Night Court once and for all!” There were several angry shouts of approval but many others that were somewhat lackluster. Brilan would have wanted us to rally. He was a strong leader and would never back down from a fight. But the thought of a renewal ceremony for five new High Shaedes was a little overwhelming, not to mention that the task of trying to terminate the Dark Princes was one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Leyanna approached me slowly from the spot I was apparently frozen to. I just couldn’t seem to make myself move.

“I’m so sorry, Opal,” she said. Several Naturals arrived at the dais to start clearing the bodies. “Why don’t I walk you to your room?”

“Thanks, but no. I think I just want to be alone.” We weren’t ever taught how to mourn, but death seemed like it should be a lonely business.

“Well, that’s going to be hard.” She put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me gently forward toward the doors. “Did you forget you had a certain human visitor waiting for you?”

“Oh my stars,” I gasped. “I completely forgot about Farris. I just left him sleeping in my bed.”

“Don’t worry, I just saw my mom, and she said that once he is fully healed, they are going to glamour his memories and portal him back home. ”

“Leyanna, they can’t glamour his memories! I know he has to go back, but he worked hard for those scars, so he deserves to know where they came from.”

She gave me a weird look, like I wasn’t making sense, and then surprised me by giving me a very big hug. “You are not alone. Remember that,” she whispered. I pressed hard into her embrace. “Now go get some food and a bath. You look like shit.” She smirked. That was one thing she had enjoyed learning in the human realm—how to swear like a sailor.

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” I asked gloomily. She let me go and I headed for my room, my lip quivering but not allowing one tear to fall.

I was a different person than I was when I left him, and he could see it. Farris sat up in my bed once he saw me cross the threshold, clearly feeling loads better.

“What’s happened?” he asked worriedly. It was weird to see any side of him other than his carefree, flirtatious side.

“They’re dead.” Saying it out loud didn’t make it feel any more real.

“Who?” he asked, concern washing anew over his face.

“My parents,” I said. “All the other High Shaedes, probably Meridee…” My voice trailed off as I involuntarily replayed each of their untimely ends.

“Opal,” he said softly. I hated that I loved the way he said my name. “Come here.”

I crawled across the bed and curled into a ball next to him on my side. He made his body form a little cocoon of warmth around me. I wondered if it pained him to turn on his side, but I didn’t care. It was my turn to heal. He stroked my hair until I was ready to tell him everything, and when my recount of the day’s events had finally stopped spilling out of my mouth along with a few rogue tears, only then did he speak .

“That must have been awful.” I was glad I couldn’t see his face. I couldn’t handle anyone else’s pain. “And these dark fae really can’t be killed?”

“It seems hopeless, right?” I laughed half-heartedly. “Our magic and that of the dark fae are like oil and water. Ours is blessed by the Balance, we breathe new life into the already very thriving Earth. Dark magic comes from the opposite of that. It interacts only with death. Dark faeries, in order to have access to that kind of magic, have to be dead themselves. And you can’t kill something that is already dead. Trust me, I’ve read the gruesome histories of the futile attempts made by our ancestors.”

“Wait. How are they dead, but still living, breathing, and using magic to kill people?”

“I don’t really know about the breathing part, but the origin of the dark fae is a dreadful one. Do you know there used to be black Shaedes?”

“No,” he said and moved to wrap his good arm around me.

“Black faeries were not all that rare, but their magic was not inherently useful to the realms. Characteristically speaking, they were said to have black hair and dark, deceptive eyes. Their teeth and nails were sharpened to a deadly point. They were prone to wreak havoc and mischief at court. They were pranksters and pot-stirrers, and their kind were never chosen for a seat of the Five. For that reason alone, they were marginalized at court, their only real redeeming quality being how quickly and effectively they could kill. Cunning and, according to some, without a conscience, black fae were employed to do the shady work that our elders liked to hide.”

“Like assassins?”

“Maybe, but more like mercenaries. They traveled with armies of green warriors and crossed the line when it needed to be crossed. I imagine many ancient battles were won by a single black faerie, but all the glory would of course go to the valiant green armies.”

