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Jude

Our boy does not belong in my world. He’s meant for greater things. I may not be able to be a mother to him, but I will protect him by staying away. You’re not a good man, but this is your chance to become one.

Letter from unknown sender to Jack Maddox, year 32 of the curse

“Wake up, Commander.”

A whooshing sounded a second before leather struck my bare back, the sting ing radiating down to my toes. The clanging of metal rang overhead as I arched, trying to escape the sensation of a thousand little cuts searing into my skin.

I was on fire, burning from the inside out, hardly able to move.

Peeling open my eyes, I craned my neck, taking in my hands imprisoned in metal cuffs, a chain running through them and attaching to a hook in the ceiling. Whirling black etchings marked the deep steel, a single blue gem affixed at the center of each cuff.

They’d stolen my boots and shirt, but thankfully, I retained my trousers, though they were muddied and stained in red splotches.

I groaned, unable to help myself. The agony of the strike had settled, but the pounding ache across my back was somehow worse than the initial blow.

“There he is!” The too-cheerful voice belonged to a hooded figure in the far corner of the cell. I’d heard that voice somewhere before…

My temples pounded viciously, but I forced myself to straighten, to tilt my head and find the muscled King’s Guard behind me, a whip resting idly in his hands.

The man who’d called out—the one clearly in charge—remained in the corner, his identity concealed. Coward .

I knew this game. I’d played it countless times in the past. First they’d deliver pain, then, after I was well and truly wrecked, they’d demand whatever answers they sought. If that didn’t work, they might try again, using a different , more unpleasant method. I’d pass out, and the cycle would continue.

“J-just kill me,” I rasped. My parched throat felt like sandpaper. If he killed me now, I wouldn’t have to suffer from dehydration.

Water deprivation was one way to break me, and I was all too aware of the other ways to inflict suffering. Perhaps it was only fitting that I took my turn experiencing what I’d once dealt.

The hooded man stepped closer, a distant sunfire casting a ghoulish light across the planes of his silver mask. Instantly I recoiled, the cuffs chafing my raw skin. The pain became an afterthought.

The hood fell to the man’s back and every muscle in my body tensed.

Cirian.

I wanted to both hide away and lunge for his throat.

Memories washed over me—of the day he’d made me kill my father to save myself. The creature before me was no man. He was my captor, my tormentor, and the demon that would forever haunt my nightmares.

“Be careful about moving too much. Those chains are special. Like you.” His tone was sharper than a blade’s edge. “Should you try to use your…gifts, you will sadly find them useless. Though it may hurt, and I’d hate for you to experience any unnecessary discomfort.”

He almost sounded genuine.

I glowered in reply, instinctively jerking on the chain. A stinging shock jolted through my body, all the way to my bare feet.

Cirian sighed heavily. “How many men have you tortured in these very cells, Maddox?” he mused, grasping his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Probably too many to count, eh?” He circled me, pausing briefly at my exposed back.

A second ticked by, and then, “You got this tattoo without knowing what it represented. I always thought that was interesting.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my aching arms trembling. “It means nothing.” Just a silly design I’d drawn from time to time.

“Three circles, entwined together, united. Come on, Maddox, I know you understand where I’m going with this. And those vines? Look familiar?”

Shit . I did understand.

Three keys, and three missing orbs of Raina’s divinity. And the delicate pattern of vines was reminiscent of…of Kiara’s scars. Prickly and unrefined, yet evocatively stunning.

“I can’t blame you,” Cirian said, languidly moving to stand a foot from my face. My reflection glimmered in the cool silver of his mask, my hair matted with blood and red staining the side of my cheek. Whoever knocked me out had done a suitable job. “You’ve had much on your mind lately. Namely, a young recruit. Kiara, right?”

I bared my teeth. Her name coming from his lips stoked the flames of my rage.

My entire body heated, and beads of sweat formed on my brow. He was provoking my power, proving that it couldn’t save me.

It merely raged within the confines of my skin, coming to life in a way it hadn’t since I’d fought Patrick. The very day it had awakened.

If I continued on in this way, I’d burn myself alive before he had the chance to kill me.

“So angry. And it took so very little.” Cirian shook his head. “Ever since the square, when she protected her weakling of a brother, you’ve been besotted. But you should’ve listened to your old friend and kept her at a distance.”

Isiah , he was talking about Isiah.

I wished my hands were freed so I could wipe the self-satisfied look off his face. He knew what buttons to press, and I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to fight him. Besides, what did it matter if he knew of my fury? I wanted him to see—it would make his eventual death all that much sweeter, and I wouldn’t even deign to use magic on him.

No, I’d make do with a simple, dulled blade. Prolong his death as I sawed through his thin skin and into bone.

If only he knew of the ending I envisioned for him, perhaps he wouldn’t be standing there, sneering like he’d won.

Every good general knew a single battle didn’t determine a war.

