Page 16 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Where Power Is Built

Rayze

Not much helps, but killing—killing makes the Bond quiet.

Fist bloody, I stab an arrow through a Serpent-tatted chest. Over and over. Blood drips from my hair, my chin, the whispers at my back the only thing that stills my hand.

Three weeks without Warrick fucking Ivor, that’s it, and this is what I’m reduced to. Sloppy overkill.

In front of Godsdamn teenagers.

My arrow clatters to stone. “So,” I say with a heavy breath, shoulders heaving as I cringe. “As you can see, interrogation can get messy.”

A Daughter vomits.

Another sprints out of the mirrored training room, her hands latched over her mouth.

I clear my throat and stand, my new trench coat creaking. “It’s time to get iron stomachs if you ever want to be out in the field,” I continue and drag a hand through my hair, slicking it back.

The few trainees left gawk at me.

“Close your mouths,” I order. “You’ll have plenty of time to open wide if you choose lethal seduction.”

Jaws snap shut.

“What’s the first rule?” I ask and grab a towel from the nearby rack.

“Shard Daughters must protect magic at all costs,” they return in a jumbled mess of overlapping voices.

“Our destiny is blood.” I wipe my face and jut my chin toward the dead crony, his mess of gore reflecting throughout the room. “Get used to it.” I toss the towel into a basket of stained cloths. “Now fuck off and get these cleaned.”

One of them dutifully grabs the basket, while the rest rush out of the room, the double-doors swinging as Sonya strides in after them.

My sister eyes the retreating Daughters in concern. Then her face scrunches at the body on the floor. Fate save me, are you trying to give them nightmares? she signs.

I snort and settle on a stool, bracing my elbows on my knees to catch my breath. “Clean,” I command.

Around the room, mirrors dip inward. A blink behind the veil of mortality, and I watch as darkness cranes out of each silver surface and wraps the body, the crony’s threads long gone.

“What do you want, Slayer?” I murmur, letting Fate’s veil disappear. “I’ve got another class.”

Working your issues out in front of young, impressionable girls isn’t teaching them anything besides a dangerous suppression of emotions, Rayze Angeline. She frowns, her bright green hair shifting over her shoulders in beautiful, shining waves.

“Uh oh. My full name.” I push up from the stool and snatch my bloody arrow from the ground. I wipe its soaked steel off on my pantleg and tuck it back into its place along the lining of my coat.

Sonya walks around me and snaps her fingers. Hey, don’t turn your back when I’m talking to you. She huffs around her jagged metal fangs, dark lashes fluttering. All I’m saying is to work out your problems on your own time, not in front of fellow Daughters.

I scowl at the vomit on the floor.

I also thought you’d want to know The Serpent Heir was spotted back in Synlon.

My gut churns at the mention of Warrick. “Godsdammit, Sonya,” I growl and clutch my stomach. “I’d finally taken my mind off him.”

Her fingers twitch, but she doesn’t say anything. Just big silver eyes boring into me.

“Quit it. You know I hate it when you stare.” I push past her and out the doors of the training room.

She jogs to catch up and matches my hurried pace. Slow down.

You said he’s back , I sign in return, lips pressed. That means I’ve got work to do.

Sin , she tries.

I lift a palm. Are they ready?

Her nostrils flare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “Answer me.”

She glances away. Yes , she signs, fingers jerking with frustration. They’re ready .

My coat snaps around my ankles as I lurch forward with a terse nod, but she stays on my heels.

Aleksi just needs to take a final look , Sonya continues, and we weave into the banquet hall of Underground Palace.

A clatter of conversations echo through the massive, domed space, moss lining stone walls of the ancient castle hidden among the realm’s Underground. Archways frame the outer perimeter, mirrors braced between curved pillars, reflecting the crowded tables filled with Shard Daughters—and the Saved.

Skin I rescued from The Serpent’s trade. Subjects pulled from The Storm’s labs by Sonya. Those freed from The Kraken’s forges and ships, worn thin by salt and steel, by Aleksi. Then the handful of rescued victims from The Vile by The First Daughter, sitting quiet and solemn in a far corner.

We do our best to rehabilitate the Saved, but some, especially those coming from The Vile, don’t survive. Years of abuse leave wounds we can’t always reach. We bury the Saved daily. Hold vigils in the throne room each month for the fallen.