“That would be a hard life.” Farris sounded pensive. “Being looked down on for the very skills that others exploited.”

“Yes, well, one particular black faerie grew tired of the stares and glares of the court. His name was Draku, and he had committed many sins on behalf of the realm but did not understand why he and his other dark colleagues were not allowed more magic—or at the very least respect for the heroes they were. At that time, there were a few silver Shaedes at court. One actually held a High Shaede seat. Her name was Fayonir. A silver Shaede’s magic manifested itself as wisdom, but it was the rarest shaede of all. There hasn’t been one at court for over a thousand years.

"One day, Draku tricked Fayonir to get her alone, and he trapped her, torturing her for days for knowledge about his shaede and all the other colors. ‘Why are we different?’ ‘What makes everyone else more special?’ He demanded to know. ‘Why are the black faeries never gifted seats by the Balance?’ ‘What other secrets do the Shaedes keep from the dark ones?’ He had become paranoid. He lost control. He had tortured her for so long and so brutally that he ended up killing her. His anger and despair for what he had done quickly turned to a blind rage, and his magic became uninhibited. He began bludgeoning her still warm corpse with heavy fists filled with self-loathing and hate.

“But in between blows, some of Fayonir’s blood splattered into Draku’s mouth, and he began to choke. It burned him. It was like drinking poison. And he gasped for air, as if he were drowning. There was a part of him that felt like he deserved this, whatever it was. It got so bad that he couldn’t stand the pain of the burning in his throat or the reality of what he had done, so he ended his life in a brutal way. Shortly after his death, he awoke a dark faerie. The first dark faerie, actually.”

“Wait. He came back from the dead?” asked Farris.

“He did. We faeries live forever unless we are killed or we release all our magic. Draku awoke from death to a hellish surprise. The fire that burned in his throat wasn’t just still there—it had amplified exponentially. It now was not just pain he was experiencing, but an insatiable thirst that made his very bones feel like they were drying up inside. He instantly tried to kill himself again and again, and soon he had tried to end his life in a hundred different ways, but he would just reanimate, and his agony perpetuated. He had somehow become immortal in a different, darker way. So he went before the High Shaede Court and confessed to his actions, begging for their mercy. He wanted to die. They tried to kill him another hundred different ways, to no avail.

“They feared him. And he feared himself, destined to feel like he was dying for an eternity, feeling powerful magic bubble beneath his paling skin and being too weak to do anything with it. He knew he’d been cursed. He hid away from the world and suffered alone, occasionally visiting various courts to see if there had been any new answers as to what was happening to him. Hundreds of years passed. Eventually, he found himself at Pellshaeven, the Water Court. He would beg an audience with the Lady of the River, their leader, and perhaps learn something new about his condition. Unfortunately for them, a human tribe had been allowed to enter the Seam. Their village had been plagued by creatures crawling from their lakes and rivers and devastating their crops. They began praying ceaselessly for intercession, and the fae of Pellshaeven were moved by the Balance to provide.

“Draku was overwhelmed in the presence of these humans. He could sense their heartbeats and smell the sweet nectar of their blood pumping in their veins from across the great hall.

“Nothing could get in his way. His throat clenched, and without ceremony, he threw himself at one of the humans, sinking his teeth—which seemed to be getting sharper by the day—deep into the human’s flesh. When he drained that human, he grabbed another, and another. The whole of the Water Court was horrified. Dark power saturated the air. Everyone fled from him, as they had never seen such a beast. Something so imbalanced, so evil.”

“Oh my god,” Farris interrupted and sat up quickly, eyes wide. His blond hair fell over his shoulder and tickled mine as he hung over my face. “The dark fae are vampires?”

“Well, yes… and no. They are immortal and drink blood, but nothing kills them. In your human stories, they are easily picked off with garlic, crosses, and wooden stakes. It is true that the shapeshifters in the north don’t like the dark fae, but no one does. And a werewolf has never successfully killed one. ”

Farris, somewhat bewildered, fell back onto the pillows behind me and let me continue.

