The shadows of the rocky hill were thick, heavy, and freezing. Rissa pressed on, her body shivering as her arm remained locked tightly around Queen Aeryn's waist. A few yards ahead, the split boulder loomed like a jagged tooth in the dark, marking the entrance to the secret drainage grate. Behind them, the old Captain moved with heavy, quiet steps, carrying Finn's limp, ice-sealed body over his shoulder.
They were so close. The safety of the palace tunnels was just within reach.
"You didn't think you could escape me, did you?"
The voice did not come from behind them. It came from directly upfront, right out of the pitch-black darkness near the split boulder.
It was a terrifying, hollow sound. It did not sound entirely human. It vibrated through the freezing air like a voice speaking from deep under a wet stone well, but at the same time, it felt horribly intimate—sliding directly into their ears, whispering like a devil living inside their own blood.
As the words faded, a sickening, heavy stench rushed over them. It was the foul smell of rotting leaves, stagnant water, and the sharp, burning scent of dark magic. Rissa gagged, her eyes watering from the smell. She pulled Aeryn closer, her right hand instantly dropping to the hilt of her dagger.
And then, he moved.
He did not walk. He seemed to glide tracklessly out from the deep shadows of the split boulder, his boots making absolutely no sound against the dry leaves and loose gravel. He slid through the moonlight like a nightmare slipping into a sleeping mind.
The pale light caught his features, and the world seemed to freeze. He wore heavy, dark robes lined with silver, and a cold, mocking smile sat on his lips. He looked powerful, completely untouched by the war. His face was one that both the Captain and Aeryn knew instantly.
It was the face of High King Maeron Thalen. Aeryn's father.
Aeryn's eyes snapped wide open. The fever in her body seemed to flash into a white-hot fire as she stared at the man in front of them. Her mind spun into a wild, terrifying panic.
No. This is impossible. This is a sick, cruel dream. He is dead. I saw the pyre. I watched the flames consume him. I gathered his ashes with my own hands.
She began to tremble violently, her breathing turning into shallow, terrified gasps. She questioned her own sanity, her own eyes, and everything she had ever known. If this was her father, then the world was a lie. If this was her father, then the grave was not the end, and the man she had loved and grieved was a monster.
"Father...?" she whispered, her voice cracking with a desperate, childlike hope that was instantly crushed by an utter, paralyzing horror. "How... how are you here?"
Maeron's trackless steps brought him closer, his silver-lined robes whispering softly against the cold wind. He looked down at her with eyes that held no warmth, no memory of a daughter.
"You made me dance quite much, my lovely daughter..." he murmured, his voice sliding into her mind like a cold blade. He glided a fraction closer, his mocking smile widening. "But then, I did not expect any less from you. You are my blood, after all... holding the trinity."
Aeryn was shaking violently, her knees buckling under the sheer weight of his presence. She felt entirely transparent before him, stripped of all her authority, reduced to a trembling child in the dirt.
"They always told me raising a daughter was a thankless trial," Maeron murmured, tilting his head with a sickening show of disappointment. "But I never expected you to deny your own flesh and blood."
Rissa looked at the man, then at the Queen's crumbling face, and felt a cold, oily dread sink into her stomach. She remembered the dark things they had fought. She remembered Kaelen's encounter with her male doppelganger and the illusions of the void.
"No, my Queen!" Rissa screamed, her voice cutting through the dark like a blade. "It's a trick! It must be like what happened to Kaelen—some sick illusion! Don't let it fool you!"
The dark lord's mocking smile instantly vanished. The pale, human light in his eyes died, leaving behind two pools of soulless, pitch-black shadow. He looked at Rissa with quiet, lethal disgust.
"A noisy pet," Maeron murmured, his voice echoing from the well-like dark. "Your tongue wags too freely for someone so insignificant."
Before Rissa could even draw her dagger, the man raised his hand.
An invisible, crushing force slammed into Rissa's neck. She was violently yanked off her feet, her body flying upward into the air. She hung suspended in the sky, her hands clawing desperately at her own throat as the unseen grip strangled the life out of her. Her legs kicked uselessly, her face turning a dangerous, bruised purple.
I work hard to keep this story going for everyone. If you find it interesting, kindly consider supporting this work with a cup of coffee. Every contribution helps me improve and grow 🤝
patreon accuscripter