This vortex expanded and Shan recalled Rin yelling at Ragan, telling him he needed to leave because she couldn't look at him or his mess anymore. He kept his back to her as he sobbed that he loved her, but he knew the only family of his own he'd ever have was now gone. And there was Tessen, screaming with his hands over his ears, screaming that he couldn't escape everyone else's pain enough to feel his own. Maybe that was the clue they all missed. Maybe they could have helped him if they'd recognized him as an empath before the dragonbind forced his ability to explosion.
Shan chased away the vortex and revealed a new one. Two faces were before him, his first lovers. At fifteen, his grief over Alon's death and Ragan's departure had led him to seek a reckless sort of comfort with two friends from school. Saria and Ethren were both human, both from the same merchant class Hawthorn Heights district where Shan grew up. The three of them hid in the loft of a goat barn and trembled as they clumsily undressed each other. He made love to them both that morning, and then again in a moonlit orchard two nights later. They cast him aside to focus solely on each other, and married on the day of Ethren's eighteenth birthday, not long before the birth of their second child.
There were others after Saria and Ethren, but none who wanted to stay with him for more than a week or two. There was Sassenia, whose aggressiveness taught him he liked when his lovers used their teeth, but she had turned out to be a horrible person who later tried to humiliate Tessen when he rejected her advances. There was Marnery, the strikingly beautiful lowborn chaparral elf who was afraid to tell her parents that she was their daughter and not their son. There was Chason, the warlock scholar who tried and failed to teach Shan how to dance.
He didn't pursue anyone after he returned from the underground, after Ranalae mutilated his body into something unrecognizable. He felt only shame when he saw his own skin and he didn't want to feel anyone's pity, so he no longer allowed anyone close.
But then he met Marita.
Like with the others, he fell for her quickly. Within days of leaving North Juniper with her and the others, he knew he loved her. And she loved him. And she didn't pity him when he showed her his body, just embraced him and kissed his scars and gently made love to him beneath a rain-soaked tarp on the Hadgar Steppes.
And she wasn't like the others.
She stayed with him, and married him, and held him close while the shadows screamed in his mind. She was beautiful, and kind, and forgiving. She was the mother of his children, both the one they'd lost and the one soon to be born, children he'd never wanted but loved regardless because they were also hers. Lost deep in this endless void, he missed her. He needed her, but summoning her memory only left him cold and alone.
Maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe she was sitting next to him, pleading for him to wake. Maybe she was kissing his lips and wiping tears from his eyes, the only outward sign that he was still alive somewhere in his mind.
Over and over, for eons and ages, he summoned her and pretended she was there waiting for him to wake. Over and over memories of death and pain tried to chase her away, but she stayed. This Marita was only a figment, but he knew if the real Marita were here she would never leave him to live in this void alone. She would hold his hand, she would kiss his face, and she would love him until the memories stopped and the darkness consumed him.
That darkness couldn't win, he wouldn't let it. Even if he spent the remainder of eternity in this senseless hell, he would fight the abyss with memories of the people he loved and ignite the darkness with their light.
“DID YOU KILL HIM?”
A voice hovered around Shan's consciousness, but he didn't think it was real. There had been other voices in the endless span of alternating screams and desperately gathered memories, and this one was no different. Disconnected, distant, and a little too slow for a normal speaking voice.
“I . . . I am not certain.”
“Dad, his heart isn't beating.”
“It is. Put your hand over it and wait. It only beats twice a minute, but it's beating.”
“I hardly recognize him.”
“This is only the last step before completion. I'm not certain if he will wake again until he is finished. Keep this spell on him, Lyndarian. I need to assess his pain level before he is allowed to feel it. I do not wish him to suffer through pain we have the ability to numb.”
“Dad . . . what have you done?”
“What is necessary, Nyssandrian. We are taking him to transcendence.”
“His eyelids are fluttering. Is he seizing again or dreaming?”
“Neither. I can feel his heart again. It's getting faster. I think he's waking.”
“Do not let him.”
