Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set

by C. N. Crawford

His violet eyes opened, and time seemed to slow down. I was hesitating, and hesitation meant death.

  I twirled the knife and started to bring the hilt down hard—I could knock him out, then decide.

  But as my hand descended, he caught my wrist. He snarled, baring his canines.

  In a blur of night magic, he flipped me over, pinning me to the bed. The move took my breath away, and I stared up into his darkening eyes.

  His animalistic side was coming out. If I didn’t get out of this, I’d become executed novice number three within the next few moments.

  Inwardly, I cursed myself for hesitating. I should have just stabbed him.

  Was he hesitating, too? I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I thrust my hips upward, knocking him off balance, and I rolled, yanking one of my wrists free.

  I didn’t hesitate this time. Just as it had so many times before, a desperate, wild will to live consumed me. I slammed my fist again and again into Ruadan’s face. Then, I snatched the silver blade off the bed.

  I brought it down hard into his chest, piercing his heart.

  Blood poured from the wound. I’d stopped his heart completely, and he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. But as soon as someone pulled the weapon out, he’d start to recover.

  I was shaking, trembling with the cold, and for just a moment, tears pierced my eyes. Panic was ripping through my mind. I’d failed.

  I’d used the silver blade. Not iron. He’d have a hell of a hangover, but he’d live.

  Apparently, I’d gone soft since he started giving me blankets and pillows, and I couldn’t bring myself to end him. The first thing he’d do when he woke up would be to hunt me down and yet….

  The fucking blanket. That stupid fucking blanket.

  I was letting my emotions rule me, and it was a problem.

  A hot tear spilled down my cheek, and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. I hated myself right now, my inability to do what needed to be done.

  I started pacing the room, my mind racing.

  Hesitation is death.

  I hated Baleros with every fiber of my being, but his teachings had been my salvation. Without them, I’d be dead now.

  Get in your enemy’s head. Knowledge gives you power over a person.

  And yet….

  The fucker had become so deeply embedded in my head that I sometimes couldn’t figure out where his ideas ended and mine began. Almost as if our minds had melded.

  And that meant I knew how he thought, too.

  Confuse your enemy by utilizing the unexpected.

  My fingernails were piercing my palm, drawing blood, as I frantically tried to think of a way out of this.

  Baleros claimed he had eyes within the Institute—that if I betrayed him, he’d kill Ciara. But that was just the kind of bullshit Baleros would say. If he truly had forces working for him here, then why didn’t he know what the key was in the first place? If he’d known already it was a part of Ruadan’s body, he would have sent me on a kill mission. He hadn’t. He’d sent me to steal.

  Of course Baleros had lied, because that’s what he did.

  I clenched my jaw tight. What if I could kill Baleros and save Ciara?

  I had to find him first, but if I knew how he thought, I might be able to puzzle it out.

  I glanced at Ruadan’s body, relieved to find he wasn’t moving.

  What did Baleros believe about himself? He viewed himself as a sort of god among monsters. That was what he used to call us gladiators—the monsters. He liked to drive that word into us, until I’d believed it myself. Maybe I still believed it. Maybe that’s why I’d just driven a knife into the chest of my new mentor.

  Baleros had studied us, manipulating us all the time like a puppet master. But we scared him, too. There was some dead philosopher he used to quote. Something like “whoever fights monsters needs to watch out that he doesn’t become a monster, too.” Then something like, “When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you….”

  “Well, fucker,” I said out loud. “I’m gazing back at you. I know how you think.”

  Baleros’s eighteenth law of power: When you achieve greatness, cling onto it with all your strength.

  Baleros had thrived during the anarchic period between the apocalypse and the reconstruction. Practically singlehandedly, he’d rebuilt the old Roman gladiatorial ring under London’s city streets. He’d employed a legion of slave masters, each of them making money off their fighters, but he’d pulled all the strings behind the scenes.

  The Shadow Fae and the reconstruction ruined all that for him. All the gladiators—except me—were sent into the supernatural realms.

