Page 35 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Foyer Made For Gods

Warrick

The dungeon vanishes as I’m dragged inside a mirror.

Darkness weaves around Rayze and I, water rising to our ankles.

She strides forward, her fingers woven tight between mine.

An archway materializes in the distance, a silver film rippling to life within, but I can’t take my eyes off her.

The Bond stretches between us, hungrier than ever before.

It’s as if cutting it was a key to unlocking something greater.

Her heart beats, and mine follows. Always.

Although, I’d enjoy it more if I wasn’t bleeding.

Red drips down my body from my wounds, sprinkling across the water as we slosh toward the archway.

I’m dizzy, definitely need some stitches, but my focus pulls to Nowhere.

Magic thrums through this place’s strange stillness, licking against my skin like it’s tasting and weighing, lulling us toward the arch.

Then the dark tears open.

Water splits, revealing an endless, thunderous sky. Millions of stars blink awake, their light burning into me like assessing eyes.

Let them look. I am what I choose, and I choose her.

I tuck her against my chest before we dip through the arch and land. My boots skid across white marble, blood splattering.

Rayze spins in my arms and grabs my waist to steady me. “Easy,” she murmurs.

My fingers dig into her hips, desperate for something real and solid, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this .

We stand in a foyer made for Gods.

Mirrors line everything. Behind pillars. Framing archways. Set inside the floor itself. They don’t show us. They show sectors of the realm. Hidden corners. Alleyways. Every city—Synlon, Gronem, Rathem, and Alodon.

“They’re portals.” Rayze pushes me onto a bench. “Welcome to Shard House. Now stop bleeding everywhere.”

She zips up her trench coat, sealing off that pretty pussy.

Cruel.

“You’ve been here before.” She moves to a stack of cases in the corner, procuring bandages. “Do you remember being imprisoned in the Temple of Reflection?”

“Har har. Very funny. I fucking remember,” I mutter with a dark smile as she rips my jacket off and takes hold of my belt. “But this is already significantly better. Undress me all you want.”

Rayze shoves my pants to my ankles with an amused cock of her brow, wrapping the places she battered me with weapons. Then she grabs the daggers wedged between my ribs and yanks .

I hitch forward with a groan, and she snatches some kind of metal device. “A little warning would be nice, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hold still,” she breathes, pressing the rectangular bar over my left ribs and clicking a button on its top.

I jolt as pain slices. “What the fuck ?”

“One more time,” she warns and moves to my right.

I suck in a breath, gritting my teeth as she punches steel bars into my skin, pulling the wounds shut. “You need to work on your bedside manners, angel.”

Rayze chuckles darkly. “I gave you your wounds knowing how fun it would be to dress them, my snake. My bedside manners are fantastic for anyone else .”

She punches closed the arrow wound on my thigh.

“ Fuck. S till punishing me then?” I ask, squeezing my eyes shut as she lines the torturous device up with the wound on my bicep.

Punch , punch —

“Likely until the day I die,” she sings, happy as can be.

I peer through my lashes and grin. “Keeping me around that long? I must’ve done something right.”

Rayze ties off a bandage with a hard yank, forcing a hiss of pain through my teeth. Then she lifts with a satisfied smirk. “Pull up your pants. We’re late.”

* * *

The ceiling disappears into mist, parted by stone columns. Suspended balconies float, the house teetering between destruction and divinity. The air hums. Magic, pure and volatile, whispers along the seams of glass walls and spires, clouds pouring over snow-covered cliffs.

“This has been sitting in the mountains all these centuries?” I gape.

Rayze gestures to the floor to ceiling windows. “The glass is mirrored. We can see out, but anyone staring directly at us would see the Vexx Mountains.”

“You realize you’re doing this place a disservice calling it a ‘house’, correct?”

Synlon is a speck in the distance. A rotting city peeking between dark clouds. The storm fans out from Shard House, leaving the home open to sunlight and snow.

We walk through the clouds, snow flurries cascading across mountainous valleys and natural, rushing waterfalls. Something moves among frozen trees, and I jerk to stop.

“Holy fuck, is that an animal?” I ask.

