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“There is no way to unbind the Heart Oath. It may be severed, but at great cost.” That sounded a lot like marriage, she thought.
She had just done two things she wasn’t supposed to do as a lowly mortal. Magick, and soulbinding an animal. And both felt glorious.
“The Devourers can have you.” A sinking feeling swirled around her belly. “Devourers? Why would they. . .” “Want you? You are a mortal with both dark and light magick, and since you felt compelled to use your magick, again, after I explicitly told you not to, now they know it, and they will absolutely demand you as the price of our crossing.”
Just the colors of the Northern Bane, the heavy reds and foul blacks, the endless granite mountains and choking haze, made her feel like she was six all over again. A slave in a strange, horrible place.
“Who are you, little rose girl?” His voice was a rasping whisper that wedged deep into her bones. “Why does the Sun Lord who sold you to me think you are worth thirty runestones?”
Damius taught Haven many things. Survival. Negotiating. The runic arts. But the most important lesson he ever taught her was that she’d rather die than be a slave to anyone ever again.
The Devourers controlled the bridge. Anyone brave enough to cross it had to pay the toll, usually in the form of runestones. Today, I’m the toll.
“if Rook dies before we can trade you to the Devourers for the cure and safe passage, I will hold you personally responsible.” She cringed from his anger, adrenaline scorching her veins. “Motherless pig! I’m not a bag of runestones you can trade!” “Watch me!” He marched away then spun around.
The Sun Lord you see is not Archeron; he is the shattered reflection of my dearest friend, the tortured soul of someone who has lost nearly everything. I will never betray him, but Shadeling help me, I will fight to the death anyone who does.”
“That particular rune, besides being outlawed for mortals, protects its owner by drawing magick from the surroundings. Usually, the magick comes from nature. A copse of alders. A few woodland creatures.” Understanding hit her like a punch to the gut. “He channeled my magick?” “I am sorry.”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word. Just carved the three intertwined circles, dotting the centers with quick stabs of his pointer finger. When he was done, he swept the mark away. Why show her a mark she couldn’t use? Still, she engraved it into her memory just in case.
This girl had magick flowing through her veins. That was what Damius wanted all along. The reason he beat her, tortured her, humiliated her, tried to break her. All for the rare magick he thought she possessed. She’d thought he was crazy. No amount of beating her flesh or breaking her mind had produced anything close to powers. But maybe her magick had simply waited for the right time. Now, she had it, but she wouldn’t let Damius have her.
All at once, she connected to his mind. There was a spark of surprise, followed by curiosity.
The Solis loathed the Devourers for their demented use of dark magick; the Devourers were cultishly loyal to the Shade Queen and despised the Solis for her banishment to the Netherworld over five hundred years ago.
A frustrated breath left his lips as he grabbed for the door handle. Not sure why he bothered since it was obviously locked— A brief shock tingled his hand, and the door clicked open. Well then. Not one to question good luck, he forced himself to slink down the dark corridors.
Finally, the creature let out a rasping breath and straightened. “How did you get inside the doors? They only open for my magick.”
The creature’s hands on his shoulders squeezed once, softly. So that he might have imagined the tiny nudge of encouragement.
“The Shade Queen has some questions for you,” Magewick said. Bell tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it lodged there, making him choke out every word. “About . . . what?” A sinister grin split Magewick’s face. “About a mortal girl with rose-gold hair.”
Countless runemarks danced in her head. A hundred different marks to heal something. A hundred marks to repair it. But only one mark kept coming back to her. Three intertwining circles carved into the sand. The one Bjorn showed her right before they came here.
He shook his head, anguish in his eyes. “The worst part is, I don’t know why I set her free. It makes no sense.” “You’re right. Things might have been different had you handed her over. But we all saw her memory, Archeron. Not just you.
“But now,” she continued, courageously pressing on despite his deepening scowl and the lethal warning in his eyes, “I see that there was someone there who lightened the shadows darkening your spirit. A mortal girl, perhaps?”
A shadow seemed to pass over his face, his expression turning solemn. “I need you to break the Curse.”
“The magick inside the blade allows her to cut through anything without the victim ever feeling pain.”
You cannot take away one's homeland and expect them to not take it personally.”
Darkness feels to me what the sunlight on your skin feels to you.” And yet there was something in the way his voice wavered near the end, or perhaps the way his smile was a bit too forced, that made her question his words.