  If I closed my eyes, I could envision Baleros, haunting the old amphitheater, looking regal and shabby at the same time. He’d mentally relive his glory days, when the monsters had treated him like the emperor he was supposed to be. Baleros had adopted the old Roman ways, encouraging his veneration. Within those stone walls, he felt not just like an emperor, but like a god.

  I touched the lumen crystal at my throat.

  I could shadow-jump, now. Baleros couldn’t do that. I could take him.

  I glanced at Ruadan again, my whole body trembling. His body was still as a grave. He looked completely dead, even though I knew he wasn’t. Perhaps I could have convinced him to come with me if I hadn’t stabbed him in the chest. But that would be a risk, too. Ruadan would be going on a kill mission. I was going on a rescue mission. Totally different objectives.

  My mind whirled frantically, and I felt like I was coming undone. I willed my heart to slow down.

  My plan was to get Ciara out of Baleros’s clutches—ideally, to kill him, as well, but Ciara’s rescue was the priority. Then, we’d have to flee London. Both of us would be living like fugitives, hiding from the Shadow Fae for the rest of our lives. There was no way out of that. We’d just have to get used to it, and eventually, maybe the Shadow Fae would forget about us.

  Whatever the case, I had to get the fuck out of here, now. I honestly had no idea how long a demigod would stay down for. It wasn’t like I’d fought them in the arena.

  I was still shaking when I crossed to Ruadan’s wall, and I pulled another knife from his arsenal. A silver blade, just like the one in his chest. But I had a different purpose for this one.

  I brought it to the nape of my neck, where Ruadan had marked me with the tracking spell days ago.

  Wincing, I carved the blade into my skin. I gritted my teeth as the pain speared my neck. Melusine would probably have a magical way to handle this, but all I had was brute force on my side.

  At last, I’d cut it off. Blood dripped down my fingers, pooling on the floor.

  If I didn’t staunch the bleeding, Ruadan would be able to track me within moments of waking. Situations like this were exactly why I carried the bug-out bag with me. You never knew when you’d have to carve magical tattoos off your body. I pulled out a bottle of water, gauze, and my other medical supplies, and I washed the blood from my hands. I spread some antiseptic on the wound, grunting as it stung the open flesh. Then, I taped it tightly with thick layers of gauze. And one more layer of duct tape, for good measure.

  When that was cleaned up, I pulled off my bloodied shirt, crumpling it in a ball. I pulled on a fresh black shirt.

  Suitably cleaned up, I snatched a piece of paper out of my bag, along with a pen, and I hastily scrawled:

  SORRY FOR STABBING YOU.

  Then,

  THANKS FOR THE BLANKET.

  I cringed. That sounded sarcastic, like I was taunting him, but I actually meant it.

  “Fucking butterscotch sweets,” I grumbled, aware that I was sounding increasingly like a lunatic with every minute that passed.

  In any case, writing pretty things wasn’t my strength, and I didn’t have time to obsess over the exact phrasing. I left the note by his side for when he woke up.

  I crossed back to his arsenal, selecting the finest-looking sheath, and I tightened it aroun
d my waist. I picked up the iron knife from his bed and carefully slid it into the sheath. Even Baleros had a weakness. And as a fae, that weakness was iron.

  I crossed to one of the windows and lifted it until the chilly night air spilled into the room. Shadows claimed the courtyard. Perfect for jumping.

  I was pretty sure the halls were lined with magic that could track our every movement, and maybe it would set off alarms. Keeping to the Tower Green was safer. And with the lumen stone, I might be able to get out of here before any of the Shadow Fae got a chance to react.

  Ruadan was the only incubus in here, the only one who could naturally shadow-jump. And I’d laid him out cold with his own silver knife. A twinge of guilt flickered through me, but I shoved it away again.

  Glacial night magic whispered over my skin, surging in my blood. I gripped the straps of my bug-out bag. Living in a castle had been nice, but it was time for me to take my leave before someone killed me. I sucked in a shaky breath, stared down at a far corner of the courtyard, and I jumped.