Sometimes it’s disease.

Sometimes it’s the shock of hope.

It’s as if their bodies reject it. As if accepting help from a Shard Daughter means forfeiting whatever instinct kept them alive. They don’t believe we’ll keep them off the streets. Not really. Even after years in our care, many still sleep like they’ll be taken in the night.

I understand it. It’s hard to let go of fear when fear is the only reason you’re still breathing.

I just wish I could change it.

Exhaustion clings to me with the thought, and Sonya twines her fingers with mine. It’s taken three weeks to hunt down every last individual from The Bid and ensure the presence of the Daughters is thoroughly erased, knotting memory threads across every fucking Bossdom.

It’s taken a Godsdamn toll.

That—and the Bond.

It sits coiled inside me, purring with pleasure anytime my mind darts toward thoughts of Warrick.

I squeeze Sonya’s palm, and she tucks my hair behind my ear as we walk. She’s done it since we were kids, and it’s never failed to ease me.

Until now.

Warrick is back, and the Bond knows it. The closer he is, the heavier the threads between our souls become. The weight makes it impossible to breathe, let alone concentrate.

Sonya tugs me along to the head of the hall, Fate’s throne sitting empty. The massive seat is carved from the same stone as the walls, its surface worn smooth by time and touch. Ivy curls around its base, white flowers in full bloom.

But it’s the arch behind the throne that calls to me.

To a Saved, it mimics all the other mirrors among the hall.

To a Daughter, it ripples with twinkling stars.

With a steadying breath, I step into the veiled magic of the portal with Sonya. Darkness slips over our skin, and the cracked stone beneath my boots fades into pristine white marble.

Ethereal rays of light filter through the tall peaks of windows. Cream-colored columns line the front entry of Shard House like sentries, each one magicked to mirror the snow-covered mountaintops.

Sonya sighs beside me. It’s always nice to come home .

I miss my fucking bed , I agree.

We walk through the front doors, strolling among the familiar hallways of our childhood. The foyer opens to a large den, curved, plush sofas lining the sunken platform in its center. The room is empty. The fireplace left dark and cold.

I don’t remember the last time I was able to relax here with my sisters.

One day , Sonya signs, the same nostalgic want glinting in her eyes.

One day and your cookies? I ask, hopeful.

Her shoulders jut with a silent laugh. Deal.

We pass over the glassed-in skybridge, Synlon a speck of neon far below. Storm clouds sprawl outward from Shard House, the sun shining over us while the realm rests beneath darkness.

“Fate’s power is too great for our realm, Mirror,” Aleksi’s voice slips from the open doors of the library ahead.

“Protecting magic is, in many ways, not using it.

All of you are blessed with a shard of Fate, but we train you to use it sparingly and not cause too many ripples or Fate-driven changes among this realm and the next.

She clears her throat. “Fate’s never had the power to alter paths, not until us. It’s important we evolve carefully. We don’t want to push magic too far and learn the hard way about its consequences.”

Sonya and I move between towering shelves, peering between books as small, eager hands dart up from desks in the library’s center.

“What would be too much of a ripple?” a young Daughter asks.

Aleksi leans with her back to the lecture podium, one ankle tossed lazily over the other.

Her orange curls are loose and wild around her, the bags under her blue eyes nearly black.

She gestures with her flask toward the massive oval window overlooking the library, the sky crackling with lightning beyond. “That, but worse.”

Her ale sloshes and her weapons-belt clatters as she jerks her flask back to her mouth and takes a longer drink.

She hiccups and shrugs. “Fate being here physically, for too long, would result in far worse than thunderstorms. Us being here—it’s manageable.

Unless we combine our power and work as a single entity, the realm won’t break apart like others have. ”

Several share worried looks.

Aleksi pushes her glasses up her nose. “It’s why we have our rules.

Magic is a great responsibility. You have to take it seriously, especially when you grow old enough to slip between planes of existence.

When you can see the Threads of Fate, you’ll understand more how one little shift of power can cause everything else to ripple.

Too large of a ripple and, well—” She closes a fist, then explodes it outward. “Boom. We’re all dead.”

Daughters around the room stiffen in horror.

