CHAPTER ONE

​(List of trigger warnings for Shadowheart)

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The air is heavy, carrying no scent, no hint of life. Mist presses in, thick and silent, swallowing the leafless trees until they’re nothing but spindly shadows. Above, a gray cloud cover smothers the sky, making it impossible to tell what time it is.

“Hello, Nana darling.”

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Dazed, I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for the vision of him to dissolve, but when I open them, he’s still there. Devastatingly beautiful, and all wrong. He hasn’t moved. He only watches, a slight, predatory smile playing at his lips—possessive, cold.

He looks the same. Golden hair, midnight eyes. Astēr’s opposite in so many ways.

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Burn me. Burn me. A familiar chill settles in my bones as my grip tightens around the satchel, knuckles blanched. I take a step back—just one, careful, afraid the barest movement may spook him to put an end to me. Again.

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My mouth is dry, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears. I give myself a mental slap. Get yourself together, Laïna. Focus.

“You killed me.” The image of his dark tendrils snapping Nana’s neck with a deafening crack flashes through my mind. I take another step back.

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He smirks. “Yet here you are.”

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His perfect appearance only adds to his unsettling nature. Even as fear coils in my gut, I glare at him. Here I am. With no moons. No elēn. Only the Void’s emptiness, the way it once hollowed me out in Bronich.

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There is a flicker of movement behind Casimir, a glint of honey-gilded waves through the gray blanket, and my breath catches as the male steps forward. It’s impossible. I watched him die.

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“I . . . killed you.” The words come out as a question, raw and uncertain, barely more than a whisper. But I’m sure I did. Like the coward I am, I drove the blade through his heart from behind. And he must have been dead, because the brace he’d placed on my arm came off.

Reü’s teal gaze narrows, his brow furrowing as he studies my face—a long, searching look, confusion clouding his features. He opens his mouth to speak, but Casimir cuts him off.

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 “Let’s not linger on who killed whom, shall we?” His smile is a thin, cold line. He turns halfway toward Reü, voice clipped. “Why don’t you make some good use of yourself and search her satchel.”

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Oh gods. The brace! Marduk was right. I should have given myself up. I was raised for one ending: my death, my power poured into Astēr until he was strong enough to face Casimir alone. To weave a new pattern—one where the Darkening doesn’t consume Reā like a slow flood. Instead, Astēr chose me over Reā—and I chose myself over everyone. Now I’m as good as dead, and so is everyone else. Seniia, Vilder . . . I fight back the nausea churning in my stomach and keep my eyes on Reü stalking toward me, pressing my back against the veilstone.

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 It’s not selfish to want to live. The gentle whisper arises at the back of my mind, yet I cannot bring myself to believe it. Is this what the voice from the cave cautioned me about? Has my decision to run doomed us all?

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With a violent jerk, Reü rips the satchel away, spilling its contents. The metallic clang of the brace and motherpiece hitting the frozen ground echoes through the eerie stillness.

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No, no, not that; anything but that. There is a moment when none of us speaks, and although I know it’s futile, I’m praying they won’t notice what it is. The minister’s words the night Em was killed echo through my mind: there are worse fates than death.

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Casimir studies the mother piece as it lifts off the ground and drifts toward him. He wraps his hand around the small, intricate piece with a predatory smile. “Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better.” He lets the piece settle into his palm. “Brace her.”

Reü shoots a sidelong glance at Casimir, then picks up the brace, and without speaking, positions himself before me.

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No. This is not happening. Not my freedom. Not now. Not after everything. I try to wrench away, but it’s too late. Reü already has my wrist in a firm grip, and before I have time to think, cold metal closes around my forearm, dampening my senses. With ten years of enslavement behind me, the feeling is sickeningly familiar, and revulsion surges hot in my throat. How am I here again?

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Casimir’s gaze flicks to the fog-shrouded trees. “Go ahead. Make sure her quarters are ready.”

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Letting go of my arm, Reü nods once before vanishing into the fog.

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“Come.” Casimir sets off toward the trees.

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 Braced as I am, the command, though soft, catches like a hook in my soul, compelling me to drag my feet and follow Casimir into the undrbrush. Mist curls around my legs, and hides the ground, making each step a gamble. Soon, the world narrows to the damp chill clinging to my clothes and the wavering shadow of Casimir ahead. I fall back every so often, but the brace leaves no escape. The moment I strain against its bond, agony blooms behind my eyes and bile burns at the back of my throat, my vision dimming until I give in.

