Page 26

The Prince

I t stinks of sulfur like the hell pits of the Underworld, and death lingers everywhere. Bones crunch beneath my boots, and my senses catch echoes of the laments of the lost souls who found their end here.

Aernysse claims that the Elders themselves give her the tasks for the Trials, but I have my doubts. She is coming up with these twisted scenarios by herself. And she’s tasked us with collecting these cursed artifacts because she needs them for something. Something not good. Some trap by the old hag probably to get rid of the throne heir? Surely, my brittle parents are easier to manipulate and would trust her venomous lies. She has tried to hurt Talysse, to wring out my secrets from her, and for that, she’ll be punished. When all this is over, I’ll have some questions for her myself.

When all this is over.

The thought is poisonous like a viper’s bite, it nags on my heart, rotting it from the inside.

My stride hastens, and my eyes scan the desolate coast.

This place is hopeless and lethal, swarmed by tainted wolves, but slicing through them with the Shadowblade is effortless, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

The cool salty breeze coming from the watery graves of Rhessian Deep is invigorating. The waves are ferocious, biting the coast as if trying to claim the remains of the countless shipwrecks back. I let the foam wash over my boots, listening to the music of the surf. The sea will always be there, even after our cities crumble to dust and memories. There’s something about this bay, its savage beauty made greater by the death lurking in its depths, all the bones and ruins scattered around contrasting the eternity of the sea. The silver ladder of moonlight over the water is mesmerizing to watch but—

Wait.

My nostrils flare, and all my senses focus on a certain spot in the black water: a faint vibration in the breezy air, a distant call of magic old and forgotten.

The Candle! Too bad it is beyond the shallows, deep into the traitorous water. Maelstroms swirl around it, open and hungry like lethal black flowers. This would be a challenge even for an excellent swimmer like me.

I rummage through the rubble around and find a halfway well-preserved boat, and quickly empty it from the bones and rags rotting inside. The oars are gone, but there is a wide plank lying inside that can work. When the boat is afloat, I jump in and push away from the shore. The dark water around me is unruly, steering the bow to the side and sometimes spinning it as if warning me about the dangers ahead. Not that it would make me change my mind. Rowing with the plank, I go deeper, and the waves are swelling, nearly as tall as houses now. My tiny boat climbs up before crashing down. Not for a second do I falter.

Just like in a battle, my mind is locked in survival mode.

Live through this and bother with strategy and consequences later.

The beach is shrinking, yet some instinct makes me look back. There’s someone or something there.

Inhuman, malevolent eyes watch me.

A seven-foot-tall beast stands on his hind feet, his muscles glistening in the moonlight.

Watching. Waiting.

“Woodrick.” The wind steals my words.

The Elders are smiling upon me tonight. What a treat! I will get to kill a shifter. Probably one hired to end me. One I want to kill before he finds Talysse.

Make yourself look vulnerable.

Make them strike first.

Moving to the bow of the boat, I place my weight just when it plunges into the abyss of darkness and foam. Just as predicted, it capsizes instantly. Ignoring the biting cold and struggling with the insidious current, I swim underwater in the direction of the coast. Reaching the shallows, I let the surf wash me ashore, then roll on my back and start coughing and spitting water. It’s a stupid trick, but then again, Woodrick is not known for his brains.

The show must’ve been quite convincing, as the stupid beast buys it immediately. He knows he has to be quick and take advantage of my weakened state, as my Shadowblade is well-known and feared.

He may be quick, but it’s not enough. I’m on my feet in the blink of an eye, pierce him mid-leap, and step away not to be crushed by his heavy, muscular body. The red glow in his eyes fades, and I scoff, disappointed, before dispatching my blade. I was expecting more of the kingdom’s most feral shifter.

The pockets of his tattered pants are empty: no evidence that my enemies paid him. Another disappointment. Letting the sea claim his body, I sit on the soft sand, still panting. Sacrificing my boat for this kill was worth it; Talysse shall be safer now. The thought of her lying dead somewhere on this cursed beach makes me want to spill blood and burn cities, shatter mountains and grab Atos by the throat, demanding he return her to me.

The waves are roaring now, and the pungent scent of seaweed stings my nose. Gathering rotting planks and barrels, I try to tie them with a rope and build a raft. The powerful currents have brought whole underwater forests to the surface. The smell gets more intense—seaweed and salt. Something odd draws my gaze—a straight path of foam leading from the coast to the shipwreck holding the Candle.

By Heroy’s beard! What’s going on there?

Damned be all Dark Dryads and their powers! Just like us Shadowblade wielders, their magic comes from Atos himself and the night—the Unseelie element, before it got corrupted by the Hex.

But this particular Dark Dryad is clever and takes full advantage of her power over plants. Her inky frame is blurred by the distance but still recognizable. With her hands up, she is summoning thick, twisted vines from the bay depths. They writhe and entwine, building a narrow but relatively safe path over the tall waves.

She’s building a fucking bridge of seaweed.

I wave my hand and deepen the shadows around me, my body melting into the gloom, and head her way. When the Dryad steps on the shaky bridge, extending over the tempestuous maelstroms and crashing waves, I follow.

The night becomes a demon, summoning howling winds and crashing waves. The Dryad’s lithe figure shrinks in the distance as I set foot on the narrow bridge, swaying precariously over the stormy sea waters. The thick seaweed vines are slippery, and each gust threatens to plunge me into the roaring abyss below. A few controlled breaths steady my step, and the Shadowblade slips into my hand, its dark glow pulsating with power.

The wind is screaming in my ears, salty droplets blurring my vision. The coast behind me fades. The skeletal remains of the shipwreck grow with each step, the magic of the artifact inside calling me. The bridge shakes violently, and suddenly, she stands before me, her eyes glinting with malevolence. She twists her fingers, summoning more roots and vines from the very fabric of the bridge, causing it to groan under the added weight.

