Page 24 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

If she’s anything like mine, she withheld the information deliberately. A test, a punishment, or just for the satisfaction of watching a new girl suffer.

"Just focus on this meal. Next one, we’ll do the same. Maybe after that, we’ll add meat. A slice of potato."

Sev finishes the broth and tears the bread into small bites, eating each piece slowly. I do the same.

The voice comes, folding into the air like it’s always been there, like it’s always been listening.

"Potential Maidens, ensure your hooded veils are in place as you return to your rooms. Enjoy the quiet before the storm."

The words should be gone. Should vanish like sound always does.

But they don’t.

They linger.

Like something waiting for a response .

The silence shifts. A weight that wasn’t there before, pressing against my ribs. Not movement, but something looming, inevitable.

Sev and I freeze. A flicker of knowing eye contact.

"Guess breakfast is over," she mutters.

I pull my hood up, lowering the veil. "Seems that way. Oh, before we’re kicked out, do you know how long until the first Trial?"

Her veil is already in place, but I don’t need to see her expression. Her voice is enough.

"Amara, it’s tomorrow."

"Final warning, potentials. Exit the dining hall immediately."

Sev turns to me. "Hasn’t your attendant?—"

Movement.

All around us, potentials rise from their seats, veils falling into place, heading for the doors.

I push back from the table?—

And the world fractures.

The dining hall is there, and then it isn’t.

The light bends wrong. A thread of gold in the air, unspooling from the candle flames, stretching toward me like something half-remembered, half-alive.

The chandeliers flicker. Motionless.

A girl kneels in a bed of flowers, blood-dark petals curling under her fingers. A voice whispers.

Not the one who spoke a moment ago.

It is softer. More ancient.

"This is where it begins. This is where it ends."

My breath catches.

The golden thread snaps?—

The world tilts. Shatters.

And the dining hall is gone.

I’m in my chamber. The silence not just empty. It’s hollow.

No doors. No transition. Just displacement.

I exhale, slow and sharp.

Wonderful . As if this place hadn’t already taken enough.

The vision, memory, whatever it was, clings to me even as I pace the length of the bedchamber. Not the girl kneeling in flowers, but the deep feeling of something wrong in the world just before.

Something breaking apart or open.

I shake my hands loose at my side.

Shadowfell is full of strangeness. Shadows that touch, lights that follow, magical bathing pools.

I bite the inside of my cheek, working at the patch of already ruined skin.

It sounded good. Plausible even.

Shock.

It was shock.

No.

An adrenaline crash?

I let that settle for a moment and nod to myself.

I’ve been on high alert for days, and having a meal with Sevigny was the first time I had the smallest lull in tension.

That was it.

I nod, affirming the thought and then step onto the threshold of silvery sigils.

Sinea said that in time I’d learn how to tell it where to take me.

Well, now is the time.

"Take me to Tyr," I say with a ridiculous amount of self-assurance .

Nothing happens. Not a flicker or even a faint gleam in the silver symbols.

Of course. Why would anything be easy in this cursed place?

I take a breath, check that I’m firmly standing on the glyphs and try again. But this time, I don’t just say it.

I conjure the feeling of being close to him. The warmth of his body wafting his scent to me. The way he holds me in his gaze, assessing, challenging, never relenting.

As if he knows something I don’t.

A flash of silver and?—

The stale air hits me, choking. I cough, sputter, only marginally unnerved by the skittering sounds along the walls.

I’m in a darkened, windowless hallway full of dust and vermin.

A painting looms in front of me, shrouded in dust, its gilt edges barely visible through the cloth. Whoever it was meant to honor is long dead—or forgotten.

I clear my voice and call out. "Tyr?" It occurs to me only after I’ve used his first name that I likely shouldn’t have. Not when I don’t know where I am or who’s lurking in corners or behind doors.

But the hallway has the distinct air of a place long forgotten.

Now my only problem was finding my way back to my chamber.

I didn’t land on more silver symbols, and after searching the entire hall for anything that looked similar, I resign myself to simply walking back.

As I examine the hall, I discover a slight pitch to the floor. Windowless hall, pitched floor—I’m underground and following the grade upward will lead me at least above ground.

I’m hungry again by the time I finally find a hall with windows, and the first time I spy a bit of silver on a threshold, I run to it.

I swing open the door to find a bedchamber identical to mine.

"Excuse you!" says the potential lounging on her bed with a book in her hand. "Were you raised in a barn?"

I raise my veil, meeting her gaze. "Close. Tiriana."

She shifts, upright now, framed by rich velvet and aetherglow, skin catching the flicker like gilded bronze. There’s something watchful in how she holds herself—like she’s waiting for me to break something. "You should still knock."

"You’re right. I didn’t expect anyone to be behind the door."

She stares at me, deep brown eyes sharpening. "Why wouldn’t there be anyone in the guest hall the day before the first Trial?"

Guest hall.

So that means the Trials are held here. The first, at least.

"What’s your name?"

She folds her arms. "What’s yours?"

I smile because I can already tell. "I’m Amara."

"Selke."

"Nice to meet you, Selke. Do you mind terribly if I use your threshold script to get where I’m going?"

She shrugs, a faint upward quirk on her lips. "You’re already here."

"Thanks. See you later."

I turn around and instead of picturing the feeling of the Shadow King, I picture him .

Coal-black eyes watching, never giving anything away. White hair draped over his shoulder like a hunter’s mantle. The silvery scar slashed over his eye.

"Take me to Tyr." I register a thud—her book falling perhaps—then Selke’s gasp just as I’m ripped away and put in front of the Shadow King himself.

Nude.

So much sculpted flesh. My mouth goes dry, and I fight the instinct to turn away. To give him his modesty.

He’s already seen so much of me.

The tattoo I’ve glimpsed above his shirt collar stretches over his shoulder, sweeping down his arm to his wrist and extends down his torso. The lines trace the topography of his form, heavier in the shadows of muscles, from his chest all the way down to his hip.

Shattered realms, he is undeniable.

When I finally drag my gaze up his body to his eyes again, a knowing smirk waits for me.

But that’s not all.

Something deeper lurks behind that masculine smile.

"Do you like what you see?" he whispers, a downy soft invitation.

I lick my lips. "It’s serviceable."

"Serviceable," he repeats as if tasting the word.

His smirk lingers, but his eyes sharpen, raking over my face.

"Then look a little longer."

He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t have to.

A moment passes. Another. Then another, until the air is so thick it threatens to choke.

"Put some bleeding clothes on, Tarenvyr."

He frowns. "The full name? If your goal is to hurt me, you know just where to strike. "

He turns swiftly, and once again I’m drowning in his broad, muscled form. Wide shoulders, narrow hips and a rounded ass I can easily see myself sinking my teeth into.

I shake that extraordinarily inappropriate thought off and busy myself studying the room.

Velvety dark fabric walls, a crackling fire in an enormous hearth. An impossibly large bed. Dark sheets, rumpled. The kind a man sleeps in alone—unless he doesn’t.

My stomach drops.

"Is there a reason you decided to sigilweave to my private bedchamber, Amara?"

My jaw clenches. His voice is too smooth, too pleased.

Dama’s fucking chains!

"It was purely coincidence, I assure you."

He turns, a black robe covering him just enough.

Hardly enough.

"I see. Where did you intend to go?"

I drag my eyes up from his exposed thigh to see him smirking yet again.

I shift my weight, staring right into those mirrored eyes. "I intended to see you. Just not quite so much of you."

"Well then, what can I do for you, Amara?"

I drag my gaze back to his face. His smirk lingers, knowing, but I ignore it. "Tell me about the first Trial. Not just what to expect. How to win."