“I can't stop this. He's fighting back, and he's stronger than I am.”
Shan felt a gentle pressure on his chest. Pressure? It had been so long since he felt anything except the chill and sting of the perpetual darkness that he could barely identify the sensation of something new. What was this touching him? A hand? It had to be.
Awareness flooded him like a breeched levee. There were the sounds his ears hadn't heard, the music of creaking floors and breaths and fabric sliding over skin. There was the knowledge that he was on his back with his arms tucked against his sides. There was the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, and the distinctive murky blue of a dwarfstone light somewhere beyond his eyelids. The floral scents were stronger now, and fresher. They radiated from the three dragonbound Lightborns hovering above him.
And there was his voice, a scream rendered a whimper.
A cool hand touched his brow. “Shhh. Do not try to move. You will hurt yourself if you do.”
“Sard off, Nylian,” Shan growled. The blood in his mouth became a powdery grit.
“I can keep his body paralyzed, but not his tongue. Sorry.” Lyndarian's voice was lower than his father's, and closer. It was his hand on Shan's chest, his magic keeping Shan's eyes from opening.
“Let me see,” Shan begged. “You don't have to let me move, but let me open my eyes. I've been trapped in the darkness for millennia.”
“You don't think he was aware during this, do you?” Nyssandrian was near, but his voice came from a lower height than Lyndarian's or Nylian's. He must have been seated.
“You trapped me in my own mind, assholes. No senses, no idea where I was, only screaming and memories. Go sard yourselves, all of you.” Tears fell hot down Shan's face and stung as they contacted his neck. “What did you do to me? Let me open my eyes.”
Slowly, sensation returned to his face. He opened his eyes and squinted in the soft blue glow of the dwarfstone sconces. He wasn't underground after all, but in a room with a domed glass ceiling that let in the cloud-veiled moonlight. This was a solarium no different in design from the one in his suite, but instead of plants, the space was filled by spindly silver sculptures bejeweled with pearls and amethyst.
“This is . . . strange.” Shan moved his eyes to their limits, taking in the worried looks on the faces of the princes and the moonlight glinting off the sculptures. Despite his time in the void, he didn't feel weak or fatigued, only confused. “At least it seems to be real. How long have I been like this?”
“Six weeks,” Nylian replied. He faced away from Shan, his shoulders slightly bowed.
“Six . . . weeks?” Shan wanted to sit up and scream, but his throat was dry and his body refused to move. “Six weeks? Gods damn it all to sarding shit, Nylian. What the sarding, shitstorming hell? What did you do to me?”
Lyndarian leaned hard against Shan's chest, then released the pressure and stood upright. He pushed his dark hair behind his twitching ears. “Dad, you need to show him.”
“I know this, Lyndarian,” Nylian whispered. His wings drooped as he turned around. His eyes were no longer the same turquoise as Shan's, but instead a golden green. The irises filled the visible space and his pupils were vertical.
“What the hell, Nylian? You planning on turning completely into a dragon?” Shan asked.
Nylian's hair fell over his face like a moon-touched waterfall as he averted his eyes. “I do not know where my own transformation is taking me.”
“Straight into the same sarding void where you sent me, I can only hope.”
“Yes, that would be just, would it not?” Nylian looked up again, his eyes glossy. “I am sorry, Shannon. I did not know this step would take so long or that your mind would not sleep during it. We will return you to your wife as soon as it is safe for you to move. I do not think there will be much weakness since you were in a suspended state, but there may be significant pain. It is temporary pain that will resolve when you are completed. Please try to remember that.”
“Show me what you did, you arrogant sard.” Shan was afraid to know, but the revelation was inevitable so it might as well happen now.
Lyndarian looked at Nylian with worry in his green eyes. “Dad? Do you have his magic restrained? I'm afraid he'll kill us if you don't.”
“What could possibly be worse than what's already been done to me?” Shan asked. “You left me aware and alone in a timeless void. Let me see and then take me to Marita, or when I start screaming I will never stop.”