She looks like a dark, twisted version of Viridis, her cracked lips stretching into a smile, displaying sharp, blackened teeth. Dark Dryads are remnants of a sinister Unseelie experiment during the war, who tried to turn the peaceful forest dwellers into ruthless weapons; one of the many evils my kind has unleashed upon this tormented world.

The sea itself seems to rise up in anger.

What, in the mercy of the Elders, is that?

From the turbulent waters below, a colossal Kraken breaches, its massive tentacles slamming the surface, sending tons of water into the air. Its eyes are black as a starless night, and its roar echoes like thunder over the crashing waves. Me and the Dryad exchange a look; her eyes are wide in terror, confirming that the beast is not just another trick of hers. The monster is Tainted. It has somehow sensed us—two intruders entering its domain and has risen from the abyss to punish us.

Seems like I’ll face a worthy opponent tonight after all. The Shadowblade shifts, morphing into a sleek, deadly spear. I dodge a lash of the Kraken’s tentacle, thrusting the spear into its slimy, writhing flesh. The beast roars in pain, but another tentacle comes crashing down, knocking me off my feet. I push myself up before plunging into the black water, and the Dryad resorts to her cursed magic, sprouting sturdy vines that writhe around my feet.

“Not today,” I growl, summoning the Shadowblade back to its sword form and slashing through the vines pulling me toward the chasm. The cursed Dryad, seeing an opportunity, directs the Kraken’s attacks toward me. She maneuvers herself in front of me and rolls sideways when a tentacle comes crashing down. I manage to free myself from the seaweed and evade it in the last moment, by some mercy of the Elders. The beast is enormous but devilishly fast.

The bridge sways violently. Rolling to the side, I avoid another tentacle and swiftly parry the Dryad’s strike. Her arms have morphed into two long, heavy clubs overgrown with thorns. The Kraken, enraged, sends another wave of tentacles crashing onto the bridge.

It’s a miracle the thing still holds.

A battle with such odd opponents demands odd solutions. And praised be Heroy, I could be quite creative.

I let the Shadowblade morph into a whip, wrapping it around one of the Kraken’s tentacles. With a powerful yank, I use the beast’s own strength to pull myself back to my feet. A swift kick to the Dryad’s breastbone sends her stumbling. The rewarding crunch of bones makes me grin.

The nightmare from the depths lashes out again, and this time, I’m ready. The Shadowblade changes back into a sword and slices through two tentacles in a single, fluid motion. The beast screeches, thrashing violently and causing the bridge to sway even more. Fountains of dark water, taller than the Beacon in Nighthaven, rise and fall.

Black blood showers.

I got him good.

One more slash will send this cursed demon back to the hell pit that spawned it.

A mad smile curls my lips. Nothing makes me feel more alive than a battle like this.

The Dryad recovers from my kick, dark blood dripping down her chest, and summons another surge of vines to bind my legs, pulling me down. Struggling against the tightening grip, my blade changes form once more, transforming into a swarm of sharp, ethereal daggers that fly through the air, cutting through the vines and striking her with precision.

With one final, desperate effort, she attempts to overwhelm me with a mass of writhing roots and vines, but the Kraken, in its agony, slams into the bridge with such force that it begins to collapse. Seizing the moment, I summon the Shadowblade back into a spear and hurl it with all my might at the Kraken’s head. The weapon pierces the beast’s eye and sinks into the soft flesh. The leviathan’s deafening, final roar rumbles over the water and echoes over the desolate beach before its massive carcass sinks back into the depths.

The bridge, now barely holding together, sways dangerously. That Atos damned Dryad is still struggling to regain her balance. Her resilience is stunning. One swift movement and the Shadowblade is back in my hand. I deliver the final blow, sending her head tumbling off the bridge into the churning waters below.

My muscles and lungs burn as I run toward the shipwreck, the wind pulling me back.

Elders, let that bridge hold a little while longer!

The vines snap, and holes gape just before my feet, but I don’t slow down, my gaze fixed on the shipwreck ahead.

I swing my legs over the decaying railing just before the vines disintegrate and sink back into the churning black water. My left foot falls through the dilapidated planks, but I make it to the captain’s cabin, sliding on the wet planks. The door is open, and there’s something odd about the gloom beyond.

The floor screeches as I enter, and the moldy air tickles my nose. Rags, bones, maps sealed in wax cylinders litter the narrow space, and crabs the size of dogs scatter into the corners.

Now I know what was so odd about this place. The magic inside me swells and quietens.

The Candle of Azalyah is gone.

There is nothing here. While I was busy fighting the Dryad and the Kraken, someone took it.

I roar in frustration and run back to the deck, peering into the dark horizon. No boats in sight. Whoever took it is already beyond my reach.

With the Dryad’s bridge destroyed, swimming is the only option to reach the shore. Cursing my luck, I rip a wide plank from the deck and jump into the black waves below.

Every muscle aches, but I press on. The shore looms closer, and with a final burst of strength, I pull myself onto the wet, sandy beach, collapsing in exhaustion.

It takes a while to calm the trembling in my limbs, to regain the steadiness of my breath. Searing pain jolts up and down my thighs, but I push myself back up. Walking the desolate beach, stumbling over debris and bones, I’m obsessed with one single thought, so irrational, yet so right: to find Talysse.

A faint magical shimmer ahead pulls all my senses by an invisible thread.

Am I hallucinating?

The Candle is within my reach again.

I hasten my pace and gasp. On the beach, lifeless, her lips blue, lies Talysse. And next to her, half-buried in the sand, is the Candle of Azalyah.