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The dark, dense woods press in from all sides, their twisted limbs clawing at the thick fog as the path doubles back on itself until I’m certain we’re walking in circles. It goes on forever. If I’m ever lucky enough to be rid of the brace, navigating back to the veilstone will be utterly impossible, and without the pillar, I doubt I’ll make it out of the Voidlands. Not this deep in. The realization has a cold dread washing through me. No. Don’t panic. You will get out. You always do. I push the fear down, focusing on the tall silhouette in front of me.

 

His frame comes more clearly into view as the woods finally thin and the gray wall peels back, revealing a vast field of black poppies. Beyond it, a dark fortress looms against the gray sky. Without taking my eyes off his broad back for even a heartbeat, my hand glides to the shadowshard tucked at my waist. I can deal with this. Vilder himself said I’m a skilled fighter, and he should know. He’s one of the best.

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My heartbeat slows as my hand wraps around the cool hilt of the shard. Focus. Slowing my breath, I aim for his heart. Maybe, given its ability to take out the umbra, it could also wound a god. If I hit right. I flick my wrist and the shard whistles through the air.

Choking, I gasp for air as oily, shadowy tentacles grip my throat, and I frantically try to tear away the threads at my neck, my breath coming in shallow rasps.

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“I am a god, Nana.” He spins the shadowshard between his fingers as he takes me in. “Do you remember nothing?” His voice drips with disdain, as if my ignorance is a personal affront. “You could kill me a hundred times over and I’ll wake at the Forge, unchanged, and begin again . . . and again . . . and again.” He leans in, his breath chilling against my skin. “Death is only a brief pause for my kind.” He takes a step back. “Rotting gods, you didn’t even manage to kill him.” He waves his hand in the general direction Reü disappeared.

I study his cruel, yet beautiful face. He’s got a point, but there must have been a reason why Astēr and Llyr were so eager to obtain the shard in the fight against him.

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“What’s it for, then? If it’s not for killing immortals. It takes out the umbra easily enough.”

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He snorts. “Those human scum. They would have died from their own rot, eventually.”

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“I thought they turned to the Void for immortality?”

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He purses his lips. “I might have let them believe that. A couple of centuries feels like an eternity to a human anyway. It’s semantics.”

I can only stare at him. The ease with which he says it turns my stomach. Although I’ll admit I find it a fitting punishment when you choose to give away your soul for power.

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“This still doesn’t explain how Reü is alive.”

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“You’ll find out soon enough.” His smile gives me chills. “Now be a good girl and tell me who gave you that?”

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Good girl. The patronizing familiarity of his voice fills me with disgust. But braced as I am, lying isn’t an option—so I do the only thing I can. I press my lips together and say nothing.

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Casimir tightens the dark threads holding me, suffocating me as he stalks closer. The cold stone of the dagger’s edge meets my skin as he tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

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“As stubborn as ever, I see.” His magic squeezes my windpipe a little harder. “I asked. Who gave you that?”

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“Ll . . . Llyr,” I can barely push the name past my lips. I refuse to die protecting that traitor. My father. I banish him to the back of my mind. It doesn’t matter. “Need . . . to . . . brea . . . the.” I claw at my neckline again, gasping. The world spins, dark spots blooming at the edges of my vision. I’m about to pass out.

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He does not let up. Instead, he drags the tip of the shard down my cheek, its sharp edge cutting into my skin. A metallic tang fills the air as blood trickles down my face. He sweeps the blood away with a single finger, never breaking eye contact, before sucking it clean.

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Revulsion surges up my throat at the way he tastes me, as if I’m his. At the smear of red that glistens on his mouth.

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He licks it away, deliberate and unhurried, then reaches for my left arm and shoves up the sleeve with a jerk. He throws a glance at my forearm, to where Nana’s mating glyph used to be, no doubt, his only reaction the flare of his nostrils before once again focusing on me.

“You’ll live. For now.” He drops my arm only to grab a fistful of my hair. He gives it a tug, exposing my neck—and for a moment, I’m certain he’ll sink his fangs into me.