“No one deserves this. You should have let him die, Dad.” Nyssandrian crossed his arms and shuddered. “He's your sister's great-grandson, kindred to us, and you did this to him.”
“His grandmother started it. I am forced to finish it. I have taken no pleasure in this task and it will haunt me far beyond death.” Nylian paced behind Lyndarian, one hand on the back of his neck.
Shan forced his lips into a half-smile. “They don't know, do they?”
“What don't we know?” Lyndarian asked.
“That I'm his great-grandson, too.”
“Dad?”
“I am not willing to explain this right now,” Nylian said. He spoke in his usual subdued voice, but his body language continued to reveal agitation as he paced and touched his hair and neck.
Shan sighed. He tried to shake his head in exaggerated dismay, but all he could manage was a bob of his jaw. “Well, Lyn and Nyx . . . a long time ago, decades before either of you were born, your father and Mara Nightshadow–”
“Enough.”
A mirror appeared above Shan's eyes.
“Oh sard!” he gasped, and his irritation transitioned to horror.
His hair was gone, replaced by intricate runic spirals and paired scars that ran from his temples to behind his ears to run down his neck. And the scars were silver. And so were the six parallel scars on his cheeks. And so were the whites of his eyes. Silver, shimmering, sparkling in the moonlight with infused magic.
Nylian repeatedly ran his thumbs along the edge of the mirror. “I do not know if the silver is permanent. We will find out after the final ritual is complete. Every scar on your body is silver now. This is a manifestation of your own magic, not mine.”
“He's a warlock. He was violet until two weeks ago. Why is he silver now?” Lyndarian asked.
“Because he is also a lightbinder, and the light within him has overtaken the shadow. He may change again if the shadows prevail, or he may remain silver if he proves to be stronger as a lightbinder than a warlock.”
“You shaved my gods-damned head,” Shan grumbled once his lungs remembered to breathe. The reflection before him was terrifying. This couldn't be him. How could he be expected to go the rest of his life looking like something that climbed out of a nightmare?
“Most of it will grow back. It hasn't started to yet because you were suspended, not asleep,” Nylian said.
“That's not the sarding point.” He was becoming restless. He was calm before, but now he had to move, had to escape this numbness. “Take me back to Marita. Now.”
Nylian nodded at Lyndarian. “Release the spell, slowly. Stop if it becomes too much for him.”
Shan cried freely as feeling returned to his body. Lightning bolts sparked through every nerve and vein, but it was not unbearable. He flexed his toes, then his fingers, then felt the burning gnaw of hunger in his gut. “I need to eat something.”
Nylian nodded at Nyssandrian. “Find him some food. Something bland and soft to start with.”
Nyssandrian's eyebrows knit and his mouth tensed, but he nodded. His voice trembled as he said, “Yes, I will do that.” He turned away and left the solarium.
Shan grabbed Lyndarian's slender wrist. His skin was either far too hot or Shan's was far too cold. “Just remove the entire spell. I want to go home.”
Fear flashed in the prince's eyes. “You don't deserve that pain.”
Shan let his hand fall back onto the bed. “I want to go home. I can't. I don't have one anymore. Just Marita. I need to be with Marita.”
“How much of the spell have you removed, Lyndarian?” Nylian asked, pacing behind the second eldest of his living sons.
Lyndarian's breath caught in his throat and he shook his head. “Only enough so he can move, orient his body, and feel temperature and touch on his skin. Don't make me take away anymore. Please. I don't want him to feel the rest.”
“Neither do I. Leave the spell as it is now. Marita's magic is not as strong as yours, but she will be able to maintain the spell if you teach her how.”
“I need to see her. Please.” Shan breathed heavily as pain tore through his spine. Nylian was likely right that complete removal of the pain-numbing spell would kill him. He wasn't sure if that was such a bad thing.
Nylian held up his hand and nodded. “We will return you to your residence once you have eaten.”
“Can you sit up?” Lyndarian asked.