  Chapter 29

  I moved like a lunar wind, jumping along the dark, cobbled alleys of the Tower. No bells rang, no alarms as I reached the final, outer wall. Thank fuck for that, because the gates were locked, and shadow-leaping wouldn’t get me through them.

  I scaled the rough stone wall, finding footholds and handholds in the jagged stones until I reached the top. Then, I hooked a leg over the top of the wall. From my perch, I stared out into the darkness beyond the tower.

  I swallowed hard. A sense of loss pierced me for a moment.

  I’d gone soft, that was all. And the longer I stayed in luxury, the easier I’d be to kill.

  I stared across the paved expanse before me, focusing on the farthest dark point I could see. Shadow magic whispered up my spine and slid over my skin like a layer of frost. My cold breath iced the air. I jumped, my teeth chattering. I felt exhilarated and untethered at the same time.

  From Tower Hill, I jumped through the shadows, moving further north. I rushed along what had once been the eastern edge of London’s Roman wall, flying through the shadows. A gnawing pit had opened up in my chest, worsening the further I got from the Institute, but I kept moving. I always had to keep moving. Rest meant death. Hesitation meant death.

  When I reached Leadenhall, I took a left. In the middle of the night, in this ancient part of the city, no one lingered on the streets. And even if I happened to pass some drunk banker lost in the city, he’d feel nothing more than the whoosh of cold air as I slipped past him.

  I wasn’t a Shadow Fae, but I could kill in the shadows, now, too.

  At last, I reached Guildhall. Thousands of years ago, the Romans had ruled the city. They’d built a wall, temples, an amphitheater. And they’d left their ruins deep underground.

  Baleros had taken their foundations and built from them, creating his own empire. Once, when I hadn’t performed like he’d wanted me to in the ring, he’d locked me up for a week with only water. When I got out, crazed with starvation, I’d called him evil. I’d wanted to see if he had any sense of shame. He’d told me that good and evil didn’t mean anything anymore. He said that wasn’t the way the world worked. He’d said empire-builders created their own realities, and that for men like him, it had always been that way.

  In the shadows near Guildhall, I pulled the cover off a manhole, and I jumped down. I splashed in the water, landing hard. The remains of the ancient Walbrook River reached about mid-calf. Long ago—even before the Romans had come—the noble Mor made sacrifices here. Now, the Shadow Fae had found another way to appease the Old Gods: with the blood of the demons they assassinated.

  Shivering—why the hells was I so cold?—I rammed my hand into my backpack and pulled out my headlamp. Rats scurried along the sides of the river. They didn’t bother me. I’d spent enough time living with rats.

  A circular, white glare from my headlamp bounced over the water and wet walls as I moved deeper through the river. The water froze my legs. It felt like gods-damned winter down here.

  At last, I reached a fork where a narrow tunnel curved right. This would take me where I needed to go.

  As I walked, shivers overtook me. I tried not to think about Ruadan, but a mixture of guilt and fear clouded my thoughts. Honestly, you’d think I could pick one or the other. Either he was a ruthless killer who would probably execute me or he genuinely liked me, and … oh, who was I kidding? Even if he liked me, any rational person would slaughter someone who’d betrayed them that way. It was just the way of the world.

  The water grew shallower as I walked, the splashing quieter, until the river petered out into a dull trickle. A few minutes later, I reached the end of the tunnel. A wooden door—painted green—was inset into the brick here. A padlock sealed it shut.

  I reached into my bag, pulling out two bobby pins. I bent one of them into a pick, and the other into a lever. I slid them both into the keyhole, jiggling them around until I unlocked it.

  Before I pushed through the door, I flicked off my headlamp. I tucked the lumen crystal inside my shirt, disguising it within my cleavage. No need to broadcast my shadow-leaping ability.

  Always let your enemy underestimate you.

  Holding my breath, I carefully inched the door open, relieved when darkness greeted me.

  My relief was short-lived as the smell of the old gladiator ring hit me. The stones, the sand. The only thing missing was the metallic stench of blood, or the overpowering smell of sweat. It made me want to vomit.

  I moved silently over the sand, sniffing the air. I didn’t need my headlamp to find my way into the center of the ring.