“All the courts heard of what Draku had done. The High Shaedes decided the only thing they could do to protect all the realms was to create a prison for this rogue faerie and curse him to remain isolated there. Pooling all of their magic together, they were able to create another realm within the Seam with the Balance’s blessing. All five High Shaedes went white that day. It was a realm cursed to eternal darkness. Barren. Nothing would ever grow there. They provided a small castle and several types of animals that could survive in this space. Most of the realm was dust and swampland, but Draku didn’t mind. He welcomed the land. He had finally quenched Fayonir’s Revenge—what faerie’s often call bloodlust—and found that animal blood also satiated him since the sweet human blood was off limits. He entered his new lands, and the High Shaedes spelled the region, encircling the Shadowlands with a meadow to be forever sunny and fair. His new curse was that portals did not work going out of the Shadowlands, and he was never able to set foot in the sun. If he did, he would burst into flames and die.”

“This may be a stupid question, but if that was the case, why didn’t the Shaedes use sunlight to kill him in the first place?” asked Farris.

“Because it was a stipulation of the spell. The most powerful spells are very give-and-take. Very balanced. In order to create and wield sunlight powerful enough to burn through his dark magic, the spell needed an extra element from the soul. In this case, it was willingness. The only way the sun would ever truly harm him is if he sought it out himself.”

“Why didn’t he just commit suicide then? He’d tried so many times before.”

“I think he had more to live for now. He had a home; he had magic; he had sustenance. And he had penance. He would live out his sentence, and maybe it did bring him peace to know he could end it anytime he liked—I don’t know. He found solace sitting in the crooks of droopy swamp trees, and without the constant pain and depression, he was able to focus on his magic. He became a little more industrious, making improvements to his castle and knitting together new creatures and shadow beasts. He wrote letters to the Shaede Court documenting all this, attempting to create a role for himself—keeper of the Night Court.

“And that brings us to Ciaran. Ciaran was a Natural faerie who was disgruntled and bored at court. He was young and handsome, but the girls he liked were all after Shaedes—and he didn’t blame them. His task at court was to apprentice the mapmakers, which couldn’t have been a more tedious and undesirable job. The only part he liked was the traveling, and one day he was tasked with visiting and documenting the boundaries of the Gaylenswood. Some trees had decided they wanted to move south, and it was causing some discrepancies with the maps and certain forest spells to rebound. Ciaran did his due diligence, collected his data, and, out of sheer curiosity and desire to make the trip last as long as it could, he took the long way back to the Shaede Court so he could cross the enchanted meadows that butted up against Death’s Door.

“Draku happened to be sitting out alongside his swamp when he spotted Ciaran in the distance and called to him. Ciaran had always been more interested than afraid of Draku. He had heard the stories and always wondered what the inside of the Dark One’s castle looked like. They stood across from each other, one in the light, one in the darkness, sharing hours of conversation. Ciaran had nothing nice to say about the Shaedes, or the court, or his job, and Draku did not appear to be the savage demon he’d been instructed to fear. So when Draku offered him a cup of wine and a tour of his castle, Ciaran couldn’t come up with a reason why not. If anything, no one had ever charted anything special about the Shadowlands. They were just a large, dark splotch on the maps. Maybe a closer look might earn him some prestige among his colleagues.

“He spent the rest of the day with Draku. From the highest tower balcony of the castle, he was able to quickly sketch out a bunch of topographical details. He politely sipped Draku’s wine while he worked. Only it wasn’t wine. It was Draku’s blood. Draku had many years in the Shadowlands to go through different scenarios. The only thing he was really missing in this dark world was a companion. By the time Ciaran registered what he had just ingested, it was too late. Draku gave Ciaran a swift push off the balcony, and he fell to a certain death on the dusty ground below. When Ciaran awoke with a burning throat and hysterical screams, Draku cared for him like a tender lover. He filled Ciaran’s stomach with creature blood and sang him songs about death that he had composed over his long years alone. Ciaran despised him. But this prison wasn’t built for Ciaran—it was only ever meant to imprison Draku. So one day, while he was out hunting shadow beasts, Ciaran moved toward a section of the meadow and tested his hypothesis. He stuck his hand in the sunlight, expecting it to set afire, but instead nothing happened. He stepped fully into the meadow, and nothing happened. Then he had a devious idea. He flew up to the castle to get Draku and led his master to the edge of the Shadowlands. Ciaran danced in the sunbeams saying, ‘Look, Draku! Come into the light! We have been forgiven by the Balance, our sins are forgotten. Come, join me in the meadow!’ And surprisingly, Draku’s hope for redemption must have grown larger than his darker desires, because he didn’t hesitate to cross the magical barrier and promptly burst into flames.”