“It’s a shame you didn’t heed his warning.” Cirian tsk ed. “You had to go and fall in love with the one person you’d never be able to have. It would be even more heartbreaking if you weren’t already scheduled to die yourself.”

I ignored the comment about my death, focusing on the smaller details.

The king hadn’t been present during the Calling. I wondered what spy had whispered in his ear. Carter? Harlow?

Cirian cocked his head. “It seems that the prophecy might’ve held some truth to it after all,” he mused.

As if summoned, the words rang in my mind, clear as a bell. The day will be restored when the darkness falls for the light.

My mother’s book of lore contained a passage about the sun priestesses and their desperate prophecy. I had never taken it seriously before.

“Ah, I see you know it,” Cirian remarked drily as the connection dawned on me.

If Kiara—a creature of the night—fell for me , Raina’s descendant, the light …

Could the cure truly be something so simple? Could we fix the world together?

As if reading my mind, Cirian drawled on, “It’s not as simple as you think, boy. Besides, I promise you, it would’ve only ended in heartbreak at the end. Love is utterly useless in our world.”

Love was such a simple word for an emotion that held more power than any magic in the realm. It could start wars. End them. Love was the single thing I’d convinced myself I’d never experience…but was the tangible pressure in my chest love? Was it love I felt whenever I envisioned her in my arms, her lips forming a crooked smile when she came up with some cunning plan or devious retort?

The chains clanked together as I lifted my head, which might as well have been weighed with stones. Sharp tingles raced down my spine, but I kept my chin raised. Proud.

“She won’t let you catch her,” I said. “Kiara is far too smart for that.”

“No. She’s desperate, and she wants you ,” Cirian snapped. “She’ll come out of hiding to save you from me.” The invisible noose around my neck tightened. “Once she’s captured, I’ll have all three pieces, and I’ll destroy them forever.”

Destroy them. Not take them. Not use them for himself.

Destroy.

“What does it matter to you?” I placed a strained smile on my lips. Warm blood slicked my teeth. “Why are you fighting to destroy the day?”

“I fight for Asidia and its people,” he muttered. “They may think they want the sun to return, but think of the peace our realm has experienced. The night soothes and calms their tempers. It has united the mortals and brought them together as one.”

He spoke of mortals as if he weren’t one.

I squinted in the low light, taking in the smoothness of his exposed skin.

He’d ruled on the throne for decades, and yet he had the appearance of youth. Not one wrinkle showed around his lips, his neck too taut for a man supposedly well into his fifties .

Something about him wasn’t right . Never had been.

“Who are you truly?” Perhaps he was working with a powerful entity, maybe a god. Cirian wasn’t clever enough to gain such power by himself. He may be cruel, but cruelty didn’t equate to cunning.

“I serve a much bigger purpose than you could ever comprehend.” The gray of his eyes suddenly swam with swirls of charcoal, and I jolted back at the unnatural sight.

What in the hells?

He blinked, and they reverted to normal, but I knew what I’d seen. The shimmer of twisted deviance.

Cirian was finally showing me a glimpse of the monster beneath his mask.

He stepped as close as he dared. Another inch and I’d be able to give him a nasty bruise in exchange for a headache. “You’re going to be my bait,” he said simply.

“I’d die first.”

“You know nothing, Maddox, and your ignorance will be your end.” Cirian’s vindictive grin dropped , and he resumed his travel around me, the thud of his boots beating in my skull like a death drum.

“You won’t win,” I panted, knowing the true torture was set to commence. The whip cracked as it hit the floor, the king’s guard all too keen to deliver punishment.

“You’ve always been so focused on the details rather than the bigger picture,” Cirian added, slamming the cell door closed. “In the meantime, please enjoy the entertainment. I’m hoping it will bring you around to being cooperative. In the end, you’ll see that all of this was necessary.”

The whip struck me before he got out the final word. Though I could’ve sworn I heard the king take in a labored breath before his footsteps pounded the stones and left me to my demise.

I bit into my bottom lip, the coppery tang of blood filling my mouth. Warmth trickled down my spine, slipping into open wounds, making me hiss.

Another strike landed, but I didn’t allow the guard the satisfaction of a flinch.

The king and his men had hurt me long enough, and my voice belonged only to me. Instead of focusing on the bite of the whip, I pictured my hands around the king’s throat, squeezing the life from his soulless eyes.

I envisioned slicing the throat of the very guard who tortured me now, and then I imagined raising my weapon to the men who’d captured me in Fortuna, delivering them the same gruesome fate. Thinking of their demise emboldened me, allowed me to take each assault with renewed purpose.

Whether fantasy or the future yet to come, my darker side reigned, and this time, I let it.

Give me your best , I thought, closing my eyes as more blows landed and split my skin.

I’d either die in this cell or, somehow, I’d find freedom. But whatever happened, I refused to allow the king to break my spirit.

Not when I had something to fight for.

For Asidia, for Kiara, and for myself , I’d live to fight another day.

And I planned on spilling blood.