  The arena was so dark, so quiet, that for a moment, I wondered if I’d got it wrong. Maybe Baleros wasn’t here at all. Maybe he’d never remain somewhere so obvious.

  I sniffed. When I picked out his rosewater scent, my heart skipped a beat. He was here.

  I pulled my iron knife from its sheath. Shadows were all around me, but I didn’t yet know where to jump.

  I sniffed the air again. Roses.

  He was so close. I could almost hear him—

  Iron clamped around my throat, and the back of my head slammed hard into a wooden stake behind me. Metal creaked, and my lungs burned. I was choking, and I couldn’t even scream.

  My vision swam with dots.

  I already knew what this was—Baleros’s garrote. I couldn’t speak as he tightened it. This was how the Romans had killed their worst enemies—a humiliating death, not even fighting. Baleros had used it to keep us all in line.

  A revelation hit me like a train. He’d been waiting for me.

  Of course he had. He was Baleros, and he lived in my head.

  He turned the garrote again, and the world slipped away from me.

  I’d lost consciousness, but when I regained it, I was staring up into the face of my old master. He’d flicked on my headlamp, and it shone brightly over his features. His eyes crinkled at the corners—genuine delight.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out, but my mouth felt like sandpaper, and the iron garrote seared my neck. Poison. The iron sapped my strength, and I wanted nothing more than to get it away from me.

  I snarled at Baleros, and the fucker laughed.

  As my vision slowly cleared, I took in the shapes around us. It took me a moment to realize we weren’t alone. But it wasn’t Ciara I found in the arena with us. It was an entire crowd of spectators, filling the stone seats. Excited murmurs rippled off the stone. What the fuck…?

  Even more disturbing, a circle of archers lined the edge of the arena, each with a flaming arrow pointed right at me. A tendril of panic coiled through my chest.

  I’d certainly gotten myself into a pickle.

  “Arianna, my dear,” said Baleros. “I was hoping you’d arrive.”

  I gritted my teeth. “How did you know I’d come for you?”

  “I didn’t, precisely. But I know how you think, and I prepared for all eventualities—one of them being your arriva
l in the arena. I thought, sometimes that girl does my bidding at first, then the naughty rebellious streak emerges, and she thinks she can take me on. This was merely one of the possible outcomes, but I was prepared.” An easy smile lit up his face. “Please forgive me for knocking you unconscious. I needed a bit of time to prepare. But I think you’ll agree that the results are spectacular. One final fight for the Amazon Terror.” He loosed a long sigh. “I thought you would have learned by now. You can never win.”

  My mind was foggy from dehydration and the iron burning me. I couldn’t make sense of this. What the fuck was his endgame?

  “I don’t understand.” I hated not understanding. Hated that he was always one step ahead. “Why did you send me after the key in the first place? Why not just drag me back into the ring if you wanted me to fight?”

  He shrugged. “Because I wanted you to fight someone very hard to capture. You never lose. Now, you will.”

  Baleros stepped aside, and my world tilted. There, on the other side of the ring, stood Ruadan. The arena lights gilded his body, and he gripped a sword. His eyes had darkened to pure black, and his teeth were gritted with sheer, murderous rage.

  I was supposed to fight him. “You wanted the Wraith to track me here so we could fight.”

  “No one can capture him. Not even me. I had to lure him to me. You were the bait.”

  “And you don’t want the key? You just want a fight between us?” I didn’t believe him. He was simply making the best of the situation, getting everything he could out of it. He wanted a fight and the key.

  “I don’t need the key,” he said. “And now that I know what it is, that it’s a part of him… It’s too complicated. Look, I simply thought, why not make money one last time? Do you know how much people paid to see the Wraith take on the Amazon Terror?”

  He was lying. I knew he wanted nothing more than to unleash anarchy once more. He was desperate for the key. Before Ruadan got the chance to jump away, before even the Wraith saw what was coming, Baleros would shoot his limbs full of iron arrows. Baleros still didn’t know what the key looked like, but he’d try to torture the answer out of Ruadan. Just before he killed him.