Rayze walks backward a few steps and squints out the window. “Yep.”

“I thought they were all dead.”

She studies me, her lips pressing together as she tries to hide a smile and fails. “It’s a squirrel, Warrick.”

“A fucking squirrel?” I tap the glass. “You think I could go out there and get closer?”

“I wouldn’t advise it. The squirrel has fur. You, on the other hand…” She pinches my leather jacket and stares pointedly at my bare chest beneath. “Honestly, do you even own a shirt?”

I crack a wide smile. “Come to my apartment sometime, baby, and find out.”

Rayze huffs something between a sigh and a laugh, leading me to a staircase descending the side of a mountain. “Hurry up, Ivor. We can play show and tell after you’ve proved to my sisters your worth.”

“My worth ?” I grip the railing, the stairs lined with open-air archways of crystallized stone.

“You know, whether you have any or not,” Rayze continues. “It’s debatable.”

“And what exactly will make me worthy in the eyes of your little friends?”

“Daughters,” she corrects. “A great start would be to stop calling us little .”

I push my fingers through one of the arches. For a second, there’s a dip, as if I’m pushing against an invisible barrier. Then it gives and a frosty chill nips at my hand.

I tug my hand back, Rayze at the bottom of the staircase, her arms folded and boot tapping.

I jog down with a smile, and she narrows her eyes, turning her back and continuing across a stone bridge. It arches over a trench, waterfalls crashing on either side. Still the cold doesn’t touch us, like we’re trapped in a bubble.

“Over there is the coliseum,” she calls over the rush of the falls and points toward a dome wedged into the mountainside. Steel glints, silhouettes moving between glittering pillars.

“All training takes place there. Weapons are not to be wielded anywhere else in the house,” she says and gives me a sharp glare. “ Anywhere .”

I cock a brow. “Even the bedroom?”

A dark smile touches her lips before she strides away.

“On the opposite side of the mountain are the scholar facilities—the library, the labs, and the Temple of Reflection.” She lunges between floating rocks. “There’s also a direct portal there to Underground Palace.”

I follow, spreading my arms for balance and concentrating on anything but the thousands of feet drop.

“Underground Palace was destroyed during the fall of the monarchies,” I call. “You’ve rebuilt it then?”

At her silence, I glance up.

Rayze waits at the top of a snow-covered platform, her hand rubbing over her mouth as she hides laughter.

I sway, my eyes narrowing. “What? How the fuck else am I meant to climb floating rocks?”

“Oh, you’re doing fine. Keep doing exactly that.”

I run my tongue over my teeth and hop to the next one before I leap onto the platform. I land in a crouch, snapping up with a scowl. “Stop laughing.”

Rayze snorts. “I’m so glad I didn’t portal us.”

“You could’ve portaled us up here?” I ask on her heels, gawking at the building.

The structure juts from the platform like a broken crown, jagged spires carved from the same obsidian glass at the Temple of Reflection. Walls angle like tilted prisms, catching the light and throwing it in shards across the winter cliffs.

“As long as I have a reflection to work with,” Rayze admits, “I can portal anywhere, any time. But that —” She throws a thumb over her shoulder toward the floating rocks with a small laugh. “That was worth the short hike.”

I bump my shoulder into hers. “I’ll get you back.”

Her eyes glisten in the sunlight. “Sure you will.”

Before us, doors open. Carved in thick glass veined with silver, they groan as they swing apart.

Rayze strides inside. “The Crown Prism,” she announces and spreads her arms, flashing me a sharp smile. “Fate’s war room.”

I stop in the entry.

Light refracts through suspended crystals and glass, reflecting distorted maps in every direction. Then— threads . They tangle and weave throughout the oval bottom of the large room and up into each pointed spire.

But neither are what truly stops me.

It’s them .

My angel walks toward three women standing in a half-circle. “Daughters—The Serpent Heir, Warrick Ivor.”

Glares burn into me. Well, except for one of them. That one doesn’t have a fucking face .

I take a cautious step forward and the doors slam shut at my back. My fists curl. Wariness stiffens my spine.