Shan jammed his elbows into the mattress and slowly struggled upright. His muscles didn't feel weak, but they were sluggish to respond to his command. The silver sculptures leered at him. “I'm dizzy. I don't know if I can walk like this.”
“You may not be able to for several days. You would have more mobility if I weakened the spell, but I don't think that's worth bringing you more pain.”
“I thought you were supposed to be the asshole brother,” Shan scoffed.
Lyndarian looked away. “Perhaps, but I have my limits. I don't like hurting people who did nothing to deserve it.”
“You don't think I deserve it?”
“No one deserves this.”
Nyssandrian returned to the bedside, a bowl of something white and mashed in one hand and a tiny wax-sealed scroll in the other. He handed the bowl to Shan and the scroll to Nylian. “A falcon just arrived for you. Crimson wild-type. It bit the falconer and flew off.”
“Crimson?” Nylian broke the seal, then unrolled the tiny scroll. His face remained stoic as he read the contents. “It seems Lyssandra and her Regiment intend to return to Anthora. She has forsaken our youngest children, who seem to no longer be with her.”
“What?” Lyndarian's eyes narrowed. “Mom is coming here? Is this about Liantor?”
“Yes.” Nylian passed him the scroll.
Lyndarian cleared his throat, then read aloud. “She is preparing the Regiment to return to Anthora. I think she means to attack you, but I don't know for sure because she disowned me and I had to leave the sanctuary before I could learn her intent. My sister left before I did. I'm going to join her. We won't be returning to Anthora yet, but maybe someday soon. Please don't look for us. We need to be safe from her for a little while, and that's not at home if she's going to be there. I think you understand. I miss and love you. Adina.” Confused, Lyndarian glanced at Nylian. “Who is Adina?”
“Kendrian,” Nyssandrian whispered, as if the name was forbidden and it hurt him to say it.
Nylian nodded. “I fought to keep her here, but Lyssandra took her anyway. It seems she has claimed her true self despite what you, your brothers, and your mother did to her. I will not pursue her. We have already caused her enough anguish.”
“Kendrian is a he, Dad,” Lyndarian muttered.
Nylian narrowed his eyes. “Adina is your sister, Lyndarian. She always has been and you already knew this. Do not inte
ntionally misname her again in my presence.”
“Do you intend to find . . . Adina?”
“No. She will return here when she is ready. She has always been loyal to those who respect her. My concern lies with Kembriana, but I trust Adina to bring her back to me.”
Nyssandrian bared his teeth. “Kemi is impulsive and immature.”
“So were you at twenty.” Nylian folded his hands together and stared at Shan. “Allow Shannon to eat and then take him to his suite.”
“Take me yourself,” Shan growled. He stuck the spoon in the mush and clumsily raised it to his mouth. He'd expected potatoes but instead tasted some sort of turnip and rutabaga blend. It didn't matter. He could taste again, and swallow, and speak. “Oh, I see. You're afraid Marita will kill you when she sees what you've done to me. I'd kill you myself, you know, but I'm feeling a bit sluggish. Maybe later.”
“Dad, he threatened–” Lyndarian started, but his father waved him away.
Nylian looked down at his hands, then turned to examine the nearest sculpture. “There is an ancient spell upon these walls. The crowned High King or Queen cannot be assassinated within The Halls of Anthora. This is my sanctuary, and when I am no more it will be Nyssandrian's.” He gazed mournfully at the bowl of mashed vegetables. There were only a few bites left, but Shan couldn't force himself to take them. “My sons, Shannon takes amusement in testing my patience. It is one of the few comforts he has for the moment, so I allow it. His importance to Bacra far outweighs the insolence of his mouth.”
“I can't kill you? Now, that's disappointing.” Shan tried to throw the spoon at Nylian, but it slipped from his grip and landed with a clang on the floor next to the bed.
“Do you want to kill me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Yes, I thought as much.” Nylian turned to walk away, but then looked back over his wing. “Shannon, I am sorry. I hope you will one day understand why I had to do this to you. I will take you once more, after the birth of your child, and you will come into your full power. I believe your pain will end then.”
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