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My nails dig into my palms. Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

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Warm breath trails along my skin as his nose traces a path from my collarbone to my earlobe. Lips press against my ear as he whispers, “Why don’t you choose more wisely this lifetime, Nana.”

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I flinch, but I keep quiet. Who is he trying to fool? As if I would ever choose him over his brother.

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Letting go, he slides the shadowshard into a sheath at his hip, right beside a golden shard that glints even in this dim light. Without another word, he spins on his heel and strides toward the looming fortress.

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Dropping to the ground, I gasp for breath as his chokehold on me releases. Long, iridescent hair slips forward, obscuring my vision. I flinch, unreasonably startled. Hints of opal pink, lavender, blue, and the faintest gold, all shifting like the inside of a pearl—so different from the mousy brown I wore for years.

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“Come now.” He doesn’t even bother to turn around as I’m pulled to my feet by one of his dark, oily tendrils. “I’m sure you are eager to see your new home.” I stand there for a moment more as he strolls ahead through the field of black poppies, spinning the mother piece absently between his fingers. Only when the pain of disobedience swells into nausea do I give in. There’s only one place that feels like home, and it’s not him.

 

***

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I believed Bronich was the absolute pinnacle of dreariness, but I was mistaken. It’s not a matter of visuals; the fortress itself is remarkably clean, almost unnervingly so. Yet, it emanates an aura of cruelty that sends shivers down my spine, amplified by the unnatural silence and the metallic tang of blood and sweet decay that seems to be infused into the black stones. There are so many corridors and stairs my head is spinning by the time Casimir stops in front of one of the gilded doors in the east wing.

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“I’ve left everything unchanged,” he says as he steps aside, his voice betraying no emotion.

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Glancing past him into the meticulously clean quarters, I frown. There’s no way he could have known I would show up here—I certainly didn’t plan on it, and I doubt Astēr would have let me run anywhere if he knew this was the consequence. Astēr . . . My eyes shift cautiously to Casimir. Can he read my mind just like his twin?

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There is so much I still don’t know about the Reāns, their culture. My culture. Gods. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Keeping track of his every movement, I step into the grand quarters. Did these belong to Nana?

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With a flick of his wrist, Casimir ignites a dozen candelabras. I frown at the unnaturally dark flames, the red bordering on black. They bathe the room in a dark glow and do nothing to banish the shadows clinging to the edges. But it could be worse. It’s not a dungeon and I’m not dead. Yet.

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The dark stone walls are softened by heavy tapestries in muted colors. Patterns of twisting vines and ancient glyphs wind through the fabric, lending the space a soft opulence that stands in stark contrast to the darkness pressing in beyond the tall windows. A four-poster bed dominates the heart of the room, draped with silks in soft jade; fluffy pillows in lavender and faded rose are stacked with careful precision. Against one wall, a tall wardrobe stands—its doors inlaid with mother-of-pearl that matches my hair and, near the hearth, two upholstered chairs in sage flank a low table set with a crystal decanter and glass.

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Save for the voidlight—which I have decided to name the black flames—it is a beautiful chamber. But beyond this room—I study the twirling mist as it claws at the windows—beyond this room there is only darkness.

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Casimir’s nostrils flare; the bridge of his nose ridges like a predator catching something spoiled. “I’ll send for a bath to be drawn for you,” he states with a grimace, then withdraws from the room, locking it. At least my prison cell is not as dark and dreary as the rest of his fortress.

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Not wanting to dirty the pristine bed, I sink down onto the floor, leaning my back against the bedside. I should have let myself die when I had the chance. One sacrifice, and Astēr could have ended the Void. Ended him. The war. Instead, here I am—alive, and useless.

I want to believe I’m stronger than before, but all I feel is tired. Tired of running, tired of surviving, tired of pretending that any of this is under my control. Tired of not knowing who I am.

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The veilstone travel doesn’t help, and it feels as though I haven’t slept in days, which is probably quite close to the truth if I’m being honest.

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I rest my head on my forearm, the cool brace pressing against my forehead. Casimir’s words echo in my head: “You’ll live. For now.”

I never thought I’d see survival as a punishment.

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My gaze remains locked on the door door until it blurs into the walls around it. You got what you wanted, Laïna. Isolation.

Except now, the silence feels like a verdict.

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