“Wow” was all Farris could muster. This was such a tragic story, and in its own sad way, it seemed a fitting one for a day like today.

“It was impossible to know what time of day it was at the Shaede Court, caught between the polarizing endless night and endless day. So Ciaran hiked all the way there, waiting till true night fell so he could portal into the palace. He found his brother, Edmyn, asleep in his bed. Edmyn had returned from his conversancy while Ciaran had been stuck with Draku, and now he lay there—in Ciaran’s mind, just another Natural awaiting enslavement. Ciaran slit his own wrist, right by his brother’s bedside, and let his fresh blood run from his wrist, right over his sleeping brother’s mouth. Edmyn woke up, choking on his own brother’s blood, shocked to see his missing brother suddenly there, looking so alert and mischievous. Ciaran then slit Edmyn’s throat with a small knife. He portaled them both back to the edge of the Gaylenswood meadow, close to their new home as the Dark Princes of the Shadowlands. Obviously, when the High Shaedes learned of this, they cursed the brothers anew. But this time, having learned of their wicked new ability to turn other fae into their kind, this new curse bound any life force that relied on Fayonir’s Revenge to be imprisoned there forever. The casting of that kind of spell killed all five High Shaedes, just like tonight.”

“And they’ve made more dark fae, haven’t they?” asked Farris. “The warriors you saw with your sister in the throne room? There must be more of them.”

“Most of the remaining black Shaedes eventually came to serve under the Dark Princes. Of course, Ciaran promised them the literal moon, I’m sure. A life unencumbered by the Balance and its rules. Who knows what goes on in that forsaken place. I shudder at the thought.”

“And now their leader is free to roam the realms, and if his magic doesn’t play by the rules, I shudder at the thought of what might soon happen here.”

“Well, I know all portaling magic is closed off, so he will not be able to break through those wards. But eventually, he will come for what he thinks he deserves. And my sister. I’m sure she is helping him navigate our every weakness.”

His arm around me tightened. “I’m sorry. Talking about all this must be very difficult. Especially in light of everything that has happened. The historian and the gamer in me can’t resist a good backstory.”

I twirled in bed to face him, becoming very aware of how close we had become in such a short period of time.

“It’s okay, really. I think talking about all this was a good reminder of what we are up against. If you do not know your history today, you will relive it.” That caused him to smile, he was all teeth. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that we have a very similar expression in the human realm. See, we are not so different, you and I.” He lifted a hand to my ear and asked, “May I?” I nodded, and he ran a finger slowly around its pointed edge. The feeling was both calming and electrifying at the same time. Had I never been touched in such a way before? “Beautiful,” he said.

I rolled gracefully off the bed.

“You mean filthy. I am a mess and you need to get some sleep.”

He sat up. “If anyone is tired, it must be you. I’ve slept all day; you must be exhausted.” He wasn’t wrong.

“With Ciaran on the loose, I don’t know if I will ever sleep again. But before I even try, I need a meal and a bath.”

“Great. Let’s eat; I’m starving. And one of those healing faeries came to check on me while you were gone and said I needed to clean these wounds with something called harpissberry leaves?”

“Harpishberry,” I corrected. Farris was certainly hard to get away from, and I was surprised I hadn’t been able to scare him off yet. He got up slowly from the bed, only showing a little bit of stiffness, and we headed for the kitchens together.