“Warrick,” Rayze says, gesturing to the Daughters. “I’m guessing you remember Aleksi Skarne, Ender of Voids, and Sonya Bront, Slayer of Mutants, from The Bid.”

I stare at the redhead and the one with silver fangs embedded in her damn mouth.

“This is Omen. The First Daughter and Fate’s proxy,” Rayze bows her head toward the faceless Daughter in their center.

Wrong , a feminine voice crushes through my skull. Fate isn’t here. She’s busy.

I flinch and so do the other Daughters. All except Omen.

Our queen can summon him to Nowhere when he sleeps if she desires , she speaks through our minds.

I guess I’m not sleeping.

I’m here for the nest in Alodon , Omen continues.

The First Daughter stands sealed in black leather zipped to the throat.

Every inch of her body is locked in thick, structured fabric.

The sleeves are sewn into gloves that leave no hint of skin.

Dozens of buckles and zippers run like restraints across her frame.

To keep people out or to keep her locked in—I don’t want to know.

Her head is worse. No face. Or at least, that’s what I thought. A black wrap smothers her head beneath a cage of metal spikes, and thick, long needles extend like claws from each of her gloved fingertips.

Red drips from the ones on her left hand.

Apologies , Omen says and wipes blood off on her stiff skirts. I was in the middle of a project when I got Fate’s call to come home. Then her needles retract with a sharp snap, disappearing.

Fuck.

“We all were,” the third in line says— Aleksi , I guess.

The Ender of Voids screams Rathem pirate and bounty hunter. Her petticoat and tricorne hat are worn but made of wealthy fabrics. Her spiraling, bushy curls fan out around her shoulders and down to her belt, where weapons glint and rope waits.

“Has he pledged his loyalty yet, Sin,” Aleksi asks, pulling a flask from her waist and popping the cork with a bored expression, “or is this an execution?”

The ink of a kraken on her throat and across her chest moves as she guzzles ale. Then she shakes the flask over her tongue with a scowl, the thing empty.

“He knelt. Said some nice things,” Rayze mutters, running a hand through her short hair. “Claimed I could do whatever I want to him. So, it’s a start.”

I eye the redhead. My lips press together. Skarne. Aleksi Skarne . That name’s familiar. A fucking itch at the back of my skull. Then it clicks. The rival family to the Trasks. Inventors, I think.

All of them dead, or so Ruel told me when we were kids. His intel was obviously wrong.

The silent one of the four, Sonya, lifts her hands, her fingers flinging between various symbols.

Sign language . I curse. I know a few signs for communicating with some of The Storm’s cronies, but I’m not proficient. The language is common with mutants, and based on those fangs, I imagine Sonya is one or was.

She continues to talk, rapidly moving her hands. She wears that fanged whip of hers like a Godsdamn scarf, her hair shining over her shoulders in emerald waves.

Aleksi pushes large, oval glasses up her nose. “I agree.”

Then it’s settled , Omen cracks through my mind.

I rub my temple, watching Rayze closely.

She’s grinning. That can’t be good.

“Trust is earned around here, Ivor. Getting on your knees for Sin is one thing. Appreciated but not enough. You want to help us, and we’ll accept that help,” Aleksi says, hooking her flask against her belt and folding her arms. “But there’s no living with Shard Daughters without training with them, and we have to make sure everyone is comfortable with you. ”

We don’t allow men here , Omen continues, her caged, spiked head tilting.

Because of your gifted shard of Sin’s magic, we’ll make an exception, but you will hand over all critical nests for The Serpent Bossdom.

The rest of the Daughters must also accept your presence.

Otherwise, you’ll remain at your apartment at Fang’s Edge until Sin retrieves you when needed.

“We would prefer you here,” Rayze says, lifting her chin. “To keep an eye on you and to train you.”

I swallow, looking between the four of them. “There’s more of you?”

They exchange amused looks. Even Omen clutches her skirts, her shoulders lifting with a small, breathy laugh behind her wrapped face.

“One thing at a time,” Rayze says. She walks to me and snatches my wrist, dragging me up to their circle. “The nests, Ivor. We want them all.”