I turn an accusatory glare toward Sonya. “ I’m the one who needs to stop scaring the kids?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. I don’t know what to do with either of you.

My lip hooks at that, and I sweep around the shelf. “Ender,” I announce.

Heads swivel.

“Sin,” Aleksi says and straightens, hiding her flask behind her leg.

“Go to dinner,” I bark at the group, and chairs scrape as Daughters scramble out of the library. Then, low enough none of them can hear—“I think you’ve had enough, Skarne,” I mutter and reach around her leg, snatching the flask.

Aleksi snarls and grabs it back. “Fuck you.”

My eyes narrow. “Get your bitch-ass into the lab.”

“Fucking pirate—”

Knock it off , Sonya signs and claps her hands. We’ve got a weapon to craft.

Aleksi swallows as I fold my arms. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

I cock a brow. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Then I look as I am,” she says as the three of us move toward the lab at the back of the library.

“How’s Ruel?” I shove open the heavy white, wood-carved doors, the air shifting from the musty smell of books to the brash metallic scent of chemicals.

“In a coma. His head injury is bad. I’m working on something, but I don’t know, Sin.” Aleksi walks to her work table, the thing covered in weapon schematics and scavenged metals.

Sonya’s station is less cluttered, the apothecary cabinets at its back lined with glowing vials.

I used to be insanely jealous of this place. The lab was always their sanctuary. When I first moved into Shard House, I wasn’t even allowed to come in here.

Magic pulses beneath the floor, humming through the soles of my boots. Condensation beads along the walls, veined with glass tubing that crackles with caged starlight.

Everything gleams.

Glass tables. Seamless counters.

They spend their days in their cities, but their nights are always here. This is where power is built. Not conjured but constructed. Every Shard Daughter weapon. Every article of clothing.

Ender of Voids and Slayer of Mutants working side by side—their latest creation ours .

In the center of the room, held aloft by a gleaming pedestal, are a pair of scissors.

A weapon forged to sever my Bond.

My gut twists at the sight of them. I stop short, nausea rolling through me and sweat breaking out across my skin. Still, I force a step forward, then another.

They’ll respond to you , Sonya assures me. You can summon them as you can with your arrows.

“The frames will erode with use,” Aleksi finishes.

“Our power is too much for mortal metal, and I can’t ship out for something more stable without Fate’s blessing.

” She settles at her desk, rummaging through the drawers until she pulls out a fresh flask.

Then she lifts it in a toast. “Go on. I didn’t bust my ass just for you to stare at the things. ”

I circle the pedestal, the shears thrumming with power. I reach a single finger to the sterling loops.

Then I jerk back with a gasp.

Careful, Angeline, and don’t hold them for too long, no matter how tempting. Sonya presses a palm to my back.

With a deep inhale, I pluck the scissors into my palm.

Threads flare to life across my vision, dark and malevolent, revealing the magical makeup of the weapon. Signatures burn against the steel—Aleksi’s, Sonya’s—their imprints stamped deep into the construct.

My power slides between the threads, slinking along the ornate metal, brushing against the magic they’ve left behind. It weaves into theirs, latches on, and slowly begins to merge.

All three of us shudder.

The threads knot together, winding into a single, thick strand of black. A whip of power, coiled and trembling, wraps tight around the frame of the scissors.

The lab begins to shake. Drawers rattle. Starlight flares inside the tubing along the walls, striking like it’s desperate to crack free.

From my gut, a tangled mess of threads surges outward, thick and gnarled like a branching root. It stretches across the lab, writhing and alive—then disappears into the far wall.

The Bond.

Wherever it ends is Warrick.

“Did it work?” Aleksi asks.

“See for yourself,” I murmur, stepping back.

The Bond disappears from view the moment I release the scissors, but when my sisters move in to touch the handles, I see it in their faces.

The flicker in Sonya’s breath.

The widening of Aleksi’s eyes.

The Bond is there.

Waiting.

Always .

Thunder roars outside. The lab’s light flickers out, darkness consuming us for a terrifying moment before it licks back to life.

“Astounding, did you feel that?” A dark gleam shines in Aleksi’s eyes, her pupils dilated behind her large glasses. She grins at us. “That, my sisters, was a Godsdamn ripple.”